Circe

"Sorceress Circe" Angelo Caroselli c.1630

On Circe, Judith Yarnall comments of this figure ..."What we know for certain – what Western literature attests to – is her remarkable staying power…These different versions of Circe's myth can be seen as mirrors, sometimes clouded and sometimes clear, of the fantasies and assumptions of the cultures that produced them." After appearing as just one of the characters that Odysseus encounters on his wandering, "Circe herself, in the twists and turns of her story through the centuries, has gone through far more metamorphoses than those she inflicted on Odysseus's companions." (Judith Yarnall, Transformations of Circe, University of Illinois, 1994, pp1-2)

About a month ago, a friend loaned me the recent bestseller, Circe by Madelyn Miller.  I was a bit hesitant to dive into it for a couple of reasons - 1) My life has been so busy lately, if I sit too quietly, for example to read or mediate, I often fall asleep; and 2) I think I have read all the mythology/sorceress/wise women tomes necessary for one lifetime. But my Midwest nice and work to completion ethic would not allow me to pass the book back, unread.  I also knew my friend would want to discuss all the various parts in the book.

In her book, Ms. Miller's imaginings go beyond the short period of time Circe is present in Homer's Odyssey.  We learn what Miller thinks Circe's childhood may have been like, and her what her solitary immortal adult life on her island of Aiaia may have included.

As often happens when reading a well written book, as I read further into the chapters, I began to see similarities between me and the protagonist.  Here was this child who loved and cherished her father and sought out every opportunity to be near him and impress him.  I can relate.  It is also commonly held, the topic of many conversations within and without the family, that this child was not as beautiful as, not as smart and strong as, her siblings.  Her looks, her voice, her actions annoyed everyone.

Eventually her father banishes her to, hopefully, save his own reputation and status.  I was relating hard by this part of the story.

She ends up on an island all by herself where she learns to make the best of her life, learning all she can about where she lives, and invites creatures into her home as company to substitute for the human companionship, maybe even love, she yearns for.  When her family and acquaintances learns that she tames wild creatures, makes potions and teas out of plants and roots, and takes odd people as lovers, they are not surprised or impressed.

Yet, those who know of her unconventional life style do not hesitate to ask for her assistance when they are in a bind.  They demand that she drop what she is tending to and give them potions or energy or whatever they desire.  She helps them, but often to her detriment.  In the end (not really a spoiler her, but skip the rest of this paragraph if you're worried) sadly, her story becomes just another happily every after story.

I feel like I could be Circe of the first and middle chapters of this book, only more crone-ish and cranky.  My Aiaia could be my whole adult life, a place I know well and where I have conjured safety and magic in equal proportions.  The wild beasts I've tamed could be those who met me without judgment and grew to respect my magic and nurturing for their own safety, growth, and maturing.  To this island of mine and my creatures, visitors come to and leave my shores.  

I could go on metaphorically about what all the visitors brought and took and left with me.  But suffice to say, parenthood and experience are the treasured gifts that came. I sat at my loom, whatever creative metaphor that part of the story is, and wove memories, lessons, and emotions from those experiences into the fabric of my life.  It seemed profound and affirming to compare my life to Circe's ... until the last chapters.

To the last chapters I say, "Really Madelyn Miller?"  You used all that creativity and imagination to create a life full of strong, brave, insightful, tender, and self-preserving episodes in Circe's life.  But in the end, you could not resist, like so many before you who have told Circe's story, having her swept away by the love of a good man who made her life complete.

I am not anti-love or relationships.  But I am a realist, I know the statistics for women my (and Circe's) age and re-partnering.  I would like to see a protagonist, especially one like Circe, who was so strong on her own through the majority of her life find peace and satisfaction in their solitary life.

In the spirit of my blog's name, Midlife Midwest, I give Madelyn Miller's Circe, 🌽🌽🌽🌽🌽 out of ten, because reading is better than not reading.   

Lacuna

la·cu·na

/ləˈk(y)o͞onə/

noun

noun: lacuna; plural noun: lacunae; plural noun: lacunas

1. an unfilled space or interval; a gap

I'm spending some time going through my journals today.  I recorded this dream in January of this year. I've been meditating on this concept since I had this dream.  Honestly, finding very little "lacuna" in my life these days.  Or?  Maybe I am stuck in some sort of gap or space in my life.

***************************************************

I got up early today - tested if I should be up for the day at 6:30 am by brewing myself a cup of coffee and gazing at the transformed puffy white branches that appeared overnight.  But the caffeine and snowscape was not enough to keep me awake in my chilly apartment.

Back in bed, I fell back to sleep almost immediately.  As I was drifting off, snug under my 20 pound weighted blanket, I was hoping for a dream and I wasn't disappointed.

The dream started with me being at some sort of gathering place at the bottom of sloping hills.  There was a large house and several small buildings close to the very large building I was in.  I could see all around because one wall of the building I was in had a large overhead door that was open.  There was a cavernous gathering room with tables and benches in this building, surrounded by doors that led to individual rooms for guests.  

There were a lot of people there.  At first I didn't recognize anyone.  Then Molly came.  I also "wondered" if some of the people milling around were other family members or people I knew.  Molly and I sat at a table and just looked around until an older man, a bald and tall Ross Perot in khakis and a blue chambray shirt, came over and asked why we were there.

I had no idea why we were there, so I began spewing things like, need a break, thought this was a retreat, it's so beautiful here . . . .  I thought he might be angry that we didn't have a good enough reason to be there, his arms crossed in front of his chest and his scowling face nodding from time to time as I talked.  

All of a sudden, one of Molly's staff slid onto the bench beside me.  I was terrified that I was in trouble because she was there.  The man and the staff looked at each other and broke into a joyous reunion.  They explained they'd known each other for a long time but didn't even know that they were each "still here."  They hugged and talked, and hugged some more.  

Finally the man stood on top of our table and called out, "It's time for you to explore.  I'll reward you when you return."  He then instructed us to go hike into the hills on any of the dirt paths.  I gazed out the large door and saw a network of wiry trails on every single hill that surrounded the valley we were in.  Already, the fastest hikers appeared like little ants, gliding up and down over the hills.

I offered to stay in the building and let Molly and her staff make the trek.  Getting up and exerting energy to hike  up and down seemed exhausting. Because no one invited me to stay, I felt compelled to go out and hike.  (At this point, I remember thinking that I was glad this was a dream and I didn't have to actually go and hike those hills.)  

I dragged behind Molly and staff, encouraging them to keep their fast pace ahead of me and not worry about me.  I'd stop to tie my shoe, to zip my jacket, to put my short hair into a ponytail, to put on gloves.  Finally, they were ahead far enough that I could not see them. I was only a few yards from the building we started from.

I went back inside.  There was the man.  He said, "I knew you'd be first back, that you wouldn't go far.  You'll still get a gift from me for your effort."  I felt relieved, but somewhat embarrassed that I'd made such little effort to hike the hills.  After what seemed a very long time, the masses of people returned, rosy and invigorated from their long hikes.  I regretted my choice to opt out of the hikes as I heard them exclaiming what beauty they'd witnessed from the different hill tops.  

Molly and her staff, as invigorated as the rest, found me.  We all got in line to receive our gifts from the man.  I could not see what people were getting at the head of the line, as we were way in the back.  I was, in fact, the last person in line.  (I worried I might wake up before I got my gift because it was taking forever!)

People squealed and gasped, hugged and cried as they held their gift gently in their cupped hands.  As we inched closer, I could sometimes seen a glimmer of light, sometimes a flash of white.  No matter what, the reaction was the same.  I was so confused.  Eventually I could see that some people got what appeared to be a precious jewel, while others got a small piece of vellum paper.

I was increasingly anxious about how long this was taking.  First I worried Molly, her staff, and I would not get a gift before I woke up.  I needed to know what we were getting!  Finally, there were only a few people ahead of us, but I could sense I was beginning to wake up.  Then I did.  For a moment.  I pulled the covers up higher and turned over, and fell immediately back to sleep.

Now, Molly and her staff were holding small jewels. I did not get to witness them receiving their gifts or hear what the man said to them.  Molly's jewel was purple, her staff's was blue.  I had nothing in my hand.  

There was a woman (in western wear) standing where the man had been and she was making an announcement.  She said "He's gone.  He passed peacefully.  He was so happy to see all of you."

Everyone began weeping quietly. The tears seemed to be more of gratitude and joy for having known him than for sorrow or loss.  I began crying too, hoping people would think my tears were as joyous and calm as the rest, when really I was so sad for myself missing a gift.  

I imagined the jewels were very valuable and could have been sold for a great sum.  I imagine the paper had some sort of valuable information from the reaction of those who received the papers.  I could not stand to be there any longer, giftless.  I wanted to wake up, but I did not.  

The woman who'd taken the man's place, and who I was certain saw through my false emotions, made her way to me.  I was afraid she was going to call me out.  Instead she smiled softly and held out her closed hand.  This sort of pissed me off.  She was so genuinely kind.  I wanted to call HER out about the lack of equality in the gifts and the delivery.  I wanted to demand to know who she was, who the man was, where we were, why we were there . . . I did not want to touch her.

But I did.  I put out my outstretched open palm under her still closed hand.  In a flash, she opened her hand and out floated a small vellum strip of paper that landed on my hand.  I grasped it and brought the paper back to where I could read it.  There was one word on it.

Is this really what others were so excited about getting?  Did we all get the same word? I wanted to call her out for the hokiness of the whole process, the whole dream.  Before I could mount my protest, I was being held by Molly, her staff, and this women.  In a moment, I went from cranky to enraptured.  Like others who got their gifts earlier, bliss-filled tears wet my cheeks.

Finally our little cluster hug broke up and the woman said to me,  "You know, he saved that one just for you.  Use it when you feel you need to."  

I looked down and and read the word again.  Lacuna.  I looked back at the woman, puzzled.  "Really," she said, "it's a gift."

I fell back to sleep and woke up cranky.  Or something.  The word, lacuna, rattles around my brain and psyche.  I imagine how everything and anything in my life is like, or could be, an unfilled space, a gap?  And how is that a gift?

It's been a year . . . .

It's been a WHOLE year since:

    I posted on this blog . . .

    I traveled to Scotland . . .

    I left a job I loved but did not have the energy to continue . . .

    I started a job I love even more than the last one . . .

   

It's been ALMOST a year since:

    I made any new art . . .

    Molly almost died . . .

    I spent an hour writing for me, not work . . .

    I went swimming every day . . .

    I went to bed at night without thinking of work . . .

    I went on vacation . . .

    I took a sick day . . .

    We decided things were just too complex for it to work . . .

But it's only been a MOMENT since:

    My heart swelled at the thought of you all . . .

    I  worried about you all . . .

    I reminded myself for the millionth time that you all are strong, smart, brave . . .

    I missed you all . . .

    I had grandiose plans to be motivated to . . .

    I committed to finally do it this time . . .

What have you all been up to?