Click here to listen to Gilgamesh part 3: Crossing the waters of death in the season 1 archives on buzzsprouthttps://mythmatters.buzzsprout.com/327635/2083392-gilgamesh-part-3-crossing-the-waters-of-death
“Here is the epic of the fear of death.” Ranier Marie Rilke
This program is the third and final episode in my telling of the ancient Sumerian myth of Gilgamesh, the hero-king of Uruk. When he was a young man he terrorized his people, but at the end of his story they say that Gilgamesh was wise, that he traveled the world and knew secret things.
What happened to Gilgamesh? He faced his fear of death.
Death isn’t something that we’re generally encouraged to contemplate and yet this existential problem (to put it mildly) is a universal task, the catalyst for the quest for purpose, love, and meaning, and the impetus for myth.
Death looms large in these times of mass extinction and cultural disintegration and I believe that we must grapple with it to be fully alive and present, to do what each of us is here to do with courage, creativity, gratitude, and love.
I hope your journey with Gilgamesh guides your further down your path to meaning.
Transcript of Gilgamesh Part 3: Crossing the Waters of Death
Hello everyone, and welcome to Myth Matters, a bi-weekly podcast of storytelling and conversation about mythology, and why it’s important to our lives today. I’m your host and personal mythologist, Catherine Svehla. Thank you for joining me. Wherever you may be in this wide, beautiful, crazy world of ours you are part of this story circle.
This program is the third and final episode in my telling of the ancient Sumerian myth of Gilgamesh, the hero-king of Uruk. Gilgamesh was two-thirds god and one-third human, and the gifts and challenges of this in-between situation is one theme in the story. In Part 1, Gilgamesh wreaked havoc instead of being a good king to his people. Because he was “superhuman,” Gilgamesh had no peers, no friend. In response to prayers from the people, the gods provided him with Enkidu the wild man, to be his foil and friend.
In Part 2, I told of their adventures and how these two fulfilled Gilgamesh’s destiny to perform heroic deeds and make a name for himself. But this came at a cost. The pair killed Humbaba, the guardian of the sacred cedar forest. Then they insulted the goddess Inanna/Ishtar and killed the Bull of Heaven. The gods decided that this was too much, and now Enkidu is dead.
So far, the story has been driven by that godlike aspiration in Gilgamesh and now that other third moves to the forefront. At the outset of the story I said that it was originally titled “He Who Saw the Deep” or “Surpassing All Other Kings.” In Part 3 Gilgamesh will meet his greatest challenge and the meaning of those titles will become clear.
Now let’s move into the timeless space of the story. I invite you relax, listen, and note the details that catch your attention as they are your portal into the story in your own life, right now.
The Sumerian Myth of Gilgamesh: Crossing the Waters of Death
Gilgamesh wept bitterly for his friend Enkidu and wandered the wilderness alone. “How can I be at peace,” he said to himself. “My friend is gone, and I am afraid of death. I saw the decay. I saw the maggots and now I know that I am also going to die. I am going to suffer the same fate. I will go to visit Utnapishtim whom they call the Faraway. He survived the Great Flood and the gods granted him eternal life. Maybe Utnapishtim can tell me how to attain eternal life.” Gilgamesh set out across grasslands looking for the way to Utnapishtim. He lived beyond the edge of the known world in the garden of the sun, so not on an obvious path.
One night when he was camped in the mountain passes, Gilgamesh prayed to the moon for protection. Another night he woke up from a dream to find himself surrounded by lions. He fought them and killed them with his bare hands and put on their skins. He continued walking and wandering, wearing the skins. He became sunburned and dirty. His hair got tangled. He was tired and worn down.
Finally, he came to Mashu, the mighty twin peaks that guard the rising and setting sun. These peaks were as high as heaven and their roots reached down to the underworld. The sun passed through a tunnel in these mountains every night as it circled above them every day, and the gate to the tunnel was guarded by a pair of Scorpions, half man and half dragon. They were terrible creatures. They had a deadly stare and shimmered with a terrifying, otherworldly glory. When Gilgamesh saw them off in the distance he stopped for a moment and shielded his eyes. Then he continued on.
When the Man-Scorpions saw Gilgamesh one of them said to the other, “This one who approaches us must be a god.” “He is two-thirds god and one-third mortal,” the other one said, and he called out to Gilgamesh “Why have you made the long journey out here and what do you want?” Gilgamesh cam a bit closer and answered, “I come for Enkidu, whom I loved dearly. He died, as men do, and I wept for him for seven days, hoping my tears might bring him back. That didn’t work. Now my life is nothing, so I am searching for Utnapishtim. They say that he has eternal life and I want to question him about the living and the dead. I want to see if I can attain eternal life too.”
The Man-Scorpions said, “Gilgamesh, no mortal man had done what you are attempting. No mortal man has gone into the mountain and taken the path of the sun. It’s 12 leagues long and the darkness is complete and heavy from the sun rise to the sunset.” “No matter how difficult it may be,” Gilgamesh said, “I must go. Please open the gate.” The guards opened the gate and said “Good luck and may you succeed.”
Gilgamesh followed the sun’s road through the mountain. He ran, he ran as fast as he could. When he had gone one league the darkness was thick around him and he could see nothing ahead or behind him, and still he ran. He ran blind in the thickest, darkest blackness that you can imagine. Two leagues, three leagues, four leagues, five leagues. At six leagues Gilgamesh cried out, the darkness was so heavy that he thought he might suffocate from it. But at 10 leagues a faint shift and shading could be detected and at eleven leagues the glimmers of dawn light appeared. At the end of the twelve leagues, just as the sun was entering the other end of that tunnel, Gilgamesh stepped out into gleaming sunlight and he saw the garden of the gods.
The garden of the gods was exquisitely beautiful, filled with bushes and trees and plants that bore flowers and fruits of precious gems that were beautiful to look at; carnelian, pearls, lapis lazuli, and many other rare and precious stones. Shamash the sun god saw Gilgamesh walking in the garden, dressed in his dirty animal skins and smelling of meat, and he was unhappy. “You will never find the life that you are searching for,” he said to Gilgamesh. But Gilgamesh looked up and said, “After all that I have done and suffered, should I just give up? I am little better than a dead man but my eyes can still see the sun.”
Now, the garden of the gods was at the edge of the sea that goes around the world. A woman named Siduri, the maker of beer and wine, also lived on the shore. She was sitting with her bowls and vats when she saw Gilgamesh, dressed in his skins and smelling of meat. “He must be no good,” she thought to herself, and got up to lock her gates and doors and bar her windows. Gilgamesh saw her doing this and walked to her tavern. “Why are you locking up against me?” he said, “I will break down your doors. I am Gilgamesh, who seized and killed the Bull of Heaven, who overthrew Humbaba, and killed the mountain lions.”
Siduri looked down from her rooftop at Gilgamesh and said “If you’re Gilgamesh, who seized and killed the Bull of Heaven, who overthrew Humbaba, and killed the mountain lions, then why do you despair? Why do you look like a weary man on a hard road, beaten by the weather and wandering in search of the wind?”
“Why shouldn’t I Iook weary and beaten?” Gilgamesh replied. “Despair is in my heart and I have traveled far. My friend, Enkidu, whom I loved like a brother, who seized and killed the Bull of Heaven and overthrew Humbaba in the cedar forest, is dead. I wept for him for seven days and nights until the worms took his body and now, I am afraid of death. He is dust and I too will die. So, tell me, maker of wine, how to get to Utnapishtim.”
“Where are you hurrying to Gilgamesh,” Siduri said, ““You will never find the life that you are searching for. When the gods created men, they made them mortal. But you can fill your belly with good food and drink. You can dance and laugh. You can sleep in a comfortable bed. You can love your wife, have friends, and hold your children. You can find great happiness in these things Gilgamesh, and this too, is the lot of mortal man.”
“How can I rest when Enkidu is dust and I know that I too will die?” Gilgamesh said. “You live here by the shore and must know the way to Utnapishtim. Please give me directions or instructions. I will cross this ocean if I have to, or wander longer in the wilderness.” “You can’t cross the ocean,” she told him, “no one does except the Sun. The water is deep and the currents of death run through it. But if you go into those trees over there, you’ll find Urshanabi. He’s the ferryman of Utnapishtim, with the holy stones. Ask him if he can take you across and if he says ‘yes,’ ok, but if not, you must go back home.”
Gilgamesh was seized with anger. Who would dare to say ‘no’ to him? He went crashing through the woods and fell upon the holy stones and the tackle of the boat with his axe and dagger. Urshanabi was off collecting firewood and when he heard the commotion he came running, and found Gilgamesh destroying these things. “Stop! Stop!” he said. “I am Urshanabi, ferryman of Utnapishtim and who are you? What are you doing here?” “I am Gilgamesh of Uruk,” Gilgamesh said. “If you’re Gilgamesh,” said Urshanabi, “then why do you despair? Why do you look like a weary man on a hard road, beaten by the weather and wandering in search of the wind?”
“Why shouldn’t I Iook weary and beaten?” Gilgamesh replied. “Despair is in my heart and I have traveled far. My friend, Enkidu, whom I loved like a brother, who seized and killed the Bull of Heaven and overthrew Humbaba in the cedar forest, is dead. I wept for him for seven days and nights until the worms took his body and now, I am afraid of death. He is dust and I too will die. So Urshanabi, tell me how to get to Utnapishtim. If it’s possible I will cross the waters of death, otherwise I’ll wander further in the wilderness.”
“Gilgamesh,” said Urshanabi, “you could have taken the boat across but you destroyed the tackle. The purpose of those things, those holy stones, is to carry me over the water and through the waters of death without touching them. Now look at what you have done.” The two of them talked some more and then finally Urshanabi said, “Look, go into the forest and cut 120 poles, 90 feet long. Coat them with pitch and bring them back here.”
Gilgamesh took his axe into the forest and he cut the 120 poles and prepared them as Urshanabi instructed. They put them on the boat and pushed off. For three days they ran on quickly and then they stopped. They were at the still, still waters of death. “Take one of the poles Gilgamesh,” Urshanabi said, “and thrust it into the water to pull us along but do not let your hands touch the water. Then take another pole and do the same thing.” Gilgamesh took the poles, one by one, and with the last pole he brought them through the waters of death. But all was still, so he stripped off his clothes and stood with arms outstretched, to act as mast and sail. They caught the breeze and this is how Urshanabi the ferryman brought Gilgamesh to Utnapishtim.
Utnapishtim was relaxing when he saw the ferry off in the distance. He watched it come closer and thought to himself, “Hmm, why doesn’t the ferry have the tackle and the stones and the mast? And who is that sailing the boat? This is no man of mine.” At last, the two travelers made their way to him and he looked at the stranger and said,” What is your name, you who come here dressed in animal skins, with your drawn face? Where are you hurrying to and why did you come here?” “I am Gilgamesh of Uruk,” Gilgamesh replied. “If you’re Gilgamesh,” said Utnapishtim, “then why do you despair? Why do you look like a weary man on a hard road, beaten by the weather and wandering in search of the wind?”
“Why shouldn’t I Iook weary and beaten?” Gilgamesh replied. “Despair is in my heart and I have traveled far. My friend, Enkidu, whom I loved like a brother, who seized and killed the Bull of Heaven and overthrew Humbaba in the cedar forest, is dead. I wept for him for seven days and nights until the worms took his body and now, I am afraid of death. He is dust and I too will die and be laid in the earth forever. I have come to see Utnapishtim the Faraway. I have been on the road a long time. I’ve walked miles and fought wild animals. My clothes have been tattered and my joints are aching. I have asked everyone that I met along the way and my journey has led me to this place. So, are you Utnapishtim, are you immortal, and can I ask you about the living and the dead?”
“I am Utnapishtim and nothing lasts,” Utnapishtim said, “there is no permanence and we do not expect it of anything that we do. The gods made the world this way Gilgamesh. They decree the fates of men and humans don’t know the day that death will arrive.” “Utnapishtim,” Gilgamesh said, “you seem like an ordinary man. I was expecting a hero but you’re sitting here at your ease. Tell me, how did you come to possess everlasting life?” “Sit down Gilgamesh,” said Utnapishtim, “and I will tell you a secret of the gods.”
“You know the city of Shurrupak, on the banks of the Euphrates?” he said. “That was an old, old city, and the gods that were there were old. Enlil, the warrior, was there and so was Enki, god of wisdom and deep waters, and friend of humankind. In those days the world teemed with people and the earth groaned under the weight of their needs. The noise reached to the heavens and the gods could not sleep. So, Enlil, god of air, god of storms, called everyone together and urged change. The gods agreed to exterminate humankind and put an end to the racket.”
“But Enki warned me in a dream. He whispered to the reed walls of my house that I should tear it down and build a boat. A huge boat with multiple levels and a deck with a roof. He told me take the seed of all living creatures with me.” When I heard this, in my dream, I said that I would do just as he commanded. But what, I asked him, should I say to the people of the city, when they saw me doing such a crazy thing. He said to tell them that Enlil, the storm god of the air, was angry at me and that I must make a boat to live on the waters with Enki. Tell them, he said, that Enlil would rain abundance down on them, and rare fish and water fowl.”
“At the crack of dawn we started,” Utnapishtim continued,” and my whole family, even the children, received a job to do. On the fifth day I laid the keep and the planking. I built six decks below and seven altogether. I attended to every detail. The boat was sturdy and well caulked and I had so many helpers that every day I slaughtered bulls and sheep to feed them. I gave the shipbuilders wine as if it were river water. Everyone worked without stopping and on the seventh day it was completed. The craft was difficult to launch, weighted as it was with my family, the beasts, and all of my gold and possessions. I sent everyone on board on the evening that the rain was ordained to begin. And down it came.”
“The storm was terrible. A black cloud appeared on the horizon, first a speck and then larger and larger and larger until the whole sky was full of drakness and thunder rolled where the god of storm was riding it. The seven judges of hell raised up their torches and lit the land in a livid light and then Enlil brought the deluge. One whole day the tempest raged and poured over cities and towns and fields, sweeping everything and everyone away.”
“Even the gods were terrified and crouched against heavens walls like dogs. Ishtar, Inanna the sweet Queen of Heaven cried out and said, ‘What have we unleashed and why didn’t I stop it? These are my people, in my charge, and now they are drowned.’ The gods wept.”
“For six days and six nights the wind blew and the flood overwhelmed the world. On the seventh day the storm subsided. I could go outside and look at the still, blank face of the world, covered in all directions with water. I fell down on my knees Gilgamesh, and wept. In the distance, some fourteen leagues away, the top of a mountain appeared and there, on the peak of Mt Nisir, the boat finally lodged. We sat there for six days without moving and on the seventh day I let loose a dove. She flew away but found no resting place and returned. Then I let loose a swallow and she too returned. Then I let loose a raven and she saw that the waters had retreated, found food, cawed, and did not come back. We opened the shutters and doors of the ship to let the light and air stream in.”
“I got out of the boat and made a sacrifice on the mountaintop. I set up seven cauldrons on fires of sweet-smelling wood and the gods were enticed by the smell and came near. Even Inanna/Ishtar came and she spoke to the assembly. ‘I will never forget these days,’ she said, ‘let all of us gather round this sacrifice, all except Enlil, because he brought this terrible flood without proper reflection and destroyed my people.’
Then Enlil came and he was very angry when he saw the boat. ‘No one was supposed to escape’ he said. ‘Who told the humans what was coming?’ He looked at my patron Enki, the god of deep waters and of wisdom who knows all things, and Enki said, “Enlil, wise hero, how could you bring down this flood and destruction out of all proportion? There was no need to kill them and to drown all else along with the human beings. I didn’t tell them, but the wise man learned it from a dream. So now what do you think that we should do with him?”
“Enlil came onto the boat. He took me by the hand, and my wife, and made us kneel on either side of him on the deck. He touched our foreheads and blessed us saying, “From now on, Utnapishtim and his wife will live at the mouth of the rivers in the Faraway and they will live forever.”
“So Gilgamesh,“ Utnapishtim said, “who will assemble the gods to make such a blessing for you? But if you want to put it to the test, stay awake for the next six days and seven nights and we’ll see what happens.” Gilgamesh was ready and agreed to the test. His desire for eternal life was quite strong. He was sure that he could do it. But as soon as they stopped talking and silence descended, he fell deep asleep, leaning against the wall of Utnapishtim’s house. “Look at him, the great hero who wants eternal life,” Utnapishtim said to his wife. “Touch the man and wake him up and send him home,” she said. “No,” said Utnapishtim, “He will not believe us and he’ll argue. Leave him be. Bake a loaf of bread every day, and sit it here, and also write the number of the day on the wall.”
This she did and at the end of seven days the first loaf was hard, the second loaf was like leather, the third was soggy, the fourth was moldy, the fifth was mildewed, the sixth was still fresh, and the seventh was still hot from the fire when Utnapishtim touched Gilgamesh and he woke up. “Why, I hardly slept and you roused me,” he said. But Utnapishtim pointed to the loaves of bread. “What should I do now Utnapishtim,” Gilgamesh asked, “I can already feel death coming closer.”
Utnapishtim called Urshanabi the ferryman. “You are no longer welcome here,” he told him, “because you brought this man, this mortal man in his filthy animal skins and smelling of meat, to this shore. But take him, wash his hair and body, throw away the foul skins, dress him in garments that will not age during his journey home, and the then two of you will be off, good. Urshanabi did this and the two men boarded the boat to sail back across the ocean. But the wife of Utnapishtim felt sorry for Gilgamesh and she pulled her husband aside and said, “Gilgamesh was worn out when he arrived here and has a long, long journey home. What will you give him to take back to his country?”
Utnapishtim called Gilgamesh and said, “You were worn out when you got here. You face a long journey. I will tell you about a secret thing. There is a plant that grows under the water. It has sharp thorns like a rose and will hurt your hands but if you succeed in taking it, you will find that it restores youth.”
When Gilgamesh heard this, he steered to the deepest channel. He tied heavy stones on his feet and dove into the water. At the bottom of the water bed he found the plant. The thorns were sharp but he picked it, and then he cut the heavy stones from his feet and brought the plant up. “Look Urshanabi,” he said, “this plant restores lost youth. I will take it back to my city, to Uruk with its strong walls, and give it to the old men to eat. We will call it ‘The Old Men Are Young Again.’ and when they have eaten it, I will eat some too and regain my youth.”
Gilgamesh and Urshanabi traveled back together then the way they had come. Then they traveled twenty leagues before they ate, and another thirty leagues before they stopped for the night. Gilgamesh saw a well of cool water and they went to bath and drink. The two men refreshed themselves and prepared to make camp. But there was a serpent deep in the pool. It smelled the plant, and while Gilgamesh was bathing it rose from the water, and stole the plant.
Gilgamesh saw it just a few seconds too late. He watched the snake as it sloughed off its skin, and returned to the well. There was no way to catch it. The plant was gone. Gilgamesh wept. “For this I have toiled?” he said to Urshanabi. “I have gained nothing for myself and already the underground streams have carried the plant back to where I found it. I lost it.” There was nothing else to do so they traveled on, twenty leagues before they ate, and another thirty leagues before they stopped for the night.
They did this for three days, completing a journey of 45 days, and arrived at the great city of Uruk. “Urshanabi,” said Gilgamesh, “climb up onto the walls of the great city of Uruk. Are they not made of fine burnt bricks? They have no equal. See the city; it is one third gardens and one third fields, sowed for the goddess Innana/Ishtar.”
King Gilgamesh built the fine city of Uruk. This was one his accomplishments. His people said that he was wise, that he traveled the world and knew secret things. He brought them the story of the days before the flood and when he came home, weary from his long journey, he engraved the whole story in stone on the walls, for all to read. The destiny decreed by the gods for Gilgamesh was fulfilled. “No hero, no king, will ever compare to him” the gods said. “This was the meaning of the dream Gilgamesh, not that you would have everlasting life, but that you would rule justly, and use wisely the many gifts that we have given you.”
Gilgamesh did not escape death and his body has gone to dust, but he lives on as his story is told. This is the end of the poem and yet Gilgamesh is with us still, as are his challenges and existential dilemma. After reading Gilgamesh, Rainier Marie Rilke said, “Here is the epic of the fear of death.” This theme shows up in the storyline of the myth, in the quest for a “great name” and the journey, inner and outer, that Gilgamesh undertakes in response to the death of Enkidu. But this story is more than a story “about” death. In the telling of the story, a possible, powerful “solution” to the problem of the fear of death, is offered in the form itself. Story as solution. Language and literacy as solution. Or perhaps “consolation” is a more accurate word.
First a few words on the quest for a great name and the storyline. In last podcast also referred to an insight from Annie Dillard and her use of the word “profligate” to describe the abundance of nature. I want to return to this point as it continues to unspool for me, in my response to the story. As you may recall from that earlier podcast, Dillard came to mind as I reflected on the way that Gilgamesh and Enkidu initially made their great names: they killed Humbaba, they felled some of the sacred cedar trees, and then they insulted Inanna/Ishtar and killed the Bull of Heaven.
All of this upset me. The killing and destruction felt disrespectful and self-aggrandizing. Unnecessary. A purposeless show of might and force. I also see this myth, as many others who work with it do, as a window into the early stages of the cultural transition away from “the goddess” and female-based communities, to patriarchy, misogyny, and the current abusive, disconnected use of earth. This is one way to see these “great deeds” performed by Gilgamesh and Enkidu.
Now, I don’t have to disown or disregard any of that to allow for new dimensions and complexity. The ability to honor complexity and to hold seemingly contradictory views and feelings is crucial and I think work with mythology can help one develop it. That’s a primary reason for me to create this podcast. So after the last podcast, I took a look at Dillard’s book, Pilgrim at Tinker Creek, and found a chapter titled “Fecundity.” My memory of the word “profligate” may be faulty but I did find the understanding that I shared with you, that our honest exploration of the earth and the functioning web of life generates wonder, amazement, gratitude, curiosity, and also overwhelm and horror. Annie Dillard writes,
“I don’t know what it is about fecundity that so appalls. I suppose it is the teeming evidence that birth and growth, which we value, are ubiquitous and blind, that life itself is so astonishingly cheap, and nature is as careless as it is bountiful, and that with extravagance goes a crushing waste that will one day include our own cheap lives […]”
The jumble of powerful feelings arises from awareness of the diversity of life forms, their tremendous numbers, the fleeting nature of life, and the ready, necessary presence of death. In the common alienation and insulation from the natural world—I mean, we actually have to call it the “natural” world as opposed to the world, now—we miss this, we can forget it. But this is the backdrop for the quest for meaning.
The myth scholar Joseph Campbell, whose work is a cornerstone of contemporary myth studies, said that the problem of death, as a precondition for life, is the primary impetus for mythology. Humans make meaning, that is myth, in response to this existential dilemma. In The Hero With A Thousand Faces, Campbell uses Gilgamesh’s journey to see Utnapishtim as an example of the quest for the elixir of immortality, the ultimate boon collected by the hero.
Did Gilgamesh collect this boon? Technically, Utnapishtim said “No, you’re not going to get eternal life because the gods granted it to me under these extraordinary circumstances that won’t be repeated,” and then the snake ate the magical plant of immortal youth. And yet Gilgamesh achieved an immortality through his story. We live through and by story my friends, and our immortality is in telling and remembering our stories.
Speaking of stories and storylines, I recently watched “The Good Place,” a series about heaven and ethics and death, that is available on Netflix. No spoilers here as I encourage you to watch it too. I appreciated the humor, loved the characters, and especially value the opportunity to consider questions like the relationship between consequences, limits, morality, and death, the power of memory, and the bittersweet journey of life. As Eleanor, who is one of the characters in “The Good Place,” tells Michael in her afterlife, it’s why humans are always a little bit sad.
Now I’ve said that this theme of the fear of death runs through the storyline and also through the notion of story, language, and literacy. We’ve already been talking about language and literacy in my invocation of books by Dillard and Campbell, for example, and the stories that they tell that I am weaving with the myth of Gilgamesh. Let me mention another book that includes an explicit commentary on the link between literacy and the fear of death, and the awareness and acceptance of death; Madness, Rack, and Honey: Collected Lectures by Mary Ruefle.
In a gorgeous, rambling lecture on Emily Dickinson, Ruefle pauses to consider language and death and she writes, “Self-consciousness includes the consciousness of self-death.” She connects the development of self-consciousness and of self- death with writing and reading, with literate culture. Ruefle observes that over time, more and more writing is about death, about the death of species and cultures, as well as individuals. If the myth of Gilgamesh was noteworthy in this regard in the past, it is no more.
Further, the act of writing, if cultivated, becomes an act of listening. Listening to the Voice or voices, perhaps listening to the audience, ancestors, to past or future (here I am adding onto Ruefle and riffing a bit). Writing is a dialogue with what is not present, so one must accept absence, including one’s own. Storytelling and the act of writing, of creating texts, have fueled the collective development of human self-consciousness and so then, awareness of our mortality.
To be aware of self is to be aware of one’s death. What do we do with this awareness? Deny and run? Search for miracle cures? Make art, make meaning, find beauty, love?
As partial answer I offer you these words from poet and singer-songwriter Rags Rosenberg. He’s a dear friend and a longtime supporter of Myth Matters. These are a few lyrics from his song “These Bones.” I’ll post a link to the song on my website along with the transcript of this episode. It’s well worth a listen.
“I’ve heard we come in trailing clouds of glory
I couldn’t really say if that were true
I can’t name a thing I’m really sure of
I’m not even really sure of you
I’m glad you’ve got a sense of humor
After all the trouble I have caused
After all I just did my duty
Wasn’t that what my duty was?
And the wheels keep on spinning
And the sky’ll meet the ground
These bones have always known their destination
But I keep trying to turn this train around
…”
–Rags Rosenberg, “These Bones”
That’s it for me, Catherine Svehla and Myth Matters. Feel free to contact me if you have questions or comments about today’s program. If you are new to Myth Matters, I invite you to head over to the Mythic Mojo website where you’ll find information about the podcast and a variety of ways to subscribe or listen from your favorite podcast platform. I also post transcripts of each episode on www.mythicmojo.com.
If you visit the website you’ll also find information about various ways that you can work with me , one on one, to use story to shift your consciousness, make life changes, and understand the mythic dimension of your life. Click on the “Consult” tab in the navigation bar for details.
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And thank you for listening! Please tune in next time, and until then, happy myth making and keep the mystery in your life alive.
Link to listen to “These Bones” by Rags Rosenberg: https://ragsandbonesmusic.com/track/1607597/these-bones
