12–NOTES ON LOVE AND LIFE:

Love Makes Us Crazy

Time travel is a strange way to journey. Not only do I experience my own timeline, but the current timeline of my companion when I visit earth. Just as I have my own memories, she has hers, but I get to experience her memories also. As one who keeps a diary of my souljournies, this gives me the opportunity to reflect on how the god of love and mercy has been at work in both our lives. Sometimes we think our god is limited to our world alone, but we forget god is the author of all creation, not just the creator of our small world.

My companion remembers her mother asking her every year, “When are you going to get married?”

She’d answer every time, “Mother, haven’t you noticed there’s a war going on?”

Her parents didn’t marry until the big war was over, so she thought marrying in the midst of a war wasn’t appropriate for her either. Since she was still in art school, all the young men she knew had student deferments. The rest of the male population was either too crazy or too sick for the killing fields of Southeast Asia. She considered those poor choices for husband potential, even if her parents had a belief daughters must be married by a certain age.

Maybe her parents thought she might fall victim to the consequences of a fairy tale, in which the chosen daughter falls under the spell or curse, losing her magic pumpkin carriage or more likely, becoming the shame of the local bridge club gossip chain.

Theodoor Rombouts: Card Players, oil on canvas, ca. 1620-30! Museo del Prado, Madrid

“You know, Cornelia is the only one left of all our girls not to walk the aisle. Does she have any prospects? Two clubs,” the card player bid.

This would be a sore point with her mother for sure.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” she said through pursed lips. “Deal those cards and play this hand. Make sure you give me a good one this time!”

“You know I shuffle fair and square. You get the hand you get. Nothing more and nothing less!”

“Be quiet! I’m not in the mood for a lecture today,” she snapped at her playing partner.

Her three card playing friends rolled their eyes and held their breath as my companion’s mother studied her hand intently. Whether she had a good or a poor hand, her eyes bore holes into the fan of cards she held. This marriage business was a sore subject between her and her oldest child. This strange child of hers had done everything backwards from the moment of her birth onwards. Most children have the good sense nature gave them to come out headfirst. The newborn’s head is the largest part of the body, so when the pelvis expands enough to let the head through, the rest of the body then slides right out with the next push.

But not her first born. Of course, she would pick the most difficult way. She came bottom first, so her head was still squeezed on the last few contractions. When she did greet the world, she was screaming bloody murder! Some say she hasn’t quit talking since, having been “born talking, she was always talking.” No one has to ask her opinion, for she’s ready to volunteer it, whether you want it or not.

As a result, she often says exactly what’s on her mind, but in this aspect, she and her mother are two peas in a pod. Because they share this same attribute, they get on each other’s nerves on more than one occasion. Their recent phone conversation didn’t end well, so my companion quit talking to her mother for a few years and her mother chewed nails and spit them at anyone who looked her way. Sometimes the gift of gab is a curse when a person doesn’t know when to keep their mouth shut.

I’ve found on my home planet the people I have the most brutal arguments with are the ones who are most like me. If I were to observe myself in a mirror, I would find these irritating people staring me back in the reflection. Most of us never get mad at those we don’t love, for we can shrug them off. The ones who matter greatly to us are the ones who get under our skin—they can get us hopping mad! You’d think we were suddenly electrified with thousands of volts of energy running through our bodies.

We can put on a mighty show, to the point where folks ought to sell tickets for admission to our personal circus. We might even outlast some of the runs of the great Broadway plays of earth if we’re really worked up in the love/hate drama about someone or something. Or we could just become viral you tube video stars for attention and clicks. Now that the big traveling circuses are no more, we could take our personal dramas on the road and eke out a living from our personal dramas. Politicians and conspiracy theorists on both our worlds do this all the time.

Love makes the humans crazy, for some odd reason, for love as the earth dwellers understand it, means possession, submission, infusion, enveloping, overpowering, consuming, passion, pathos, domination, managing, and pride. Love, which comes from god, is very different, for god’s love is patient, kind, not envious or boastful or arrogant or rude; it doesn’t insist on its own way; it’s not irritable or resentful; it doesn’t rejoice in wrongdoing, but rejoices in the truth. It bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things. Love never ends.

As the ladies waited silently, the cards lay on the folding table. Today was a much quieter day, with none of the usual gossip or joshing which usually passed between the card playing. No one wanted to disturb my companion’s mother. As my nannie would say, “Don’t run through the kitchen when the pot is boiling.”

They could tell by the set of her jaw she wasn’t yet ready to spill her guts, but when the moment came, all of her emotions would overflow. The rising river, the over-boiling pot, and the lake spilling over the dam would be nothing compared to the tsunami of words rushing from the depths of her heart. So, they lay down their cards in turn and waited, for god’s timing is always right and appropriate, or so they’d been taught since childhood.

These dear women are just memories of the world I visit today. Each of them would be over a century old if they were still alive. This is a memory of a day long ago, when my companion’s mother was still young, and her daughter still seemed to be a girl in her mind.

“Mother! I am not a girl! I am a woman and grownup for that matter! I have a job; I’m paying my own bills and my own education expenses. I’m independent and I can do what I want.”

“If you keep acting like this, we’ll write you out of the will. Your father and I will see you never inherit anything!”

“What? Do you think mere money is going to bribe me? Change my mind? I don’t have it now and I won’t take it later. My independence means more to me than money.”

“Fine. Don’t bother to call us when you need something. We won’t answer the phone.”

“Don’t you worry. You’ll be the last people on earth I’ll call. And if we are the last people on earth, I still won’t talk to you!” Her voice still echoed as she slammed down the receiver on the rotary phone that hung on the kitchen wall.

Stalking about the large kitchen as the sun was setting, my companion opened and closed the white cabinets, heavy with layers of paint from many repaintings for multiple tenants. Not that she was really looking for anything in particular, but she needed something—anything—to keep herself occupied and rid her of her rising anger.

“Damn!” she muttered under her breath. “I just told off my parents and cut the apron strings for good. Well, it serves them right. That was uncalled for. Imagine: trying to buy my obedience and love for money—that’s the dumbest offer I’ve ever heard. Neither love or obedience can be bought, except by owning a person, and we no longer practice slavery! We got over that years ago in the late unpleasantness, as daddy always calls it. Maybe we still buy favors in the form of prostitution, but I’m not doing that for anyone either. I won’t sell out even for a promised inheritance.”

“Shit.” Now she sat at the kitchen table and pulled out the Camel cigarettes from her plaid woolen shirt pocket. Shaking out an unfiltered cigarette from the hardpack, she took a strike anywhere match out of the package also. Pausing a moment to watch the failing light filter in through the window over the sink across the kitchen, she felt the silence of the room fill her heart. In this space painted white many times over, she no longer believed in her parents’ god. Indeed, she was uncertain if there was a god at all, but in this quiet place, the light came in to touch her and give her a peace to ease her heart and mind. Even if she had been cast out, she was confident things would work out.

Then she struck the match on the bottom of the table, brought the small, bright flame up to her face, and cupping her hands around the burning match, she inhaled the flame through the cigarette in her mouth, until the end began to glow. With a quick flick of her wrist, she extinguished this once useful flame. A deep inhale of the nicotine laced smoke settled her nerves some more.

“I’m not ever going to speak to my folks again—right. This isn’t going to last long. After all, they’re the ones who pulled this trigger. I’ll wait them out. We’ll see who blinks first. The way I feel right now, it’s not going to be me. It’ll be a cold day in hell before I apologize. What were they thinking? We’re cut out of the same cloth. The acorn doesn’t fall far from the tree. I’m a chip off the old block. I’m their child. If they think I’m coming running home to them when the going gets tough, they have another think coming.”

Attributed to the Nausicaä Painter: Greek-Attic Terracotta red-figure Terracotta pelike (jar), Classical, ca. 460–450 BCE, 13 11/16in, The Metropolitan Museum of Art, NYC.

Families, even close-knit ones, can have falling outs, especially over money and love. Today we can add politics and religion to the list, since people tend to get their information from ever more polarized sources and close their minds to other sources. Once they get dug in, pride gets mixed up in keeping their opinion longer and stronger, plus the peer pressure of their social group which will intensify their opinion. No one wants to lose the support of their friends. My companion says all these people subscribe to the Lost Cause or have the DNA from the late Confederacy because they keep fighting a losing battle. It’s a cultural thing. They throw their weight behind a bad idea and then decide to defend it “until the last dog dies.” Not one of them would change their opinion to save their souls.

Money was very important to my companion’s parents because they grew up during the great depression when finances were tight. Her mother wore dresses made from cotton flour sacks and her daddy considered himself fortunate if he got a book and an orange for Christmas. My companion, the first born child, never spent all her allowance or all of her babysitting money. She would take one twenty-dollar bill for her walking around money every week and quit walking once it was gone.

Money was a source of security and love for her parents also. They wanted to pass this on to their children, with conditions. Money was their love language. Her daddy always slipped a twenty into her hand when she went traveling, “Just in case, but don’t spend it all in one place.” Her mom always wanted to take her shopping, “You need some new clothes, to keep in style.” The same applied to the man they wanted her to marry: “He should be able to keep you in the style we’ve accustomed you to.”

My companion’s parents never quit loving their daughter, just as she never quit loving them. Over the next three years, she checked in with her brothers, so they could check in with the parents to tell them she was fine, but neither she nor her parents would call the other. After about three years, she decided enough was enough. She wouldn’t apologize, but she knew they were too stubborn to make the first call. Out of the clear blue sky, she rang them up.

“What’s going on?”

“Nothing much. Your father is cooking steaks on the grill. You want to talk to him?”

And that was that. No one mentioned the big to do, the argument, or the falling out. The ultimatum was forgotten, and while no one asked for or gave forgiveness, forgiveness was understood between the people whose hearts beat as one in love.

Greek Terracotta fragment of a kylix (drinking cup), Vase, Late Archaic, 490–480 BCE. Interior, draped, filleted woman at the fountain house, holding a tule in her right hand; behind the draped woman, HO PAIS, retr.; in front of her, [K]ALOS. Metropolitan Museum of Art, NYC.

 

NOTE: Greek mythology is full of stories of children coming of age, and generational conflicts.

KRONOS (Cronus) was the King of the Titans and the god of time, in particular time when viewed as a destructive, all-devouring force. In Greek mythology, he ruled the cosmos during the Golden Age after castrating and deposing his father Ouranos (Uranus, Sky).

In fear of a prophecy that Kronos would in turn be overthrown by his own son, he swallowed each of his children as they were born. His wife Rhea managed to save Zeus, the youngest, by hiding him away on the island of Krete (Crete) by feeding Kronos a stone wrapped in swaddling clothes. Zeus grew up, forced Kronos to disgorge his other swallowed offspring, and led the Olympians in a ten-year war against the Titans, driving them in defeat into the pit of Tartaros (Tartarus).

Many human generations later, Zeus released Kronos and his brothers from their prison, and made the old Titan king of the Elysian Islands, home of the blessed dead. Kronos is essentially the same as Khronos (Chronos), the primordial god of time in the Orphic Theogonies.

Cronus & Rhea – Ancient Greek Vase Painting

https://www.theoi.com/Gallery/T6.1.html

Attributed to the Nausicaä Painter: Rhea offers Wrapped Stone to Cronus, Greek-Attic Terracotta red-figure Terracotta pelike (jar), Classical, ca. 460–450 BCE, 13 11/16in. (34.8cm), The Metropolitan Museum of Art, NYC.

http://www.metmuseum.org/art/collection/search/247308

 

 

 

 

11–NOTES ON LOVE AND LIFE

Persistence of Love

I still remember my most recent soul journey to earth as if it were yesterday. In fact, since time passes differently for those whom I left behind on Didumos and for those with whom I sojourn on my companion’s planet, my time on earth always seems much longer than the time my beloved Aaron waits for me under our twin moons. Perhaps time has dragged on during this soul journey because I longed to be back home in the strong arms of my warrior love and bond mate. “A watched pot takes longer to boil,” my old nannie used to say. And does it ever.

You can’t win. Don’t take your eyes off the pot.

Bon Jovi, a musician of sorts, was singing on my companion’s car radio. He was belting out his ballad: “Have you ever known a real love? The kind of love that makes you feel, love?”

Rumi

She was driving and singing along, half a beat off the music as usual, but enjoying herself completely. My inherent sense of order and time cringed every single time she missed the entrance, but I was just a passenger in her mind. Such is the life of one who soul journeys, which is the strange result of my seizure disorder. Others on Didumos have periods of absence or quaking events, but of course, I would be different. The healers haven’t seen anything like it before and don’t know what to do about my mysterious condition. My body stays home, and my mind journeys to be with my companion on earth.

“It makes you guilty cause you want more, it’s a kiss that you would die for, feels like you’re falling through the stars, if it can break your heart, it’s real love.”

My companion shares her full voice now.  I can only hope she’s keeping her eyes on the road and not closing them soulfully as she acts out her best Bon Jovi concert impersonation. Too bad my soul journeys only allow me to experience her emotions, but don’t let me affect her actions or feelings. Otherwise, I’d take the wheel right now, and I mean it.

Singing is even Better

I never knew I had such a high need for control, but this loss of personal agency has brought my need up to the surface. Obviously, I’m back home now, and writing about my past events as I recall them. As the tears well up in my eyes, I don’t bother for a tissue or even a finger to wipe the flood falling from them. I’ll let the tears flow for now.

The earth had a taste of spring, some warm weather after a cold snap, or what we on Didumos call the False Spring. This short season gives a little hope to the grim grays and the constant grime of the long winter. On earth, the yearend celebrations included Christmas and New Year’s Day. Now the black and white bills come due for all the foolery and folly, with some arriving too quickly for comfort’s sake.

This back to normalcy was too much to bear for some people. One of my companion’s friends had a band, which played the local bars and clubs. She heard the sad news of the drummer, who took his life with his own rifle on one of those dark days. This man kept everyone else on beat for all the songs they played at every gig they made. He gave pleasure to so many others, but ultimately didn’t find his own life worth staying around for. I wonder what lack of love and joy he missed in his days, or had he given up hope of ever finding the “real love” and acceptance he so longed for?

A Neighbor in Need

Because I soul journey, I travel between two worlds. I’ve come to care for all whom I meet everywhere. Indeed, while some take care of things for people, I and my companion are among those for whom taking care of people is our thing. My companion and I were sacking food for visitors to her church’s food pantry, the Open Door. It’s a welcoming place, and those who come there need prayer, food, and household sundries.  The church offers a helping hand. My companion, who recently had gone on medical leave from full time ministry, enjoys sacking the food. It’s a simple task and when it’s done, she knows she’s done something useful.

Her innermost heart wants to do more than give palliative care. She wants to make a difference in their lives, so they won’t have to keep coming back month after month. Then she asks herself, “Are they ready for change? Is there a support system at the church to make this change stick? Am I ready or able to put the energy into making this difference now, with my current health needs?”

Then she realizes, as much as her calling is to make a difference in their lives, what she’s doing now is the best she can do, given her limitations. Her change in health status means she must change her calling. If she continues with her old call, she’ll end up in an unhealthy place. Moreover, she can’t fix them without their cooperation. One day they will heal enough and trust the helpers at the church to enter a program for substantive change. No one changes overnight. Everyone comes to a better place step by step. She will come to that better place one day also.

Motto of One on the Soul Journey

When my companion leaves this sheltered place, I realize perhaps my prolonged stranding on her planet might be for a purpose. Indeed, maybe I too need to be in a “sheltered workplace” for a while. These poverty-stricken folks show great resilience in their struggle with hunger and homelessness. If they can deal with these large troubles, I can deal with the minor problem of separation from my beloved and my planet. One more good seizure and I’m just a soul journey away from Didumos and all I hold dear.

Perhaps I’m in a grey mood as I approach the anniversary of my birth, and I hear my single companion singing happily about a “real love.” Sometimes I think some of us are destined to a higher love for god and god’s people, rather than for one other individual in which we place all our love interest. Some are called to love a spouse or bond mate and share that wonderful love. My companion had a short marriage and a child, a longer time teaching her beloved students, and a successful sales career for a number of years with many clients. Her three decades of devotion to god and neighbor was her longest and most intense love. Nothing and no one else has measured up to that commitment.

Temple of Artemis at Sardis, ca 300 BC by King Croesus. It was one of the largest Artemis temples in Turkey.

Likewise, my love and commitment as a priest to the god of love and mercy is also a deep devotion. I often put this vow first, much to the chagrin of my bond group and love interests. “It’s who I am.” Those who put their own interests ahead of god and neighbor don’t understand the mindset of the priesthood. This spiritual vow causes conflict in the families of earth as well as the bond groups of Didumos. On earth, John Wesley said, “The world is my parish.” For me and the other priests, our world and the people are our concern; even if we don’t look alike, we know we are one in god’s eyes.

Grey days definitely are meant for ruminating. “Chewing a thought over and over like a cow with its cud won’t make it go down any easier. Put it out of your mind and go on,” my companion’s mother would tell her. It wasn’t that easy. She had to look at it from all sides to see if it was something that could be improved, changed, or better left alone. Walking away without dissecting it wasn’t a choice, given her inclination to perfection.

I understand my companion all too well. For someone who acts like an extrovert, she sure has a well developed interior life of the mind. I listen to her thoughts:

“I wonder if I sometimes turn men away by not adoring them sufficiently, as in “Aren’t you wonderful! So brilliant, and strong, too!” If their egos need such constant affirmations, they should hire a coach, a trainer, or go to a spa and pay for it. This is what women do; we know we need it, and we’re willing to pay for it. We don’t come home and ask for it for free from somebody who’s also had a hard day at work and is spent emotionally.” Of course, times have changed, and women on both our planets work outside the home. We understand his, but our men seem not to have grasped the change in our worlds.

What works for Hamburger works for Us too.

My companion can remember her daddy coming home from the office in the evening. When he came in the back door, his first act was to kiss her mom as she was cooking the dinner on the stove. Steam would be rising from the green beans, the rolls would be about to burn in the oven, and daddy would say, “How’s my prettiest little mama doing tonight?”

Mother would bat her eyelids and give him a big smile, about the time the oven buzzer announced the rolls were done. Then she’d spring into action to whip those breads out before they got black. Dad would leap back, as if they’d mastered this choreographed dance in advance, and all the children would fly into the kitchen. Both parents would turn in unison, saying, “Wash your hands,” and the shoving match at the kitchen sink would begin.

As I intertwine her memories with my own experiences, maybe real love is persistent love, the love that endures through the ordinariness of days. Real love survives the almost burnt rolls, the over cooked vegetables, the madhouse of rambunctious children, the quiet house when the children all have left home, and the kisses we give the ones we love, even when they no longer recognize who we are. This is real love, like the love god has for us, in a verse my companion has quoted so often for the comfort of others:

“For I am convinced that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor rulers, nor things present, nor things to come, nor powers, nor height, nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord.”  ~~ Romans 8:38-39

Warren Kimble: Moon in Trees

So, I await the call to return to my own beloved, while I listen to my companion sing a slightly off beat rendition of “Have You Ever Known a Real Love?” Her voice begins to grow on me, or perhaps I’m now resigned to hearing it, until the god of grace and mercy brings me once again into the arms of my dear Aaron and we can watch the twin moons of Didumos transit our night sky through the drifting snowfall over the Shadowy Mountains. If I’m delayed until springtime, at least we’ll share a vision of our mountain’s glorious blooming wildflowers and begin preparing for our springtime renewal rituals.

I’m not in control of this journey, the destination, the departures, or the arrivals. I’ve learned when it’s time, I go. Otherwise, I stay. Not being in control is humbling. I do wish I could change the radio station, however.

 

 

 

10–NOTES ON LOVE AND LIFE: The Calling

Nicholas Roreich: Himalayas, Morning

The life of solitude isn’t for those without courage, but even the least brave can grow the skills necessary to endure it. Some of us come to this life by our natural inclinations, while others find it forced upon us. Still others flee to solitude to find our true selves if we’ve lost our truth in the swirl of life’s needs, wants, desires, afflictions, or addictions.

Aaron watched the flying bits of snow chase one another in a mad dance just beyond the cave entry way. His thoughts strayed back to the chaos of the battle fields of his warrior days, the clash of weapons, the confrontation of warriors in hand-to-hand conflict, and the resulting gory scenes when he and his fellow cohorts achieved a bloody victory. No one who participated in the slaughter could celebrate the event, for they were only the tools of those who sent them into the battle over lands and borders, resources, national honor, or personal whim. Warriors don’t question why; their part is to do or die.

Greek hoplite and Persian warrior fighting each other. Depiction in ancient kylix. 5th c. B.C. National Archaeological Museum of Athens

As Aaron watched the flakes swirl and take up battle lines, he mused to himself: “If our rulers spent any time among the warrior class fighting beside us, they’d not be so quick to go to battle. They might instead try to negotiate first. Miriam came up with a weird saying from one of her journeys: ‘Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me.’ She said back in the old days on earth, this is how children were taught to deal with bullying. If someone called you a name, tell them it couldn’t hurt you, since they would keep after a weakened prey. If the bullies sensed blood in the water, they’d keep biting until the victim was dead. Therefore, standing up to a bully was the best option to stop the behavior. Her companion grew up in this world, but the world in which she lives now tries to protect everyone from the slightest pain.”

The Parthenon temple atop the Athenian Acropolis hill is pictured during heavy snowfalls in Athens on February 16, 2021. (Photo by ARIS MESSINIS/AFP via Getty Images)

Then Aaron watched the snow accumulate in drifts out beyond the overhanging entry to the cave. He no longer could see the pathway to the sanctuary temple, the fountain in the square, or any of the buildings which made up the community’s world. Everything was white, diffuse, and hidden.

He thought, “I wonder if this is how we look upon the face of god now, but later will see god’s face undimmed and bright, once we cross the last bridge and see god face to face?”

“Where did that idea come from?” Aaron shook his head, as if to clean out the cobwebs of sleep forming at the edges of his mind. Stamping his feet, he walked to and fro across the opening of the cave. Executing an about face at each wall, he made about a dozen trips before he felt fully awake again.

“If this is meditation,” he mused, “it feels more like going to sleep! It also feels like losing control, and I’m not sure I’m good with that. The last time I lost control, I went down into the gutters of Plusion as I tried to kill my painful memories with the poison of the Slow Death. At first it was just a pleasant experience, but then I needed more to get that dreamy state, and then even more over time. I remember I was out of control, and I hated myself for it. That’s an experience I don’t want to repeat.”

He shrugged his shoulders and thought some more. “If I hadn’t lost control with the slow death, the healers in Plusion would have brought me to the Shadowy Mountain Sanctuary. I would have never gotten clean without Epiona’s healing herbs or Michael’s garden wisdom. Also, I’d never have met Miriam. Oh, Miriam, your lovely body has brought me so much pleasure and relief. I feel very close to god when I’m with you. I don’t know if this is what “divine union” means, but it’s close enough for me. I’m really too basic and simple to think the high flung thoughts which Miriam so often spouts. Just give me some honest work with my hands, a simple task to complete, and don’t mess it up with too much mumbo-jumbo.”

2011 Snowfall in Hot Springs

Aaron leaned against the cave wall, and continued watching the snow pile deeper and deeper and his watch grew longer. The tedium of the watch led him into deeper thoughts. “And why can’t a person come close to god by their deeds? If we serve the hungry or the poor of our world, are we not doing the work of god? If we do it with the heart and compassion for the least of god’s children, aren’t we acting for god in god’s world? If we take care of our land, water, and the creatures for the future generation’s benefit, we’re acting as protectors or guardians of the world. Even if we can’t create a new world, we can preserve and protect the present world in which we live. Our health and well-being, as well as that of our descendants, depends on us.”

Aaron walked back and forth again, for he was chilled. The temperature outside was dropping, a sign the sun was setting, and night was near. As he walked, he continued his thoughts. “This is a warrior’s calling, to protect and to care for others. If we have received a good, don’t we owe a good in return? Our wise ones say, ‘Do unto others as you would have them do unto you.’ This only applies to future acts, but what about our accumulation of past benefits? We have a whole storehouse of treasures or past goods we’ve received. We can either spend these on ourselves or used them towards god’s goods. If we use them to care for the widows, the orphans, and the strangers in our midst, as well as those who have no advocate or helper, then we’re doing the work of god, who is the helper the lowly, the helper of the oppressed, the upholder of the weak, the protector of the forsaken, and the savior of those without hope.

Attic Black-Figure calyx krater depicting Greek warriors battling over a corpse, probably that of Patroklos. Painted in the manner of Exekias, ca. 530 BCE.

If I have been given much, then much is required. I was saved, so I will save others. This is my calling. This is my duty as a warrior. I have comrades who need me. I’ve seen their battles, lived their battles, born their wounds, and found healing in god’s love and mercy. God can bear our pains and make us whole again. If god can do this for me, god will do this for others. I’ll bring this message to the hurting and broken who yearn to be made whole.”

This resolution in his heart warmed him and the cold of the approaching darkness no longer mattered.

 

9—NOTES ON LIFE AND LOVE:

Thoughts In The Silence

Aaron continued to watch the swirling snow just beyond the cave orifice. As the winds blew small heaps of crystals into the entry, he muttered under his foggy breath: “This is some storm. At least it’s not got armed warriors behind it. No one in their right mind would be out in this blizzard.” He peered out into the impenetrable grey and white. Not a speck of blue sky could he see. Stomping the snow off his fur lined boots, Aaron retreated to his post about ten paces from the cave opening.

Snow Covered Landscape

“Michael is right about this watch being at least a thousand years long. I wonder why we don’t assign two persons to it. If I know Miriam, she thinks this solitary endeavor has a spiritual purpose, but for me, I just feel bored. How long has it been already? Great god of love! Maybe I should be praying to the god of mercy to help me pass this time more quickly. Listen to me, I’m talking out loud to myself, just to have the company of another voice.”

Aaron walked in a small circle, his steps circumscribed by the cave walls and his tempo matching the swirling flakes beyond the aperture. He tried to settle his mind and gather his thoughts: Miriam told me about her companion’s first experience with the spiritual discipline of silence. She was going to a retreat with significant times of silence and solitude, so she thought she’d practice these spiritual disciplines, especially since she’s an extravert and not used to either silence or solitude. In the quiet of the converted garage, which served as her study area in the parsonage, she closed her eyes and sat quietly. Then she sat some more, attempting to keep a clear mind, but various thoughts kept jumping through her mind, like puppies first learning to run.

When she couldn’t bear the silence anymore, and was dying to pet the puppies, she opened one eye to check the clock. Much to her dismay, only five minutes had passed. Heaving a huge sigh, she realized she was in trouble and in over her head. But she was a believer in practice makes perfect, and everyone can grow with experience. If we gave up the first time we tried to walk, all people everywhere would still be crawling about on all fours. None of us would be looking up at the stars in the sky, except by rolling over onto our backs. We wouldn’t be able to see over the distant horizons or desire to plan for our futures. We might not even feel the call of god to go to the land god shows us, since our faces would mostly be just a few inches from the ground. Standing up was a good achievement for both our planets’ inhabitants.

Marble statue of a wounded warrior, Roman copy of Greek statue, ca. 138–181 CE. Copy of a Greek bronze statue of ca. 460–450 B.C. On view at The Met Fifth Avenue in Gallery 153.

As Aaron remembered Miriam’s story from one of her soul journeys, he thought, “Maybe this solitary time isn’t just for me to watch the snow or to guard the entrance, but to take time to think about god and god’s plans for my life and future.” As he chewed on this nugget, he thought of his life as a warrior. His father was a warrior, just as every one of his ancestors had been a warrior for all the generations before him. He was born for this, just as Miriam was born to be a priestess.

Yet with no wars to fight and no battles to engage, Aaron wondered exactly what his purpose was in this stage of his life. His memories of past battles sometimes still awakened him in nightmares, especially when Miriam was off on a soul journey elsewhere. He said a small prayer of thanksgiving for her comforting presence and steadying spirit, for she had made a real change in his life. He said another prayer for this new community of brothers and sisters, for while they might not wield actual weapons of fact, their prayers, their deeds, and their presence were mighty instruments to transform their world.

He considered his own life: his separation from his warrior cohort, his subsequent life on the streets of Plusion, and his fortunate appearance at the entrance of the Shadowy Mountain Sanctuary. He smiled to himself, thinking, “The Plusion priests dumped me at this door because they were tired of seeing me rotate through their intake clinics and never getting better. They meant to be rid of me, but god had a better plan and used their despair for good. God knew I needed spiritual healing as well as physical healing. The healing temple in Plusion was only focused on healing the body, not the spirit.”

Walking around in a circle some more, Aaron stomped his feet and slapped his arms across his body. Getting warm was getting more difficult by the minute. His short circuit walk was interrupted by an unexpected visitor.

“Hello, Aaron,” a friendly voice called out.

“Greetings, Epiona,” he replied.

“I’ve brought you a hot lunch.”

“And a welcome break from the silence!”

“Is the silence so difficult?”

“Actually, the silence isn’t the hard part. The standing still is worse than not talking.”

Epiona laughed. “I never thought of that, but then you’re a man of action.”

Aaron shivered and nodded. “As long as I’m moving, I’m good.”

“This hot soup should warm you up from the inside and give you some energy for the rest of your watch.”

“You’re not staying?” The disappointment was palpable in his voice.

“I still have clinic hours. With everyone in close quarters, people seem to get sick more often. I keep insisting on hand washing, but no one pays much attention. I have to monitor the washbasin before meals to get compliance there. Shared serving utensils are a common source of contamination for spreading disease.”

“I didn’t know that. We never got sick out in the field of battle. Or maybe we were more concerned with wounds instead.”

The healer replied, “Disease kills more people in war than any thing else.”

Aaron was shocked and stunned into silence. Finding his voice, he replied, “Ignorance is bliss.”

Epiona smiled and said dryly, “You can’t say we haven’t progressed as a nation. We’ve always found new ways in war to rid our world of some of its inhabitants.”

“Since I’ve been here on the mountain with Miriam and everyone else, I’ve begun to reconsider my previous life’s vocation. I’ve always done what was expected of me and did it well, but now I think god may have something else in mind for me for the rest of my life.”

“If that’s the case Aaron, you should spend time in prayer. Ask god to increase in you the will to do god’s work, and decrease in you the will to direct your own life. When you decrease and god increases, you’ll be ready to do whatever god calls you to do next.”

“Thank you, Epiona. That makes perfect sense to a man of action like me. This silence thing is for the birds, but I can pray a prayer till the cows come home!”

Laughing, Epiona gave this questing warrior a pat on his muscled shoulder. “Whoever has ears to hear will hear and whoever has eyes to see will see. This is what our wise ones from ancient times have told us. Their wisdom has never failed us. Trust in god with all your heart and god will speak in god’s good time.”

A New Road into the Unknown

Aaron nodded and turned back to his soup before it became the same temperature as the frozen sky outside of the cave. “First things first,” he thought, “care for the body. If I’m to be a warrior for god, I’ll need a strong body as well as a strong heart and mind.”

War, Medicine & Death
by Charles W. Van Way, III, MD
https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC9762220/

8—NOTES ON LOVE AND LIFE:

Meanness and Mercy

While Miriam slept, Michael was once again at his watch station near the opening of the great cave, which sheltered this remnant of society, the faithful few, who had weathered out the wild winter storms while waiting for the rebirth of spring. Michael didn’t stand at the opening itself, for inside he was protected from the winds and swirling snow. He turned his head back toward the cave interior when he heard footsteps crunching on the rocky surface.

Unknown Egyptian Artist: Sleeping Woman, limestone,
16-13th BCE, Glencairn Museum, Bryn Athyn, PA

“Aaron! It’s good to see your face in this cold and lonely place!”

“Ha, ha! Getting bored on duty while counting the snowflakes flying by, my brother?”

“I could fall asleep from the tedium. If only I had the mind of a god, in whose sight a thousand years is like yesterday when it’s past or like a watch in the night.” He slapped his arms across his chest to warm himself.

“Take heart my friend,” Aaron encouraged Michael. “I’ve come to relieve you of your thousand years of yesterdays. Send someone after me in four hours, not four days!”

“For certain, I wouldn’t leave you here for days, but trust me, even for one used to the harsh winters on our mountain, the empty howls of the straining winds against our shelter grinds against even the steadiest spirit.”

Aaron clapped his mentor on the shoulder, “Go on and get some hot cup and a hot bowl of food. You both need and deserve it.”

The two men grabbed each other by the forearm and clapped one another on the back with their free arms. Even on this far planet, men don’t hug, even if they love and respect one another. Straight men, I should say, for Didumos has its own society of gender non-conforming persons, all of whom are integrated into our society seamlessly. This is due to our theology of god as love and the giver of grace and renewal, which applies to all of creation.

On earth, some religions see all life as part of a fallen creation, but some parts are more fallen than others, so these are beyond their god’s redemptive power. If their god can redeem their special fallenness, why do they think their god is too puny to redeem any other fallenness? That seems to be a weak god in my mind, but so were our ancient gods at one time. Those old gods only redeemed the ones who sacrificed to them, but there were so many gods, we never knew if we wronged some particular god who kept us from our hope. This is why Didumos rebelled against the old gods and put our hope in the god of love, grace, mercy and renewal.

Michelangelo: The Last Judgment , Sistine Chapel, Rome, Italy

The god of Didumos governs all creation with mercy, not judgement, unlike many on earth understand their almighty god. Even though their ancient texts contain such phrases as “King of great Power, almighty God most high, governing all creation with mercy.” Their god self-proclaims god’s personal attributes of mercy and grace in their holy scriptures:

“And he said, “I will make all my goodness pass before you and will proclaim before you the name, ‘The Lord,’ and I will be gracious to whom I will be gracious and will show mercy on whom I will show mercy.”

My companion’s ancestors in the faith even imagined their god sitting upon a “mercy seat.” Yet somewhere across the thousands of years, this beautiful idea got corrupted into the metaphor of “sinners in the hands of an angry god,” or a god on a “judgement seat.” By the 18th century on earth, her people were on a slippery slope anytime they crossed god’s will or purposes for their lives. The Jonathan Edwards’ sermon reminded people god was in charge of both their earthly lives as well as their eternal lives.

This preacher was reacting against the popular Enlightenment thinking of his time. Edwards was against reason, skepticism, religious tolerance, liberty, and progress. These ideas often led people known as Deists to believe god created the world, but god no longer interacted with god’s creation. In my companion’s world today still live a strain of religious believers, who are the inheritors of this anti-enlightenment thought. They ignore science and reason to follow faith alone. They have no nuanced beliefs, no shades of grey. Some even believe the world is only about 4400 years old, because the bible says so, even if the geographic and stellar records say differently.

Even on my home world, we have cults which exclude the “unwashed masses,” but include the “favored few.” They may claim to believe in the god of all grace and mercy, but this grace is only for a favored group. My companion’s home church has an “open hearts, open minds, open doors” policy. Those that didn’t feel so open to all, but were open to a favored few, decided to leave and form their own church. Everyone could come in, but not everyone could participate fully in the life of the church, but their money was welcome. Evidently their god isn’t big enough to redeem everyone. I suppose having someone to exclude makes some people feel better about themselves. That is a shame issue, for if you’re not certain god loves you unreservedly, then you marginalize a group and make sure to remind them daily they are “sinners in the hand of an angry god.” As Epiona would say, “That’s just classic projection.”

Copy of the icon of Sinai, Christ “Pantocrator,” Encaustic on wood,
St. Catherine’s Monastery Sinai, 6th century.

However, my companion and I have never been able to proclaim a god so small and mean. For one thing, we’ve never experienced this god. Plus, we reject the idea god doesn’t love god’s own creation. For my companion, the old icon of her god enfleshed is a wonderful example of her God’s ability to be both generous in love and mercifully just. The two halves of the face give off the two emotions of the inner heart and mind. If viewers cover up the right side (as they look at the image), they’ll see mercy, while covering the opposite side reveals the stern look of justice. God hasn’t only one attribute or another, but has multiple, even infinite depts of emotions and feelings. Unlike us, god has greater abilities to channel that energy for the greater good.

This is why we can say with confidence, even in the worst of circumstances,

“In all things God works for good for those that love god and are called to god’s good purposes.”

Also, we’re not about to scare anyone into loving god. Both of us have worked with persons who’ve had terrible experiences with authority figures in their lives. The people who are supposed to love and protect you as a small child don’t always do this. Sometimes they abuse you or do other mental or physical harm.

One of my priest friends here on Didumos had a rough childhood. His father made a coarse drink from a local fruit, with a high alcohol content. What he couldn’t drink, he sold to the neighbors. He never sold much beyond what he needed to make his next batch. When he was deep into the cups, he hit the children and his bondmate. As the children grew older and faster, they’d run away and hide under the home. He could see them through the cracks in the floorboards, so he’d boil water on the wood stove and carry it about in a tea kettle. When he spotted a child underneath the floorboards, the old drunkard would pour boiling water down through the cracks on the scrambling children below. He was a mean, angry man when he drank his homemade poison.

My brother priest found in our god of grace and mercy someone who would love him unconditionally, even if his birth father could not. For those of us who have broken families and messed up lives, we need a place to learn about self-giving love, positive love, and hopeful love. We need to learn about loving with grace, mercy and forgiveness, rather than setting up impossible expectations and rejections for others when they aren’t meeting our ideals. Otherwise, we risk putting our loved ones into the position of the “sinner” and we take on the role of the “hands of the angry god.”

The Bamberg Apocalypse: Christ on the Throne, with Evangelists and Elders

As my companion so often reminded her congregations, “The day we confuse ourselves with god is the day we have a problem. The day someone confuses me with god, they have a problem. If I ever get to acting like god, we all have a problem, but I remind myself daily, ‘There’s only one god, and I’m not her.’”

Silver Communion Chalice from the Beth Misona Treasure, c. 500–700 CE, Syria, Cleveland Art Museum.

I think this might be a good motto to post at the door to my office, to read as people enter and exit. No one will miss it. As my old daddy used to say, “You can lead a horse to water, but you can’t make it drink.” At least I will lead and not give up my calling to continue to make a difference. The rest, the change, is up to the one who’s offered the cup to drink. This is why our ancient wise ones said we’ll work out our own salvation with awe and trembling, for god is at work in us, enabling us both to will and to work for god’s good pleasure. It’s why the elder priests always ask us at the celebration table, “Can you drink both the cup of joy and the cup of suffering?”

NOTES: Egyptian Limestone figure of a woman sleeping on her left side, her head supported by a headrest, New Kingdom, Dynasty 18 (1539-1292 BC). In the collection of Glencairn Museum, Bryn Athyn, PA

Headrests in Glencairn’s Egyptian Collection: Practicality and Protection — Glencairn Museum
https://www.glencairnmuseum.org/newsletter/2018/7/25/headrests-in-glencairns-egyptian-collection-practicality-and-protection

Copy of the Encaustic icon of Sinai, Christ “Pantocrator”. Encaustic on wood, St. Catherine’s Monastery Sinai, 6th century.
https://stcatherines.mused.org/en/stories/50/christ-pantocrator-palladion-of-the-monastery-of-sinai

The Bamberg Apocalypse: Christ on the Throne, with Evangelists and Elders
https://artsandculture.google.com/story/lgWhP_Fswg0iLw

Silver Communion Chalice from the Beth Misona Treasure, c. 500–700 CE, Syria, Cleveland Art Museum. Inscribed: + The priest, KYRIAKOS, son of DOMNOS, (gave this chalice) to St. Sergios, in the time of Zeno the priest.
https://www.clevelandart.org/art/1950.378

7—NOTES ON LOVE AND LIFE:

Healing Power of Sleep

After Miriam had awakened from her morning nap, Epiona came to check on her. Unlike in the large healing temples in which she learned her trade, she didn’t wake her sleeping patients. In her considered opinion, the sick healed while they slept, for then god would visit them and do greater work than any common healer could achieve alone.

The archaeological site of the Sanctuary of Asclepius at Epidaurus, Greece, 3rd and 4th C BCE, with the ruins of Asclepius Temple, provides deep insight into the origins of the healing arts in the Western World. A World Heritage Site since 1988, it is one of the first hospitals in the western world.

As Mariam sipped from the proffered cup, Epiona asked, “You never told me about your companion’s life. Is it much different from ours here on Didumos?”

Miriam took a bite of her midday meal, for her appetite was rapidly returning. Food was beginning to taste good again after a week of the bland diet Epiona had prescribed to get her internal organs adjusted to solid food once again. While she’d laid unconscious, or “dead to this world,” Miriam had subsisted on an intravenous drip. Now conscious and able to swallow without choking, she was more than ready to give up the dull soups and gruel and chew the solid food. Thank goodness for frozen ices.

Miriam took a final swipe around the small bowl as she searched for the last sweet bits of the dessert. Savoring the spoon down to the bare metal, she made Epiona wait until she set her tray in order and pushed it aside.

Epi was used to Miriam’s thought processing behaviors, for she often arranged papers on her desk if she needed to organize her mind if she had a difficult word to deliver. Once she was ready, she’d speak, but not before. Patience was a virtue when holding a conversation with her friend.

Sanctuary of Asklepios, Pergamum, Turkey

“My companion is an itinerant priest, or was until her health prevented her from fulfilling her calling. As a young woman, she had a seizure, so began taking medicine and adjusting her lifestyle habits. As a result, she never had any other seizures until her early 60’s, when the accumulated stresses of her life and occupations began to overwhelm her. Just as our eyes no longer adjust to near and far distances easily, her body and mind no longer was able to adjust to the stresses of her daily life. She also had spiking blood pressures, fainting from low blood pressures, petit mal seizures during worship services, low blood sugar, and depression. Her healer even did a heart catheterization and put her on medicine to help with the blood pressure drops. She changed her diet and gave up donuts and sweet treats.”

“Oh, my. She sounds like a sick person in trouble. I sense there’s more to come.”

“The old people in her church call it too sick to live and not sick enough to die.”

“That’s no good, but there can be life after this, if one attends to the task of taking care of the self first, which should take priority. No one can take care of another if he or she isn’t strong and healthy themselves.”

“This is so true. I’ve only known my companion in her later years of recovery, but I’ve also known her grief and depression. I’m glad she finally recognized her physical symptoms were masking her depression so she could get back to her old self, or the self I first knew when I first journeyed yonder.”

“Miriam, have you ever wondered if your journeys yonder are a metaphor for what’s happening here at home?”

“Do you mean, am I making up a congruent reality of an imaginary world so I can deal with my problems in this world?”

“It’s not unheard of for people under great stress to imagine alternate realities…”

“Oh, please, Epiona, the next thing you’ll ask me is do I think people from other worlds are monitoring my thoughts through the airwaves or some such silly nonsense.”

“Are they?”

“Of course not! They send me letters through the mail.”

“Really?”

“Epiona, we don’t get mail service during the winter confinement. I’m pulling your leg, as my old daddy used to say. There’re no strangers from other worlds monitoring my mind or sending me directives by any means. God have mercy! I’m not crazy, Epiona, but I’m very sincere about my belief in my journeys to this other world. They seem very real to me.”

Reconstructed Doric columns and part of an architrave, all of local red andesite stone, which were part of the long Hellenistic stoa at the west side of the Pergamon Asklepieion. According to an archaeologist’s plan, the building consisted of a long colonnaded passage along the front and 18 square rooms along the rear.

“I do wish we weren’t confined during this winter season. Otherwise, I’d have you down to Plusion to the healing temple. They have specialized healing equipment there to test your brain waves, something we don’t have here on our mountain.”

“When the roads clear, I promise I’ll be the first one down the mountain. Right after the Spring Renewal Festival.”

“Yes, well, you rest now. We’ve had enough talk for today. Rest is how the body heals itself. I’ll put a Do Not Disturb note on your door.”

“You promise? No interruptions for blood pressure measurements or other vital signs, or to push a pill?”

Asclepius, bending forward and extending his arms as he offers therapy to a woman lying on a couch. Behind him is Hygieia, goddess of health. A votive relief of Classical date, from the Asclepieion in Piraeus (Piraeus Archaeological Museum).
© De Agostini/Getty Images/Ideal Image

Epiona laughed and closed the door on her friend. As she left, Miriam sighed, “it’s going to be a long winter. I may one day look forward to such interruptions.” Then she closed her eyes, took a few deep breaths, and soon was sound asleep again.

Read more about the ancient gods and healing at the links below:

Of Gods and Dreams: The Ancient Healing Sanctuary of Epidaurus – Greece Is
https://www.greece-is.com/of-gods-and-dreams-the-ancient-healing-sanctuary-of-epidaurus/

Sanctuary of Asclepius at Epidaurus, Greece | World Heritage Journeys of Europe
https://visitworldheritage.comhttps//visitworldheritage.com/en/eu/sanctuary-of-asclepius-at-epidaurus-greece/37725626-da68-4581-9736-1df11c27b248

6–NOTES ON LOVE AND LIFE:

Visiting Hours

Time seems to pass slowly in as I recover from my latest soul journey, but time on Didumos keeps its own cadence. The sun rises and sets, the twin moons pursue one another across the starry dark, and one season gives way to the next. “As regular as clockwork,” my old daddy used to say of those whose routines could be counted upon from day to day. I tend to mark these days in the cave sanctuary infirmary by the appearance of meals, for I never cease to be hungry, and by my scheduled rehabilitation exercises. I wasn’t aware how wasted I became while soul traveling, for my body remained on my home planet, while my consciousness visited my companion’s home in that far distant galaxy.

Suffering in Paintings: Frida Kahlo, What the Water Gave Me, 1938, Collection of Daniel Filipacchi, Paris, France.

Epiona has finally allowed me a few visitors aside from Aaron and Michael. Today I’m meeting one of the families of the temple.

“What kept you gone so long from us?” the child asked innocently.
Her mother interjected as she pulled her daughter away from the bedside, “Dear, it’s not polite to ask our Priestess about her health. If she wants to talk, she’ll tell us about her absence.”

Miriam smiled weakly at their nervous agitations and replied, “Don’t worry. I should talk about this. I’ve been asleep for a long time, due to a seizure. It’s a strange form of epilepsy, and it sends me traveling across the stars to another world.”

Odilon Redon: The Celestial Art, French, Bordeaux (1840–1916 Paris), 1894, Lithograph, Metropolitan Museum of Art, NYC.

“Does your whole body leave Didumos?”
“Oh, no sweetie. Only my mind. My body has been here the whole time.”

“Why didn’t you quit breathing?”
“I suppose a basic part of my brain kept operating to keep me alive.”

“Oh, my goodness!”
“I agree with you. This is an odd experience for me to understand also.”

“How do you remember what happened to you on your journeys?”
“They seem like dreams on occasions, and other times they’re as clear as a bell ringing in the pure mountain air. You know how in the early fall, when the air is crisp and cool, the morning prayer bell rings sharp and clear?”

She nodded and Miriam noticed her curls, as the light of the air shaft above illuminated each one of her loops and swirls. Miriam followed those shapes with her eyes until she felt sick to her stomach, as with motion sickness. When her face revealed her discomfort from the sour taste on her tongue, the visiting mother said to her daughter, “Come, dear, say your goodbyes to Priestess Miriam; we need to take our leave and let her rest now.”

Miriam gave them a weak smile, “So nice of you to pay me a visit. Thank you.”
“Goodbye and get well soon,” the child said.

“Yes, dear. God bless you.”

“Goodbye and god be with you, Priestess Miriam,” her mother said as they left Miriam’s bedside.

Hellenistic Funeral Stelae, Woman with Servant, marble sculpture, Greece, possibly Delos, 2nd BCE, J. Paul Getty Museum

Epiona came into the room. “Is anything wrong?”
Miriam grimaced, “I have a nasty taste in my mouth.”

“Are you regurgitating part of your last meal, or does it taste like bile?”
“More like bile, actually.”

“Spit it out, Miriam. What’s bothering you?”
“Spit what out?”
“Something is inside of you and needs to be expressed, so tell me about it.”

“It’s not about me, but about my companion and her life on earth.”
Epiona sat on the edge of the niche, which was carved into the cave wall of our winter sanctuary. The mattress in this sleeping recess offered some comfort against the cold stone ledge, but neither she nor Miriam were paying attention to the amenities or the lack thereof at the moment.

Epiona used her relationship skills as much as her healing arts in her profession as a healer.

“You know I can tell when you worry over something or some person. Your eyes get this far away look, they cloud over, your brow furrows, and your nose even gets narrower. When you start twisting up your lips, both Aaron and I really get worried. Those are my signs to push the calm cup on you more, and Aaron begins his own particular ministrations, I would imagine?”

Epiona raised one eyebrow as if asking a question, without actually inflecting her voice into the question form.

Miriam stared at Epiona blankly, taking a moment to realize she hadn’t fooled anyone around her at any point in time.

“So, all of you knew something wasn’t right with me all the time?”
“Of course, what it was, we didn’t know exactly, but we knew you weren’t your old self. The old you was always open and voluble, but lately you’ve been secretive and silent.”

“Out of character, in other words,” Miriam affirmed.
Epiona replied, “We hardly knew you anymore.”

“Oh, my. And here I thought I was managing.”
Epiona shook her head slowly, “No, not hardly, but we love you and we’ll get through this together. You need to trust us with everything, and not just what you think we can bear. Also, no matter how crazy it makes you sound, you also have to tell me all about your experiences, for they might have a physical reason behind them.”

“Epiona, I know you’ll think I’m crazy, but I’m certain my mind—my consciousness—leaves my body and travels to a distant world called earth. There I share the body of the one I call my companion. She is also a priest of her world’s god and like me, she also has a seizure disorder. Only she never travels beyond the stars. I journey with her for a while, then I make my way back home across the path of stars between our two worlds. After a while, some stressor here on Didumos sends me back to her world once again.”

Epiona mulled this over for a moment and asked, “Are you sure she’s not aware of your presence?”
“I’m never sure if she knows I’m with her or not, but sometimes I seem to be in charge of her body, while other times I’m just along for the ride.”

“That’s interesting.”
“You don’t believe me.”

Asclepius, the Greek Healer

“I didn’t say that. When I say “I find it interesting”—it’s a phrase we healers use when we contemplate the possible options for a diagnosis. Think of it like the sentences, “We’ll know more once we run some tests,” or “We’ve called in a specialist from the Central Healing Temple to consult on your case.”

Miriam laughed at Epiona’s serious recitations of the healer’s delaying tactics. “You mean today you have no idea what’s causing this strange malady of mine?”

Epiona gave Miriam that look healers from time immemorial have given their patients. She dropped her chin, and with bowed head, she fixed Miriam in the eye: “Miriam, you must hear the truth and deal with it. No, I don’t have any idea now, but I will not give up trying to find the solution. I will put my best efforts into this problem. For now, trusting in the healing power of the god who loves us and protects us is our best medicine. We’re safe inside the winter sanctuary cave for the duration of the season. Remember, our holy writings proclaim

“In you I take refuge,
In the shadow of your wings I will take refuge,
Until the destroying storms pass by.”

Miriam nodded tiredly.
Epiona set her pillows at an angle. “Sleep now. I’ve elevated the pillows. That should keep the bile down where it belongs. Rest and we’ll talk after the midday meal.”

“Lower Niger Bronze Industry,” with eight chameleons with spirals, which refer to concepts of time and the ancestors. Smithsonian Institution

As Epiona left the room, Miriam’s exhausted body slipped into sleep. As her body recovered in a deep sleep, Epiona pondered their conversation. “What if I’m trying to make this diagnosis more difficult than it needs to be? I could be searching for a needle in a haystack, but a huge tree trunk could be obstructing my view. My teachers in the healing temple believed the simplest answer was often the best answer. As one often said, ‘You look for the obscure, but fail to find the obvious. If it were a snake, it would bite you. Why make something harder than it needs to be?’”

Pouring herself a calm cup, Epiona sat in a comfortable position on pillows piled in a corner of the infirmary. Closing her eyes, she inhaled the fragrance of the cup, thanked the god of healing for wisdom and compassion, and offered the first sip in thanks for god’s gifts to healers everywhere. With the second sip, she asked for insight into Miriam’s special needs. She held the cup a bit longer, thanking god for the blessing. Then she drank the rest of the cup, sip by sip, with an expectant attitude.

When her cup was drained to the very bottom, she carefully set it down, closed her eyes, and allowed her mind to clear. Thoughts, of course, wandered in, but she acknowledged them and let them go. Each time, she returned to a clear mind, until the errant thoughts were fewer and fewer. Finally, when her mind was clear, she saw her friend as a shimmering light traveling among the stars and making a circuit between Didumos and the strange world called earth.

Anonymous Treatise on Comets, Flanders, 16th CE

Awaking from her reverie, Epiona thought “If comets have designated courses amongst the stars above, why do I think my dear friend’s soul journeys are so impossible? I should trust the ancient wisdom handed down from the faithful of former days:

Our god heals the brokenhearted,
and binds up their wounds.
God determines the number of the stars,
And gives to all of them their names.
Great is our god, and abundant in power;
With understanding beyond measure.

Rising from her pillows, she plumped and straightened them. She would leave them ready for the next visitor’s time of silence. She passed along the gift of hospitality by sharing the presence and mystery of the god who knows us better than we know our own selves. After all, she has a healer’s heart, as well as the healer’s gifts.

NOTES ON LOVE AND LIFE: 5

Myths and Truths

On my world of Didumos, the twin moons above our planet always chase each other through the night skies. Our ancient stories, once told around the campfires of our nomadic ancestors, tell of lovers who snubbed the old gods. This angered these deities, so they gave these lovers an eternal place in the stars above all of us to remind future couples of their need for supernatural power in their daily lives. Today these old tales are mostly forgotten, relegated to ancient myths and legends. Many regard these accounts as quaint relics of our distant history. Our young people ask, “What do those old stories have to do with our modern world today? Why would I waste my time on them when I could study something important, such as science, business, or even a trade?”

Mohammad Bin Rashid Space Centre, Dubai
replicates what can be seen from the surface of Mars,
across the UAE desert skies.

The stories or myths of old help us to relate to one another and to understand our world today. Stories help us shape our understanding of the world in which we live. Stories also create a new world, a universe in which we can make sense of the nonsense of our own dysfunctional environment. Some of our stories can be true in the sense they represent actual events, with the names and locations changed to protect the innocent or the guilty. Moreover, some of our taller tales can even be “true” in the way fiction seems genuine, for it reliably represents the world as we believe it is. Otherwise, the story wouldn’t seem real, and the characters wouldn’t come to life. We most likely wouldn’t finish a book that didn’t have a well thought out setting or fully fleshed characters. We’d set it aside and seek another, better book.

Apollo and Daphne, Piero del Pollaiolo, c. 1441, The National Gallery, London. The Greek word for laurel is daphne (δάφνη).

People have been telling stories for as long as they’ve had the capability of speech and the curiosity to ask why. Many of our old stories and myths seem to answer the ancient and eternal question of “Why?” I’ve always imagined a family or a bond group relaxing around a bright fire pit after a long day’s journey, with the dark blue sky and a bright star field above them. In the flickering yellows and reds, which light up their faces, a curious child asks, “Why do the two moons always follow one another across the night sky? Do they ever touch?”

The story we tell is from our ancient times, when our people believed in many gods. If we were good, the gods rewarded us, but if we failed to honor the gods, we were punished in some way. The two moons, who always chase the other across the star filled sky, were once two lovers. The high gods wanted each of them for their own enjoyment, but the lovers ran away. Because they chose one another, rather than the honor of the god’s love, in anger the gods set the two into the sky where they could pursue each other forever. Their punishment was to never meet again.

A young child doesn’t have the wisdom or the years of experience to know why the moons can never meet on Didumos. The oldest ones of our people carry the memories of our elders, who handed down the memories of their old ones. This ancient wisdom now needs to be handed down to a younger generation, who will confirm it by their experience over the years. These are the traditions of our oral history and the stories of our lives, by which we make sense of our world and how we live today.

Courting Scene, Greek Red figure drinking cup, Attributed to the Briséis Painter, Signed by the potter Brygos, Circa 480-470 B.C.

What is true about this story in fact is the orbits of these two moons are so different, they never can catch each other. One rises and sets faster than the other, which is not such an early riser and is on a higher trajectory. They aren’t on the same path, but we can’t tell this with our unaided eye. Another truth is we all need the supernatural power of god in our lives. If we were telling this story for the first time in this age, we wouldn’t speak of a punishing deity. The god of all grace and mercy draws always draws people into god’s loving presence, whereas the old gods used retribution and reward.

When we think of love today, both on Didumos and on Earth, we more often think of two people or two lovers. We rarely think of those who love themselves enough to be open to others. Some people do this because it’s their job, such as beauticians or therapists, but others do this because they are kind and good at heart.

Some days I just put the phone on silence…

“Miriam, wake up woman! It’s time for breakfast.” Epiona swept into my room and lifted high a steaming pot of the wake-up cup.

I inhaled its fragrance, as the fog cleared from my mind.
“What? Already? I was having the strangest dream.”

“Wake-up cup first, eat something, then talk.”
“You’re bossy this morning, Epiona,” I grumbled.

She laughed at my misery. “You need sustenance. You haven’t had solid food in months. It’s time we got your stomach started on something light. Eat. Now.”

“Grr. Are you always this mean in the morning? What’s this all about?”
“Look, Miriam, everyone, and I mean, EVERYONE, wants to visit you. I’ve had it up to here!” She signaled with her hand at chin level.

I nodded in sympathy. I would have laughed, but Epiona wasn’t in the mood. “I see. Well, how about this afternoon I see Michael, one other, and Aaron?”

“As long as you don’t overdo it.”
“No, short visits only, no business, just a meet and greet. Assurance of my presence.”

“Too much too soon and you won’t get well. I need you to get well.”
“I need to get well. The visits will help. Their prayers and reassurances will be part of my therapy.”

“Miriam, you know what’s going to happen. You’ll end up reassuring them, encouraging them, and even though they came to help you, you’ll help them instead.”

“Epi, I know. This is the natural order of our life together. If I were on my death bed, our people would still seek out my help and comfort. This says more about them than it does about me. After all, who takes care of the healer? And who takes care of the priest but another priest? If a few of our people can care for me, I’ll be glad. If the rest need my care, I won’t be surprised.”

“How can you go on like this day after day?”

“Epi, some people you treat aren’t going to get well because they won’t change their diet or lifestyle. They won’t exercise, sleep more, or take the herbs you prescribe for them. Yet you treat them anyway. You keep reminding them of the better life they could have if they make changes. I do the same thing, even though I know some aren’t going to do anything differently than yesterday. They keep hoping for a different outcome, however, as crazy as that seems to you and to me. My companion on earth says, ‘I haven’t got any magic twinkie dust to make things change for you. You get to do this with god’s help, or you can try to do it all on your own.’”

Magic Twinkie Dust

Epiona cleared her throat, saying disgustingly, “Sounds like this magic twinkie dust is really god’s help to me.”

Miriam laughed at her response. “That’s my companion, all right. She’s not always the sharpest pencil in the box, but she gets the message across to her people. If they expect her to change them, they’ve confused her with god. That means they have a misguided impression of who she is. After all, the day she thinks she can change them, she has a problem, for then she has a god complex.”

“So, tell me again, what was this dream you had? I have other patients to see.”

“Oh, yes. I dreamed about my companion who had gone grocery shopping. She was feeling good about herself, having just had her hair cut. Winter had returned to her land, after a false spring. She was wearing a heavy black knit sweater, black pants and a bright pink turtleneck sweater. No makeup, but she had on antique green glass earrings with a silver leaf motif. She was walking tall with a renewed spirit in her heart.”

“Miriam, why was what she was wearing important?”

Sipping from the wakeup cup once again, Miriam replied, “If you let me tell my story the way I remember it, you’ll understand.”

“Your stories tend to be long and overly detailed,” her friend admonished.

“They tend to take the necessary time. People today are in a hurry to get nowhere to do nothing that is of no importance. What’s more important than knowing another more deeply? We say our world lacks intimacy, but we won’t put in the time to gain the currency of intimacy, nor will we reveal ourselves to another in any depth.”

“Get on with it, Miriam. I have people to see!”

Dreaming and Shopping

“Alright already! My companion was studying her grocery list on her phone when she pushed her cart down the end of an aisle. She stopped short, for she almost ran into a huge black cart full of bins.”

She said, “Oops! I didn’t mean to wreck you. I was paying attention to the phone, not to my driving. I don’t want to cause a big pile up like what’s happening in the snow storm on the northern interstate.”

The store employee laughed. “No harm, no foul. I couldn’t help but notice your earrings as you turned the corner. The light glowed on them and they’re really beautiful.”

“Thanks. They were handmade in Greece from antique glass. I got them from a European dealer who visits our annual church conference. I got two pair, so he gave me a discount for the purchases.”

“I used to work for a corporate retail group up North. I’d have people come in and ask for discounts all the time, like their neighborhood markets gave them. The best I could give them was 10% off if they signed up for a credit card. This was the company policy. You get tired of telling people NO all the time, especially the same people all the time.”

“I can understand that.”

“I like this job. I get to pull the grocery lists for people, then they come to the store, and we take it out to their parked car. I once worked at a big discount club pulling orders for businesses. This is more fun. Besides, I get to chat with people like you. Those are really amazing earrings. I even have blurry eyes, but I can tell they are quality.”

“Thank you.”

“My name’s Terry. If you ever want someone to shop for you, I’m your man.”

“Thank you, Terry. I’ll remember that.”

Epiona asked, “Miriam, were you sure you were dreaming this?”

“I’m pretty sure I was dreaming. Why do you ask?”

Dream Sequence: Noodle Brain

Epiona pursed her lips and took a deep breath before speaking. “It doesn’t have the odd disjunctive quality of a dream sequence. It’s more of a straight narrative, as if you were relating an event, in which you were a participant or an observer.”

Miriam paused, taking in this information. “This is a concern. I don’t think we need to share this with everyone. I do need to share it with Aaron.”

“I understand. I’ll be limiting your visitors while we run more tests. For now,only Aaron may visit you.”

“Thank you for this, Epiona.”

“Rest now. You need more than you think.”

As I lay back upon the cool pillow, my thoughts turned to my companion’s world and the noted observer of her planet’s life from a prior century:

“The events of life are mainly small events — they only seem large when we are close to them. By and by they settle down and we see that one doesn’t show above another. They are all about one general low altitude, and inconsequential.”

I thought of all the many small details of all the individuals who have touched me across the many years of my life: my bond relationships in my childhood, my mentors in my early priesthood, as well as my peers and my parishioners. All of these lives have woven the tapestry of my life. More importantly, some have been there to mend the rends and flaws every work of art acquires across the years.

Along the way, I’ve returned the favor, I hope, and have stitched up the ripped, and mended the worn and torn. No tapestry is too common for god’s care and compassion, so we who’re called to be the hands of god in our worlds do this healing work on god’s behalf.

I find a deep sleep coming over me. I wonder what Epiona put into my morning wake-up cup. If I remember this when I wake up, I’ll have a chat with her. This must be her way of ensuring, “Rest now. You need more rest than you think.”

Henri Rousseau: The Sleeping Gypsy

Autobiography of Mark Twain, Vol. 1 (University of California Press, 2010)
http://www.twainquotes.com/Life.html

4—NOTES ON LOVE AND LIFE

Who Am I?

Am I my body or am I my mind? Are the body and mind inseparable and conjoined instead? I’ve always wondered about this, since I travel with my mind beyond my home planet, but I leave my body on Didumos until I return and rejoin my body which awaits me. Do I cease to exist when I travel elsewhere because I’ve separated from my body, or do I exist in two places? In fact, I’m asking, “what is the essence of who I am?” Perhaps my journey with my companion will come close to answering this question.

My companion isn’t an actual drama queen, but when her brain chemistry and her blood sugar are in flux, her emotions swing from the high chandeliers. Of course, she has no such light fixtures in her midcentury high-rise condominium, but we on Didumos know such things from the palaces of our kingdom era. While she’s not yet ready to run away and join the circus, she does find herself rummaging around the kitchen as she mumbles to herself.

“Those two tacos I had for breakfast aren’t gonna get me through the wedding vow renewal at three this afternoon. I need some lunch for my blood sugar and at least half a Xanax for my anxiety. A toasted avocado sandwich with tomato and spinach on whole grain bread will hit the spot. My attitude will change once I get some food inside.” My companion busies herself in the small kitchen as she wishes she’d put bacon on the grocery list that week.

Portrait of Jaime Sabartes (The bock), 1901

Some people drink to ease their anxiety. My companion’s drug of choice has always been food. Once she chose cupcakes, doughnuts, and ice cream, but now she’s actively trying to pick healthier foods. Some people aren’t sensitive to low blood sugar, but my companion would notice hers dropping once it hit double digits. Below 90 she felt woozy, and below 70 she was either irritable, weepy, or punch drunk giddy. With readings below 70, others would become alarmed at her personality change, so she tries never to let her glucose drop so low. She always thinks of how others will feel, as well as what this would mean for her own health.

Paying attention to her own body’s needs was something she needed to relearn after many years of paying attention to the needs of others. As a pastor serving a church, she often put the needs of her church family before the needs of her own family and her own health. Years of stress had taken its toll and had put her health in crisis. Now she could no longer serve as a pastor. As the wags on her world say, “Denial isn’t just a river in Egypt.”

All of us will see what we want to see until we have to see reality. My mother said when I was young, I saw the world through a rose colored window. She meant I saw everyone and everything with a rosy glow, even if it was dull and gray. My daddy said I was afflicted with chronic optimism. As a child I was afraid it was incurable, but my daddy just laughed, saying, “When you get some age and experience under your belt, dear one, it will most likely resolve on its own.”

The Treasure at the End of the Rainbow

Often reality hits us in the face like a cold bucket of water. Sometimes it’s a frozen bucket and it hurts something fierce, but that’s only because we’ve been vacationing among the warmth of the pyramids in Egypt for so long. My companion knew this old friend of hers from her school days. Their families knew each other. Their parents were both healers in the same city. Both their parents attended the same college in their hometown, so they grew up on the campus. They attended the same churches and were in the same classes all through school.

“Let’s put a little light on the subject,” her friend would say as he entered a room, just as her own daddy would say. These words had been handed down from the healers in their families. They were a tradition, comforting to her. His ways and mannerisms were also familiar and endearing too, for they had been raised with the same customs and mores.

“I was feeling like a lonely old man and very sorry for myself.”
She laughed, “It’s a month before my birthday, and I’ll be a year older than you. Then you can be a young man, not an old man who feels sorry for himself.”

“If I’m with you, I’ll always be young.”
“Yes, and I feel better than I did before. I’ve eaten huge pieces of Romanian wedding cake and drank some homemade plum wine, moonshine, I think. I’m feeling pretty good.”

“Look, I know I haven’t been keeping up with you like I should. If we’re going to make this work, let’s call each other once a week.”
“That’s good. I was going to say, if you’re so busy with your work, your dying mother, your princess sister—I’m sorry, I just don’t think she pulls her weight—and bailing out your Uber driver and your batty housekeeper, well, I can take myself out of the mix and relieve you of the trouble. I don’t need anyone to take care of me. I’ve been through worse than this, but if you can’t respond to emails, well, do I need to take myself off the list of your things to do?”

“No—if I missed something in tech—and I could have—I’m sorry. We’ll make this think work. It’s been fifty years. If we’ve waited this long, we can make it happen.

They left it there for the next time. The proof would be in the pudding. Words mean nothing. Acts mean everything. Promises without following through are mere empty clouds bringing no rain to quench a thirsty soil. Many words can go into the dustbin of empty promises. My companion doesn’t make promises she doesn’t intend to keep. She also doesn’t keep people in her life who don’t keep their word.

Apple of Gold: Creative Power of Words

Her wise old grandfather reminded her on his death bed, “A word fitly spoken is like apples of gold in a setting of silver.” If she says she will do something, she’ll make it happen. Her yes is yes and her no is no. There’s no uncertainty with her. She doesn’t say what someone wants to hear to make them happy. Of course, that does make some folks unhappy, but you can’t please everyone. She doesn’t think everyone needs to be pleased, however, for we all should be about pleasing god first. We aren’t here to please this person or that person, for they don’t have god’s first interest at heart. They have their own interest first, not god’s will and desire. Of course, we all need to grow closer to the god who loves us all, so we can be of one accord. This is a mark of spiritual growth. As long as we say, “I want this,” rather than, “This would be good for all,” we won’t be growing in love of neighbor. Most of us are self-interested, but this is part of our nature.

Duplicity or double dealing is a crime on both our worlds. In the temples where I’ve served, sometimes a helpful person will come to me saying, “People are talking about your message last week. It caused quite a stir, if you know what I mean.”

“Oh? People? Unnamed people, or you in particular?” I’d reply.
“Well, just people.”
“OK, if those just people want to come discuss the topics which got them all a lather, they can visit me in the office. You can let those people know.”

Of course, no one ever shows up. “Just People” and “Some People” are the unnamed sources who are the community powers that be, but if they want to stay anonymous, they’re like a summer breeze: not here long enough to do any good or harm. Are they figments of imagination, or actual people? Someone may have wanted to use them as threats to move me to say or do something other than what god was calling me to do, but I wasn’t going to be moved by mere shadows. Of course, no one has ever visited me with stones or other violence. I’ve never been tested by that sort of trial.

Since people can always imagine “other unnamed persons” to try to influence a person, it seems we have in our hearts and minds the ability to pay attention to what my companion calls the lesser angels of our spirits, rather than the better angels of our nature. As a comedian of an earlier earth era once said, “The devil made me do it.” Some of our people have unwell minds, either through substance abuse or mental illness. They sometimes hear voices or see visions, some of which tell them to do outrageous acts. Some people with seizure disorders hear voices or see visions. Then again, we have people who seek visions through ingestion of halogenic substances, fasting, pain, or other extreme stressors. Are these out of body experiences or does the mind alone create them?

Pablo Picasso: Jacqueline with a Necklace Leaning on Her Elbow, 1959,
Linoleum cut print, Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York City.

I have no memory of anything happening to my body while I’m on a journey elsewhere with my companion, yet I remember everything which happens with her earthside. I remember nothing of my journey to or from earth. One moment I’m on Didumos, doing my ordinary priestly duties or being my usual self, and then I suddenly find myself inside the consciousness of my companion. Only my mind seems to travel, and my companion never notices my presence, as if I’m located in the depths of her mind, or in her unconscious self.

Do I influence her at all? I’d like to think she’s eating healthier since I’ve been traveling with her, but that may be only a coincidence, not a correlation. She exercises more and has a greater variety of interests, but that may also come from her new station in life. She can pursue those goals now that she has the free time.

Does she influence me? Indeed, I find her calm and steady attitude reassuring in the face of my new health challenge. She has learned how to manage her seizure condition and relieve her daily stress, which was precipitating her seizures. This was important because she needed to keep her driver’s license. Remaining independent is important to both of us. I want to leave the confines of the healing temple and go back to an independent life with my beloved Aaron. This won’t happen until I discover what makes me the person I am and how I can live with my condition.

Leonardo da Vinci (1452–1519), with his uncanny genius, placed the soul above the optic chiasm in the region of the anterior-inferior third ventricle (Santoro et al., 2009).

One of our ancient wise ones said, “I think, therefore, I am.” If this is true, “I am” whether I’m in the body or on a journey elsewhere. If I am my thoughts, where my thoughts go, there I am also. Of course, some say we have a soul, a part of us, separate from our minds and bodies. On Didumos, we don’t think about this, for we think all living beings participate in divine energies, as do the ground, the rocks, the water, and the fire. I know on my companion’s planet, human beings have immortal souls, which will spend eternity with their god. As our ancient writings both proclaim, “You send forth Your Spirit, they are created; and You renew the face of the ground.” If we all share in the creating spirit of god, we also all share in the renewing spirit of god.

St. Michael weighs the souls at the Last Judgment, Altar of The Last Judgement, detail. This, detail. is a painting by Rogier van der Weyden -c 1399-1464.

As the ancient scribes have recorded: “Do not be conformed to this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your minds, so that you may discern what is the good and acceptable and perfect will of god.” Every time I travel on one of my soul journeys, I’m transformed by my experiences, none of which I could possibly replicate by drugs, fasting, or any extreme asceticism. Besides, I’m not in favor of pain, and my understanding of the god of all love and mercy is that an horrific offering isn’t acceptable at the holy altar of our god.

I don’t willing separate my conscious self from my body when I have a seizure, but I certainly am not aware of my body at this time. You might ask me a question and I might answer, if I’m in the early stage of a seizure, but I’ll have no recall of the event. I can understand why Aaron and the healers are worried about my walking about town alone. I’m not in the protected sanctuary on the Shadowy Mountain anymore. I suppose I’m still afflicted with chronic optimism and I’ve yet to outgrow this condition.

Iridescent Beach at Twilight

Perhaps it’s just as well, for the bustling port city of Plusion has many citizens, not all of whom are fine and upstanding in character. So if I’m to be on a short leash for a time, I should thank god for this small favor for my safety. And if I get to touch my toes in the surf and search for shells along the seaside as a diversion for my mind and a relief for my stress, I will be thankful. With my Aaron beside me, I’ll be content wherever I go. His smile has a way of winning my heart over and over again, but his faithfulness through my comings and goings is what has sealed our bond for me. As I write these notes by a flickering light, I remember the words of one of our prophets:

“I call to mind, and therefore I have hope:
The steadfast love of god never ceases, god’s mercies never come to an end”

Aaron’s love for me has been rock solid through this strange trial, but by god’s grace, he’s never wavered. Perhaps his courage and discipline in his warrior life enduring deadly conflicts has schooled him for a steady heart as we face this challenge together.

Understanding Brain, Mind and Soul: Contributions from Neurology and Neurosurgery – PMC
https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC3115284/

3—NOTES ON LOVE AND LIFE

While I Breathe, I Hope

As the priest assigned to the sanctuary on the Shadowy Mountain, I had the privilege of meeting many who came to find their quiet place. Some came for a day, and some came to linger. Some were tourists and some were pilgrims. The former came in groups to glimpse the remnants of antiquity, photograph their presence among the temple ruins of our first gods, picnic among the wildflowers, and leave for home.

The pilgrims often came alone, wandered about the crumbling stones, contemplated the mysteries of the ancient sanctuaries, until they found a place to rest. There they’d listen to the silent voices on the breezes, which only they could hear. Perhaps they would take a photograph of the place to remind them of this spiritual experience, but the experience would often be enough. It would be forever impressed upon their heart, mind, and spirit.

The Temple of Aphrodite, Aphrodisias Archaeological site, Anatolia.

Such are my journeys to my companion’s home planet. I have no photographs to prove my travel itinerary, yet I hold deeply felt experiences. Just as I have no records of my love making with my bond mate Aaron, we’re both certain this event has happened more than once. We make love to one another as a mutual gift, with the goal to satisfy one another, as well as respecting each other. If one of us is sick or tired, we don’t impose ourselves upon the other. Sometimes we comfort each other by hugging gently until the pains go away.

After I’ve traveled to “elsewhere,” I feel depleted and washed out. My natural energy is gone. I must have left it back on earth, but Epiona says it’s a natural consequence for anyone with a seizure to feel tired. Evidently the brain uses up a lot of energy during a seizure. Of course, if I had a normal seizure, I’d sleep for three or four hours, but as Epiona says, “You have a unique condition.”

“Would you expect anything else?” I reply.
Epiona rolls her eyes and snorts, “You are a pain sometimes. I could give you a knockout cup and that would put you out of my misery.”

I laugh at her. “You shouldn’t take yourself so seriously.”
“Miriam, we’re all worried sick about you. Aaron especially.”

“I know, but I’m living with this, so let’s figure it out. If we can’t cure it, let’s learn how to live with it.”
“Now I know you need to sleep. Goodbye for now.” Epiona turned on her heel and that was the last I saw of her as my eye lids drooped closed.

Carole Raddato
Bronze statuette of Hypnos with a crown of poppies and wings at his temples. He is pouring the magic philtre that puts living beings into sleep out of a horn. 1st century AD, copy of Hellenistic original, National Archaeological Museum of Florence

Aaron met Epiona in the healer’s anteroom.
“How is she today?”

“Sleeping. I gave her a sleeping potion in her applesauce at lunch. She needs to sleep and I need to research treatments for her condition.”

“I was hoping I could have some time with her.”
“You can always sit with her and hold her hand. Her conscious self may not appreciate it, but her unconscious will be aware of your presence.”

“I don’t understand.”
“Our ancient prophets claimed the spirit of the Almighty God, who surely made all things and still searches out hidden things in hidden places, would do the same for those who believe today.”

“I think I see now: the unconscious is the hidden place, and inside it are hidden things, which Miriam has seen and done while she’s been away.”
“Yes, for one who’s not had spiritual training, you’re quickly catching up.”

“Thank you, Epiona. I think I was always the strong one in my warrior life, but I’ve discovered Miriam is the strong one in our bond life. I’m having a hard time without her.”

“You can be strong when she’s weak, Aaron. That’s what bond pairs do for each other. It’s a two-way street for mature individuals. Otherwise, one party is just a child, or an infant and the other is an adult. That’s not healthy at all. Now go be with her and get out of my hair. I have work to do.”
“I’d salute, but you’re not in uniform.”

“Get out of here or I’ll make you a sleep cup too!”
Aaron left laughing.

More Wake Up Cup, at least before 2 pm

Meanwhile on earth, Miriam’s companion was lying on the living room couch in a darkened room, while her mind pursued a downward spiral, with one thought pushing another until all the notions landed in one full pile at the bottom of a deep pit. I have a pounding headache just thinking about her situation, but her affection for a certain man was more like sickness than health. On top of her declining relationship, her body was going through the chemical readjustment necessary to change her medicine for her chronic depression. Her special friend hadn’t called her in two weeks, so she texted him, “We need to talk.”

Maybe that wasn’t the best message, or maybe he was just the type who gets busy with work and forgets about the human beings in his life. She wasn’t going to have any more of it. If he could take care of his uber driver’s catastrophes, his housekeeper’s meltdowns, and his sister’s inabilities to meet family obligations for their 92-year-old mother, but he couldn’t take time to text his girlfriend during her rough time, she was done with him and his chaos. If he was too emotionally strung-out to handle real life, she’d be glad to take herself off his plate for good.

“Farnese Atlas”, Greco-Roman marble statue 2nd CE, Naples Archaeological Museum

This is what happens to a person who has been strong too long, who has been the strong one for everyone else all the time. Everyone expects them to continue being strong all the time. Even when they tell people they’re falling apart, no one seems to hear it, since they’re so used to seeing the heroic persona they’re accustomed to see. Who sees a ragged cape on Superman? Does anyone see Batman without his mask? No one, but Superman gets weakened by kryptonite and Batman without his mask is an ordinary Bruce Wayne, who doesn’t fight crime at all.

Our heroic personas aren’t always with us, for sometimes we’re as weak as the kryptonite Superman. Then we need ordinary human beings to help us recover our strength and power. The question is, who will be that person for us, and will we be that person for someone else?

Tired Superhero

If we’ve ever been reduced to weakness, we’ll have a heart of compassion and love for others in the same situation. If we’ve always been strong, we’ll never have empathy for the weak. Most of us work all our lives to be strong and powerful, when learning to be weak would serve us better. “Only the strong survive,” the dominate say, but the compassionate who care for the least in the community teach us lessons of cooperation and love which help the group to thrive, not just a few individuals.

Sometimes the counter intuitive move sounds wrong, but turns out correct. We want to avoid our pain, to run away from any confrontation which might bring our situation to a head. If we see the putrid pimple on the end of our nose, then we either must pop it or cover it up. We must do something with it. We surely can’t leave it to grow larger until it festers and explodes on its own! Of course, it’d pick the worst time and place for that to happen. The earth people even have a law for such things: Murphy’s Law, If things go wrong, they will do the most damage at the worst possible time. My companion has years of middle school teaching experience to attest to this law.

Even if a person were blessed with a good complexion, the excitement or stress of exams or a big social event was sure to gift a youth with an eruption in the most notable place of the face. My companion, even in her 60’s and early 70’s, an age which is considered elderly on her planet, often dealt with stress induced facial breakouts on occasion. Perhaps too much rich food eaten to comfort her anxiety only induced more stress from the resulting pimples afterwards.

Emotions, especially the errant ones, are like pimples. They break out in unexpected and unwanted times, and usually at the most inappropriate moment. In fact, if Murphy had a law about emotions, it would be they’re expressed in the worst possible way at the most inappropriate time in the manner which would cause the most destruction.

Plato’s Phaedra metaphor for the emotions. Black-figure amphora. Charioteer readying for a synoris or two-horse chariot race. ca. 540 BCE, @metmuseum.

It’s no wonder the ancients considered the emotions to be a team of untrained and undisciplined horses, which rode slipshod over the planet unbridled and unguided. They needed training, discipline, a harness, and a guide. Without the guide to keep them on the straight and narrow, the horses would spook at the least thing.

Our emotions aren’t any different. My companion’s emotions have been all over the map as she has gone off one antidepressant and transitioned to another. She has enough discipline and experience to realize to recognize her anxiety spells and bouts of depression belong to the loss of chemicals in her brain. The titration process to bring the new prescription up to level will take time. She must be patient. While she has visions of the Titanic sinking at sea, she remembers that ship was lost, but she won’t have the same fate. She has hope.

Nevertheless, she wasn’t prepared for the loss of the good feelings, which would suddenly bottom out and leave her will tears welling up in her eyes, as if a storm cloud swiftly rolled in from the southwest, complete with thunder, lightning, and hail. If she’s outdoors, walking under a sunny sky, she will notice the fresh buds on a spring tree branch, or look down to find a dead and twisted dried leaf lying in the thin tendrils of the new spring grass. Crying again, she thinks how life is so closely juxtaposed with death.

Then she walks on, shaking her head from side to side, mumbling to herself, “No, no, no, don’t think of this now. Think of new life, new growth, and the new spring struggling to arrive. This is the new you trying to break through. Focus on the new!”

Holding onto a sign of life when the old world and the old self is dying is tough. The dead skin, like the dead leaves piled up under the trees in the forest in which she walks, will eventually recycle and become new through decomposition. On the forest floor, this composting provides new nutrients for the growing trees, plants, bulbs, and fungi. On her skin, the epidermal cells take 28 to 60 days to renew themselves. Older people’s skins take longer to renew for some reason. By the time my companion has a new outer skin, she’ll have a new brain chemistry also.

By the time her medicine has adjusted her brain chemistry, the light will be fully springtime, and the spring equinox will be heralding the better days ahead. That earth peculiarity known as Daylight Savings Time would be in full swing by then too.

One of her best choices was to call the significant other to see if he was actually “significant” or just an “other.” If time went by too fast when she was having fun, it went too slowly when she wasn’t. The watched pot never boils, but a person can sure stew in his or her own juices in the meantime.

“We need to talk” she texted him.
“That doesn’t sound good” he replied

“I don’t know if we need to keep up our renewal of our friendship or put it on hold for a while”
“I enjoy our conversation and our time together”

“I do too I miss you”
“Maybe you need maintenance now”

“Not maintenance. Need to talk”
“Tonight after 7 I’ll call”
“OK”

Her thoughts went to the suffering servant of her faith tradition. Job had lost all of his blessings from God, but remained somewhat hopeful :

“At least there is hope for a tree:
If it is cut down, it will sprout again,
and its new shoots will not fail.
Its roots may grow old in the ground
and its stump die in the soil,
yet at the scent of water it will bud
and put forth shoots like a plant.”

As another wave of despair washed over my dear companion, she hoped against hope, thinking, “While I breathe, I have hope.”

Chris Pilsner’s Original Music Score Dum Spiro Spero
https://www.chrispilsner.com/dum-spiro-spero

https://soundcloud.com/chrispilsner/dum-spiro-spero?utm_source=clipboard&utm_campaign=wtshare&utm_medium=widget&utm_content=https%253A%252F%252Fsoundcloud.com%252Fchrispilsner%252Fdum-spiro-spero