There Are No Dead Ends in a Labyrinth ꩜

I was supposed to be on a break when Ariadne appeared in my backyard.

Wellllll, "appeared" makes it sound like She showed up uninvited. 

I absolutely broke my own rule and pursued an audience with Her. 

It's a long story. 

After a summer of grappling with my place as a Pagan teen, I had determined- with the help of a polytheist diviner- that I needed to take a brief break from my normal religious obligations. It's always been exhausting to practice mysticism in a culture torn between extremes of Christianity and atheism. Now the cognitive dissonance was becoming too much for me. A spiritual fog crept in like a persistent head cold and haunted me from May to September. A good word for that- other than burnout- is "miasma."

I've always had a difficult relationship with the concept of miasma ("spiritual pollution" in ancient Greek). It took me years to separate miasma from the Christian conception of sin, and even longer to accept that miasma is an important part of a Hellenic polytheist worldview. Demetrian priestess Suz Thackston wrote an essay about miasma years ago that helps to reframe it: miasma is not a punishment, but rather, a grace period for us to sort out our human problems. Abiding by the rules of miasma- which includes taking a break sometimes- helps us to be fully centered in our dealings with the Gods. Plus, it's good spiritual hygiene. 

That didn't make it hurt any less when I got the results of the tarot readings.

I felt like I had been broken up with by the entire Greek pantheon. I might as well have been blocked, because Olympos was definitely not answering my calls. I cried for hours. Without my spirituality as a coping mechanism, the darkness was descending on me like a plague. When I finally found the strength to crawl out of my chaiir, I veiled all my shrines and resigned myself to going no-contact with the Gods for the next two weeks. It seemed like the "proper" thing to do. 

No contact, hahahahahaha.

Did I say two weeks? I lasted two hours.

(In my defense, Persephone said I could).

Here's the thing: I've experienced the Gods in sickness and suffering and terrible fog. Miasma has never been a reason to go no-contact before, and I didn't see why I should do it now. When I unveiled the shrines a few hours later, it was like I could breathe again. My head cleared and I set my sights on figuring out how to observe a miasma period without closing myself off to divine experiences altogether. 

1)- Determine why you're miasmic. In the past, my miasma had typically been incurred from a mundane problem like social drama, breakups, or being shitty to someone. This time, none of the above were relevant to my situation. The cards did, however, point to a lack of balance. I had been dealing with existential doubt since spring, but had still continued to (sporadically) practice my religion as though nothing was wrong. Now I was hurtling toward burnout. The only answer was to take a break and address my priorities. 

2)- Step back from regular religious obligations. That meant no more elaborate prayer schedule, no more daily libations, no more labor-intensive autumn equinox rituals. I did, however, continue to wish the Gods good morning and goodnight every day. I've been doing that since I was a newbie Pagan, and I don't intend to ever stop.

3)- Wait it out. In my case, I'm still taking it easy until the full moon on the 29th

I had expected to feel cut-off that first week. Instead, I started noticing the Gods everywhere.

Hera was the wind in my hair on a crisp autumn day. Zeus was the rain pitter-pattering against my window at night. Persephone was petrichor, mushrooms sprouting from the damp soil. Artemis was the outline of the crescent moon against the misty sky. 

I had spent so much time pursuing The Gods with elaborate prayers and offerings, or searching for Them in the depths of my own subconscious. And They were there the whole time. All I had to do was step outside. As soon as I stopped fighting to understand Them, Their presence came flooding back to me, as if They'd never left all. I bet Hermes is laughing at me as I write this. 

I felt, and feel, more free than I have in months. 

One Goddess, in particular, was on my mind that week: Ariadne, bride of Dionysos, believed by many to be an older Cretan Goddess. 

Ariadne first appeared to me over the summer, in a bizarre dream set in NYC where Dionysos was using social media to mobilize Gen-Z into a maenad cult (yes, actually). Dream-Ariadne was a runaway trans kid, kicked out by her parents and abandoned by her boyfriend (Theseus). Dionysos found her sleeping on a street corner, and gave her a coat. 

It was a strange introduction to Ariadne, and one I haven't made sense of yet. In the first few days of my miasma grace-period, I journaled about Her, researched Her, and attempted to write a song about Her. Finally- when the curiosity was killing me- I stepped into my backyard in the dead of night and requested an audience with the Goddess. I had nothing to offer Her except a glass of ice water and a song. 

Dionysos answered instead. 

So you want to meet my Ariadne?

His voice curled around my ears like smoke. I managed a nod.

Her ways are not ours, little priestess. Are you prepared for what you'll see?

"Show me," I whispered. 

A wave of his hand, and I found myself flat on my back in the crunchy grass, staring up at the stars.

Do you know who I am? Ariadne's voice rumbled from deep in the earth. The stars spun before me, white bulls leaping across the sky. 

Visions flashed before my eyes: a bare-breasted priestesses throttling two snakes. A bowl lifted to my lips, the taste of opium poppies on my tongue. Athletes leaping over bulls, who flickered and morphed into Spanish matadors. The first tremors of an earthquake. The eye of a lioness. A single torch lit in cave-darkness.

It was I who put these stars in the sky. 

Ariadne was ancient, so ancient that She made the Olympians look like infants. She was there when the Aegean islands formed. She was there for the first stirrings of their civilizations. 

My body shook under Her raw power. Any more of a glimpse, and I would get spaghettified like poor Semele. I thought of mortal Ariadne- the crafty Cretan princess who taught Theseus how to navigate the labyrinth with a spool of yarn. That version of Her seemed so small and human compared to this black hole of divine power.

"What about Theseus and the Minotaur?" I asked Her.

That myth is one of my faces, Ariadne said. But only one.

I understood. As with so many other women from mythology, we have denied Her multiplicity. Isn't that what we Pagans do, as well, when we love our Gods too hard? We freeze Them into the faces we enjoy the most, and block out all the others. 

"And Dionysos?" I was half-asking, half-pleading for him to return.

I am not His blushing bride.

I am Potnia Theron, and He is my thrall.

It was I who granted Him godhood. 

I understood that, too. We sat in silence together, the Goddess and I, gazing up at the cold September sky. 

I asked Her if She would accept my song.

Ariadne laughed again. Write what you will, but when you speak my name, tell them I who I am. Tell them I am Lady of the Labyrinth, Queen of Above and Below.

I'm not in the habit of making deals with unknown Gods, but I couldn't deny her Her that promise. Ariadne deserved it. The stars spun above me one last time, and for a split second, Persephone's face winked back at me. I know- it's a syncretism that makes my hard polytheist brain feel like it's melting. But She was there alongside Ariadne, both separate and one. 

Slowly, the warmth returned to my body. My audience with Ariadne was over.

----

After that, I didn't feel so torn about the nature of the Gods. Mysticism isn't supposed to make sense. You have to be a little bit eccentric to be a mystic, and I've been blessed with that in spades. We're all mad here.

I find it fitting that it was the Lady of the Labyrinth who restored my faith in this weird, wonderful Pagan path. I still have a million questions about the Gods and our place in the world, but I don't expect easy answers- just more questions. 

After all, I have another week of this strange in-between time [*facepalms*]. Who knows what I'll discover by Friday? 

Life can often feel like a labyrinth. One moment we're dancing down a clearly-marked path, the next, we're disoriented in the darkness. The only rule of walking a labyrinth is that there are no dead ends. I thought of miasma as a state of separation from the Gods, but it was actually chance to rediscover Them.

Our earliest ancestors gazed up at the stars and asked the same questions that we do. All we need to unravel the world's mysteries is a spool of thread and a clear night sky. There are no dead ends in a labyrinth. 

In The Gods,

Rose Eleusis

-----

NOTE: This blogpost is a religious experience recounted in narrative form, and should not be considered a factual account of Minoan history. 

"Why, sometimes I've believed as many as six impossible things before breakfast."

- Alice in Wonderland, Lewis Carrol