To Know The Dark
Wendell Berry
To go in the dark with a light is to know the light.
To know the dark, go dark. Go without sight,
and find that the dark too blooms and sings,
and is travelled by dark feet and dark wings.
Alex's Address
In many ancient myths,
goddesses, gods and heroes find themselves in the underworld, a place of
challenge and trial, where normal rules and ways of doing things don’t apply.
In the overworld, they
may be powerful and dominant. But here, in the underworld, they are weak, and
others are in charge. To emerge, they will need all their resources, their
guile and, in some cases, help from others.
Sometimes this trip is
freely chosen, usually to restore a lost lover to life, like Ishtar and Tammuz
or Gilgamesh and Enkidu.
But sometimes they find
themselves abducted to the underworld, or trapped there, like Persephone.
A journey through the
underworld was how many cultures understood the processes of change and
transformation that make up our lives.
Such journeys could be
voluntary, as in initiation rites, or less consciously chosen, such as in
extreme grief or, as it was for me, depression. Christian mystics have called
this kind of voyage ‘the long dark night of the soul’.
What do you do if you
find yourself in the underworld? And how can you get out again?
The first step is to
understand why you’re there. It may be that you’re on a short-term loan from
the overworld, needing to process grief with an obvious cause, like a
loved-one’s death, or a particular pain, before you can return to normalcy.
But it may also be that
you have something to learn, change or consider. If you have found yourself in
the underworld as a frequent visitor, or if your stay is dragging on, there may
well be a reason for this.
I don’t mean the
universe has it in for you.
I just mean that
sometimes – more often than we think – the underworld can be a place of
transformation, change and growth.
In his poem ‘To Know
the Dark’, Wendell Berry tells us that sometimes an absence of light can be
helpful. Get accustomed to it, and we can find a new world whose existence we
did not even suspect.
In Naomi Shihab Nye’s
poem ‘Parents of a Murdered Palestinian Boy’, two parents face what may be the
cruellest thing that can happen to them. And then, they turn it into something
utterly beautiful, a gesture of compassion that staggers in its generosity.
I see in this act an acceptance
of the terrible aspects of the human condition – the existence of weakness,
falling short, cruelty and selfishness – and a refusal to let it dominate.
The psychologist Carl
Jung would be impressed by this, but not surprised. He argued that it is only
through understanding our weaknesses and transgressions that we have the chance
to develop emotional maturity.
He called this the
‘Shadow’ side of human nature – the things we don’t, or don’t want, to
understand about ourselves, and the urges or desires we bury as inappropriate
or improper.
For Jung, only by
understanding and assimilating our own Shadow can we develop our full potential
and achieve psychological health.
A more recent school of thought - Ecopsychology – holds
that that our suffering arises not purely from within, but also, and
perhaps primarily, out of broken relationships to the natural world. It can
be a rational response to the hardships experienced by many that we witness.
Many people find themselves in the Underworld when
they see the full brutality of life, the needless suffering and cruelty, and
perhaps even worse, the necessary
suffering. I don’t imagine a gazelle being eaten by a lion enjoys it much. How can we leave the Underworld when above
ground, so to speak, there is so much suffering?
I think there are many
ways out, but the doors become more perceptible when you understand what it is
you are needing to learn. Do you need acceptance to deal with something awful
that has happened, but which is now unchangeable? Do you need to grapple with
your Shadow side to restore yourself to psychological health?
In many spiritual
traditions, there are figures whose role includes the teaching of wisdom.
Interestingly, these are often female, with goddesses in various pagan, Hindu,
Buddhist and even Christian traditions (the more Gnostic ones) seen as the
teachers of spiritual insight and truth.
They are also often
goddesses of transformation and paradox. They are happy to teach, but they
don’t always make it easy, and they can often appear as rather scary.
The wisdom-teaching
goddess I have been drawn to is the Crone. In Wiccan and other neopagan
traditions, the trinity is female, not male. There is ultimately one Goddess,
but She has many faces and can be divided into three main aspects – the Maiden,
Mother and Crone. These correlate with the phases of life: birth and youth,
maturity, and ageing/death.
Have you seen The Simpsons Movie? One of my favourite
parts of this is when Homer, having been even more selfish and obtuse than
normal, is left to his own devices by Marge and the kids. He has to go on a
journey that is both literal (walking from Alaska to Springfield) and
metaphorical (the quest for understanding).
He is helped in both by
a Native American Shaman, whom he calls "indian Boob Lady". For me, she is the
Crone: patiently teaching the same lesson over again, albeit with the odd
slap, until the penny finally drops.
So, a journey through
the Underworld can be a source of enlightenment.
It may not be.
Sometimes you’re just there.
But it can be. And if
you ever find yourself there, sit down quietly, and ask yourself: why am I
here?
Perhaps, if we can be
open, from pain and labour can come beauty; and, if we are assiduous, even personal
transformation.
