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When I was seeding and juicing the pomegranates for our dinner party last weekend, I told Steve the story of Persephone and Demeter. There are many versions of this ancient myth, but here are the main elements . . . .
The earth mother, Demeter, had a beautiful daughter called Persephone who was playing out in the meadow one day. Persephone came upon one particularly lovely bloom, a narcissus, and reached out her fingers to cup its lovely face. Suddenly the ground began to shake and a giant zigzag ripped across the land. Up from deep within the earth charged Hades, the God of the Underworld. He stood tall and mighty in a black chariot driven by four horses the colour of ghosts.
Hades seized Persephone into his chariot, her veils and sandals flying. Down, down down into the earth he reined his horses. Persephone’s screams grew more and more faint as the rift in the earth healed over as though nothing had ever happened.
When Demeter discovered that her daughter was missing, she was distraught. She neglected her duties in her grief and all that grew began to die. She who had made everything grow in perpetuity, cursed all the fertile fields of the world, screaming in her grief, “Die! die! die!” Because of Demeter’s curse, no child could be born, no wheat could rise for bread, no flowers for feasts, no boughs for the dead. Everything lay withered and sucked at parched earth or dry breasts. She searched everywhere on earth for her daughter but when she could not find her she appealed to Helios, the God of the Sun, who could see everything. Helios told Demeter of Persephone’s abduction by Hades.
Demeter confronted her husband Zeus, the King of the Gods. Zeus saw the crops dying and knew that he needed to take action so that Demeter could return to her duties. He agreed to negotiate with Hades for the return of Persephone.
Meanwhile, in the underworld, with Persephone’s great capacity for love, she came to know Hades not just as her abductor and saw that the actions he had taken were motivated by love for her. She came to understand and love Hades and accepted from him a pomegranate, eating six of the seeds and thus binding her to Hades in marriage. Through this marriage she also took the title, and accepted the responsibilities, of Queen of the Underworld.
When Hades explained to Zeus that Persephone had become his wife, through the symbolic eating of the pomegranate seeds, Zeus ordered a compromise, declaring that Persephone should spend six months of each year in the Underworld with Hades and the remaining six months should be spent with her mother, Demeter, assisting each with their respective duties during the time she was with them. Her annual return to the earth in spring was marked by the flowering of the meadows and the sudden growth of the new grain. Her return to the underworld in winter, conversely, saw the dying down of plants and the halting of growth.
This is a multi-layered story.
It gives us an explanation for the seasons as Persephone’s return to her mother is reflected in the spring when Demeter tends to her responsibilities and things begin to grow again. The fertility of the land continues to grow into summer but when Persephone returns to Hades, Demeter again begins to mourn and neglects her duties so things begin to die in the autumn and winter months. In this way, Persephone is the goddess of life, death and rebirth.
The Greek goddess Persephone represents both the youthful, innocent, and joyous maiden aspect of a woman as well as the more womanly self who, innocence lost and family attachments loosened, can begin to consciously make decisions for herself. As Queen of the Underworld, Persephone assists those who are having difficulty transitioning from the land of the living to the land of the dead. She often gained their confidences and through their confessions and her powers of insight and empathy, she became the keeper of much secret knowledge.
The Eleusian Mysteries were an Athenian religious festival held in honor of Demeter. The mysteries existed from Mycenaean times 
(circa 1600-1200 BCE), thought to have been established in the 1500s BCE and held annually for two thousand years. The Roman emperor Theodosius closed the sanctuary in CE 392, and finally it was abandoned when Alaric, king of the Goths, invaded Greece in CE 396. This brought Christianity to the region, and all cult worship was forbidden. Our sources of information regarding the Eleusinian Mysteries include the ruins of the sanctuary there; numerous statues, bas reliefs, and pottery; and reports from ancient writers.
The true nature of the Mysteries remains shrouded in uncertainty because the participants did, with remarkable consistency, honour their pledge not to reveal what took place in the Telesterion, or inner sanctum of the Temple of Demeter. The successful candidate in the Eleusinian mysteries would have been purified, initiated, and ultimately had a change of consciousness in which a perception of the divine was achieved – the realisation that death is part of the cycle of life and is always followed by rebirth.
The Persephone myth can be helpful in explaining a modern woman’s psychological need to leave her mother and the topside world in order to deepen and mature as a human being, to get to know her hidden depths and the shadowy contents of her psyche. Several of the post Jungian authors I read in the early 1990’s when I was a graduate Counselling Psychology student – Maureen Murdock, Claudia Pinkola Estes, Linda Leonard Shierse, Kim Chernin offer women a road map to follow or at least an open door to walk through in order to discover a way into finding wholeness and meaning in a patriarchal society. At the time, I did what deep work and exploration I was capable of; but feel that I am now able to delve even deeper and feel ready to get back into the deep work of discovering who I am now, where I’ve come from and finding meaning in my life.
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Proserpine
Afar away the light that brings cold cheer
Unto this wall, – one instant and no more
Admitted at my distant palace-door
Afar the flowers of Enna from this drear
Dire fruit, which, tasted once, must thrall me here.
Afar those skies from this Tartarean grey
That chills me: and afar how far away,
The nights that shall become the days that were.
Afar from mine own self I seem, and wing
Strange ways in thought, and listen for a sign:
And still some heart unto some soul doth pine,
O, Whose sounds mine inner sense in fain to bring,
Continually together murmuring) —
‘Woe me for thee, unhappy Proserpine’.
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— D. G. Rossetti
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The oil painting and chalk drawing of Proserpine, or Persephone, were made by the Pre-Raphaelite artist Dante Gabriel Rossetti, using Jane Morris as his model. You can find further information on each work of art by clicking on each image. While writing this post, I came across a couple of very in depth resources for the original Persephone myths - Theoi Greek Mythology and The Endicott Studio and Journal of Mythic Arts for an essay by Kathie Carlson based on the Homeric Hymn to Demeter.
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Seeds of knowledge
Being at the Festival of Quilts a few weeks ago gave me a great opportunity to see some fantastic fibre art and art quilts, share a big part of my life with Steve, spend time with a new friend and see some familiar faces. It also touched off a maelstrom of thoughts and a myriad of feelings. I’m not sure if the whole quilt show/competition/teaching/lecturing/writing a book thing is for me. When I see people I know who are publishing books and winning prizes, I feel envious and slightly frustrated. Not because I wish it were me, but because they’ve found a niche, reached a goal that makes them happy. If I went after those things it would be to try and find recognition of my artwork, the purpose and meaning of it and a sense of belonging outside, like how I used to search for home outside of myself or the way some people covet and acquire material things, but still feel empty inside.
However, the good thing about knowing what I don’t want to pursue is that I am left with a void of quiet, stillness, intimacy, soul, essence and knowing. Here is some of what I know-
- I’m able to make the work which makes me happy and is meaningful to me – the Little Gems I made, I had been imagining for a couple of years. I put how I feel about things and how I see the world into what I make. It’s deep and people who see my work can have a deep response. That satisfies me.
- I love to make things that people can wear or meditate on (or both!), with words hidden on the inside, private and intimate.
- I love to make commissioned work for people and use my communication skills to connect with and discover what a person would like to have expressed in a piece of my artwork.
- I love to show my work in places where there is space for contemplation, which invite a sacred and soul experience.
- With teaching, there are people who are far better teachers than I, who can explain the steps and lead people through creating a project. I love to work with people in a way that combines my counselling skills with spirituality and art-making. Not necessarily Art Therapy, but deep, healing work via creativity.
So I do know which way to go, but I’ll be making my own map. It is always scary to find my own way, I worry about getting lost! It’s wonderful to have found home inside finally and to be making a home together with Steve. He understands about what I want to do with my artwork and I have the feeling that he will do anything he can to encourage and support me. I’m also getting gleamings and glimmerings of recognition from real-time friends and from cyber-friends in the wider eCommunity which are invaluable.
In the process of setting up my new studio, I’ve sorted through a bunch of stuff. I’ve weeded out a lot, but have found and set aside some seeds of ideas that I’ve had in the past couple of years. In early 2007, I completed a foundation course called ‘Art in Mental Health’ taught by Karen Huckvale and Malcolm Learmonth of InsiderArt. I decided not to go on and become trained as an Art Therapist, but the course helped me to clarify what my art making means for me and to reflect upon my creative journey. Here is the paper I wrote at the end of my course. It was good to re-discover and re-read it. Artful Engagement reminds me of what it’s all about for me and helps me to chart my course.
Am I creating for approval or the edgy contrast of anti-fame
Mmmmmmmmmm . . . . . . . Steve and I are back home after a lovely week away campering in the Cotswolds. Campering = camping + pampering. We camped for 5 nights and stayed for a night in the ’boutique’ Milsom Hotel in Kenilworth. Our hotel stay was on the evening of our spa day in Lemington Spa. Utter luxury. The camping was great, as always, and especially so as the weather was perfect – dry and sunny, not too cool.
I got up very early this morning and had a cup of Rooibos Chai with milk & honey and cinnamon toast, watched the jackdaws on the rooftops, drafted a new post and looked at recipes for an autumn equinox feast we are having this weekend with six of our friends.
I had my tea in a cozy cup that I bought from local potter Gilly Haysom. It is so called because it is made to cradle perfectly in my hands.
I adore the autumn and winter and am really looking forward to the long dark nights, cozy times at home and dreaming over all that we have done this summer and making plans for the future. I think my new cup will really come into it’s own in the next few months.
Today, September 5th is my mother’s birthday. Nell Rose Schwakhofer née Martin. She was born in 1924 and she died from breast cancer on January 20, 1980. She was 55 and I was 16. Neither myself nor my family coped very well and after she died, nobody realised the importance of keeping things that belonged to her. Denial and then ‘Out of sight, out of mind’ were the order of the day. I have a very few of her belongings and some photographs, memories of her from a child’s point of view and some stories and recollections about her from her sisters and some of my older cousins who knew Aunt Nell.
buddha
One thing that I do have of hers is a wristwatch. Nothing special, just a self-winding Timex that she bought from Long’s drugstore in the 1970’s. The works had sprung years and years ago, but I found a clock-maker/repairer in Birmingham who was able to replace the innards with a self-winding clockwork. On the days that I need to keep track of ‘topside world’ or chronos time I wind it up, set the time and wear it.
buddha
When I went away to college and started to look away from my family, hometown and childhood and forward into adulthood and the life that stretched before me, I thought of my mom. In her late 40’s, she started taking evening classes at a Community College. She wanted to get a degree in Early Childhood Education and pursue her dream of becoming a Montesorri teacher. She learned how to swim, wore a black armband in alliance with an Indian Rights movement on campus, came home forom her Biology class very excited about having looked at her blood cells under a microscope! A couple of years after that, she left a very destructive relationship with my father. Sadly, she developed breast cancer around that time and died a few years later. So on one hand, I saw her life blossoming. It gave me a wonderful view of an older (to me) person doing something different, trying something new, reaching for a dream. One gift from my mother has been no worries about growing older myself. People can do extraordinary things at any age and it’s probably not as late as you think.
On the other hand, don’t put things off and let chances slip by. At the same time in my early 20’s, I wondered what else she may have done if she had lived. Were there other dreams that never came to fruition, were some simply too late to try, did she have any regrets over opportunities lost or avenues not pursued while she was still in a cage? I’ll probably never know, but for myself from a pretty young age I resolved to live my life so that I would not have any (or many) regrets when I got into the middle part of my life. In fact I started seeing a counselor in my final year at University and the first thing I said was ‘I don’t want to be like my mom and start living my life when I’m 50 and die a few years later’. When I look back at my life so far and where I am today, I truly did and continue to explore many paths and opportunities that come before me. One of my maxims is ‘Will I get this chance again and how might I feel if I pass on this one?’. I am grateful for the insight and awareness that I gained from my mother’s life and death in the relatively short time that I knew her.
Here is a little poem about Time that my mom and I found on a sundial somewhere in New England in 1976. We were on a 6 week roadtrip from California to the East Coast to visit her sisters and where she grew up.
Time flies, suns rise,
Flowers bloom and die.
Let time go by and shadows fall,
Love is forever, over all.
So now, when I wear my mother’s watch, I wind it up and set the time. I become aware of the time now. Chronos time. Time in the topside world of society and cities and doing and goals. Maybe I think of where I need to be that day and where my steps and tasks and meetings are taking me. Some times I think of my mom, of Nell, and I wonder what plans she had for any particular day when she wound her watch and set the time - where did she need to be and why, and where were her dreams taking her. I also remember that love is the only thing that really matters and lasts forever, beyond all time.
Such a wonderful and timely treat to have recently received some feedback from two women named Pam from two different countries. I’ve been feeling wildly unfocussed with Inspiraculum. What the heck is it???? A (not very much recently) fibre art/cooking/self-indulgent ‘This is my life’ blog. . . or what? Where is it going? Who knows!
Still, it really is nice to hear that some folk are along for and enjoying the journey.
Pamela in Colorado wrote:
“Please continue to write as it takes me to places I would so love to see. Your pennings are such a treat for me that on occasion I will sit at my computer, coffee in hand and spend an afternoon exploring, enjoying the woods, solitude and the finery of the English countryside (oh! and the cooking too!) with you. Every time I go to England I feel like I’m connected to my soul again.”
And Pam from Australia nominated Inspiraculum for the One Lovely Blog award!
Thanks for sharing the love : )
I feel so busy and in the flow. Sunday a fortnight ago, the day after the housewarming party, was a ‘day off’ during which we vegged out and ate leftovers. Then back to work for three days and Steve and I went to Cambridge and Norfolk last weekend. Another three days at work, friends visiting from Birmingham this weekend and then we are off to Kent to celebrate our birthday week. I have so much to write about and process, yet it’s difficult to find the time. May be a reflection of summertime, a season of busy-ness and growth. There is a swirl of experience and images eddying within, but one keeps rising to the surface.
On the north coast of Norfolk, Steve and I walked along the Morston Marshes to the village of Blakeney. On the way back, my hands were occupied with a dead butterfly and a tern wing I had picked up. We are sharing Steve’s camera at the mo. Mine fell victim to my annual camera mishap. Literally. I was making a video of the interior of our fridge (don’t ask) and it fell on the floor when I opened the door.
Anyhow, on the way back to Morston Quay, we saw a boat made from clouds and sky floating on a sea of grass. Steve took the photo.
We had talked a few weeks ago about night dreams and waking dreams. How everything new starts with a thought, a notion, a vision. About how practical, pragmatic folk derisively say ‘You’re just a dreamer’ and ‘Your head’s in the clouds’. Steve pointed out that you can’t have dreams unless you are awake. Awake to possibilities and in touch with the power of one’s creativity to manifest them.
Everything new begins with a dream . . . .
