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 | "Mythic Maps" | |
| Pages | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 |
| As is usual under the circumstances, there are battles to be fought; with their attendant losses and victories. Normal life has to be carried on while the internal dialogue continues below the surface. At times our hero is able to congratulate himself on progress made, at other times they are discouraged by an apparent lack of progression. The occasions when they are filled with zest for the quest are matched by the seasons when they feel that the light isn't worth the price of the candle. With luck they might meet another who is also questing; finding support in company. But each one is aware that the journey across the inside of their heads is a solitary, individual enterprise. They might meet someone with whom they desire to form a life partnership, only to hear that would-be partner demand that our questor give up their internal journey, 'to be just like everyone else'. Eventually there comes a time, either suddenly and unannounced, or as a gradual cessation of inner turmoil, when the questor knows that they are headed in the true direction, their feet firmly on the path they have been searching for. It is a time for assimilation, a time to get the feel of the changes, to make contact with others to see how this new personality fits. Not surprisingly, our hero feels the need to talk about it, to discuss the journey, to be debriefed. How does one describe an inner landscape where the signposts are symbols, the scenery is composed of moods, and the weather consists of feelings? By allegory. By describing the landscape of the mind as a legendary country, but one with which the listener can identify. |
So the process takes on another dimension. The hero tells of their struggle up the Scree of Unending Effort, of scaling the Heights of Illusion to be faced by Chasm of Unworthiness. They tell of the Dragon of Indecisiveness that dwells in the Vale of Temptation. Of how they journeyed on, crossing the Desert of Vanished Hope and the Slough of Despondency until they came to The Pool of Clear Seeing. Of how they came to the Cauldron that stripped them of false pretensions before they at last arrived at a place that was as a Garden of Peace. So, having bared their soul to the listener, our traveller comes to the end of their tale of personal endeavour and sits back to hear the listener's considered comment. |
Our hero has been mind raped. The hard-won, personal freedom has been violated on someone else's empty altar. When the individual is dissuaded from integrating their own psyche, by any natural means, then all individuals are in trouble.
For all of their long history, religions have produced a very small minority of ethical people, but always have large followings of people who live in fear of coming face-to-face with a god to whom they have accredited the same set of rights that they claim for themselves. The right to control and make judgements on others, without fear of retribution. An hierarchy of power in which everything is seen to be in its right place; you down there, we up here, and god out there. |
| In arranging to hijack the myths, the Keepers of the Empty Altars, were devaluing the concepts and thereby sowing the seeds of their own downfall. For along came the discoverers, the explorers and the scientists; announcing yet a new set of truths. The world wasn't created 6,000 years ago. The earth isn't flat. We are not descended from Adam and Eve. There are no omnipotent gods and devils. There was no Garden of Eden. All the sacrifices and martyrdoms have been a tragic waste. It has all been a massive scam, propagated in ignorance, perpetuated for power. Anything that cannot be dissected lacks validity. The new priests had arrived and the myth was deemed to be worthless; tainted by superstition. Their actions were tantamount to destroying the flowers in order to discredit those who had mislabelled them weeds. We, as a species, need our myths; and their symbols are universal. Consider the concept of a trinity. It appears in the myths of people from every place on the globe. Camelot, the legendary home of the mythical characters of the Arthurian Cycle, is well-known to people far beyond the British Isles. Yet no actual proof of its physical location has ever been established. Whether the central figures ever existed is open to conjecture. But that is not important. Their proven existence is immaterial to the power of the myth. It is the myth itself that is the source of strength. The trinity of Arthur - the leader, Guinevere - the Maid, and Merlin - the Wise One, are woven into the texture of this island and its people. The trinity is repeated at a later date in our history, when we again faced ecclesiastical and secular oppression. Robin Hood - the leader, the Maid Marion, and Friar Tuck - the christianised Wise One; were latter day counterparts. These archetypal figures present an unblemished, yet fallible, compilation of all that is acknowledged as the better side of our natures. Justice, loyalty, honour, hope, integrity, courage and the will to overcome injustice. In these days of mass entertainment it is easy to forget that, for the greater part of our communal history, it was the spoken word that was main source of history and entertainment. It was the itinerant storyteller at the Summer Faires and the village elders in the long winter evenings who passed on knowledge of the people's folklore. Catering to audiences that consisted of all ages, from the very young to greybeards, the stories were related in such a way as to appeal on a number of different levels. Although each teller of tales would use differing techniques, the main thread was seldom deviated from and the myths remained virtually unchanged through the centuries. As children, growing up in Epping Forest, groups of us would relive those epics. Acting out the roles of our models, we imbued our forming personalities with their attributes. Woe-betide any lad, chosen to enact the role of Arthur or Robin Hood, who resorted to foul play. |