Belly of the Underworld

My brain is so full of ice and snow that I can’t seem to think very clearly lately. It isn’t just the unusual weather we’re having, though that doesn’t help. The ice and “snow” are beautiful, but it amuses me to hear everyone talking about how unreasonably cold it is. I suppose if you’ve never lived anywhere else, this weather does feel unreasonably cold. But I went to college in Chicago; it wasn’t uncommon for the temperature to reach -20 degrees and colder. So while this weather is a welcome break from the norm, it isn’t altogether that cold.

But I don’t dare say as much to these Texans. Never compare oppressions, and all that. And besides, no one likes “that girl”. So instead I agree: it’s freezing outside!

That, at least, is true.

It’s been interesting, however, spending the last few days trapped in the house, with schools and work closed due to inclement weather. It’s been a solitary and somewhat spiritual experience: do I really have within myself everything I need? Am I truly all that I require in this world?

I’m not, of course, and I don’t imagine that most people are. I don’t think we’re supposed to thrive in solitude. However, some solitude is required. It’s necessary to draw inward, into our own dark places where living things rot, in order to see what needs pruning, what needs praising. In my own underworld, I see a frail Wife desperately poking her head upward toward sunlight: she has good roots, but she is unaccustomed to her role. And I see within a troubled Mother, misshapen and ugly, though trying diligently to straighten herself out. And while it is sometimes embarassing to see these things, it is better to see them and shape then while they are still malleable than to lament what they will turn into if left unattended.

A long time ago, when I was another person, I was visited by Persephone. She sat on my counter as I was washing dishes. And she said to me, “I wasn’t kidnapped, you know. Honey, I went down there of my own free will. You can’t know shit about Heaven if you don’t make peace with your own Hell.”

It might have been shameful of her to mix mythologies like that: or perhaps she was just savvy enough to speak my language. I find that God does that: God will speak in whatever tongue you’ll listen to. God is a master of language and poetry. I think that’s why we get on so well. When we’re speaking.

But I took that lesson to heart. It’s so much easier to appreciate the bounty that I’ve been blessed with if I take a moment to look at the all things I still have going wrong. It’s nice to say, “At least I have my family!” …or my friends, or my work, or whatever. Lessons in gratitude are important.

Moreover, the descent into the Underworld isn’t permanent. We all come back eventually–wiser, smarter, stronger. But I ain’t gonna lie: sometimes the journey is a bitch.

The world is frozen over, and here I am sheltered within my home, with my family and my work to keep me company. The underworld will still be there tomorrow. Today, I look for the sun.