Myths and legends across cultures reveal a shared desire among humankind to aspire to the exalted condition of the immortal Gods and Goddesses.
These myths influence aspirations of the human family. Some people extoll living in accordance with religious traditions, a committed spiritual path, or humanitarian ideals of changing the world for good. Others may seek to be the best in business, achieve great wealth, or claim mythic status in athletics or entertainment. Many simply strive to be good, do good, and feel good as they live their days.
One way or another, we’re all on the path of the Hero’s Journey.
The mythologist Joseph Campbell, who built on the work of Carl Jung, proposed that myth serves an important sociological function. Inviting people of all cultures, ages, and life circumstances to explore the human story, where they fit within it, and how things are intrinsically connected.
Epic myths, by design, evoke a sense of awe, support a religious cosmology, empower the social order, and introduce individuals to the spiritual path of enlightenment.
In our global society, myth is a universal language.
Campbell’s work influenced George Lucas who created the successful Star Wars saga as a “myth for modern man.” As people turn away from traditional religions, mythical stories and movies embody the truths that religion had traditionally conveyed.
People who would never enter a church love the movies.
Far from frivolous, this entertainment function serves to replace the wisdom keepers and story tellers around the fires of old. Enhanced by technological advances, people worldwide stream these myths into their homes.
The epic movies, like Lord of the Rings and the Marvel movies, offer a map of the Hero’s Journey.
Viewers, and especially diehard fans, share vicariously in the hero’s quest and experience their own subconscious cathartic transformation. The “hero within” follows the hero on the screen or the page as he/she/they make moral choices. Allowing the viewer or reader to decide, often unconsciously, that they too live in a moral and good universe.
Within all myths, we find a striving for perfection so that the human shines bright, beautiful, and powerful.
This perfection also enlists a hidden function of protection, as if such shiny magnificence would protect us from the frailty or miscalculations of our human nature.
Yet, even mythic beings make mistakes or miss the details.
As Ralph Waldo Emerson points out in his Essays (first series, 1941), Aurora asked for immortality for her lover, Tithonus, yet she forgot to mention that essential detail of “youth.” Thus, while he was granted immorality, Tithonus is perpetually old. And when Thetis sought to make Achilles invulnerable, he erred by holding his proverbial heel when dipping him in the sacred water.
Or as Emerson put it, “There is a crack in everything God has made.”
This is part of the Hero’s Journey. To face the vulnerability inherent within our very nature. To fall in the face of overwhelming challenge and to require assistance from others or the unseen mystery to rise again. In every wisdom teaching and every great story, an undeniable truth emerges.
A human being is a vulnerable thing.
Worn down by life and the insecurities of a doubting mind. Housed within a body that may exude great strength and be unexpectedly brought down by its own frailty. Regardless of the aspiration to be great, shine bright, and do good, failure is inevitable along the path.
And so is the capacity to rise from the ashes.
Yet, every Hero’s Journey requires entry to the shadowy nether regions of the psyche. This human frailty is especially encountered when we are laid low by overwhelming circumstance, illness, betrayal, ignorance, or failure. Societal conditioning and a strong desire for self protection suggests seeking a rapid fix to the extreme discomfort of the wounded world of shadow.
Yet, as Rumi reminds us, “the wound is where the light enters.”
Life doesn’t wrap up the Hero’s Journey in one movie or book. Nor does Life require a wildly successful, franchised epic. It allows this journey to be lived. One day at a time. One choice at a time. One breath at a time. That is the way of the human.
To aspire to live according to the highest ideals. And to fail on a regular basis.
Perhaps here is where we need to highlight the qualities of self-compassion, understanding, and recognition that it’s okay to be frail. And it’s okay to fail. Where we exalt the need for rest and contemplation before rising too quickly to battle the inevitable challenge.
The best Hero Journey recognizes the power of trust in the larger mystery, a willingness to be led, and a wicked sense of humor.
We tend to get serious very quickly. And in honor of a desire to be transparent or authentic, we share our wound quite publicly and at length. This tendency to perseverate on our failures and get lost in worry leaves us with a small story. A story of the shadow with only a mention of the light. Imagine if we focused more heroically on the light which has the capacity to shine through the shadow.
Or as the wise cracker Groucho Marx once said, “Blessed are the cracked, for they shall let in the light.”
Peace be with you and with all. No exceptions.
Tolkien, author of The Hobbit, was fascinated by the influential power of myth. He intended to create Lord of the Rings trilogy as a myth for the English people to update the Arthurian legend. Yet, myth is a universal phenomenon and thus transcends culture to speak to the heart of every human. Tolkien also expounded on the influence of discovery of plot and meaning in a story. How this allows one to discover a plot and meaning in the cosmos. And in the creator of the cosmos. The ultimate knower of meaning because “He” is the ultimate meaning.
Learn the one essential skill that allows you to face any challenge with confidence, sturdiness, and inner calm.
More than a technique. It’s a game changer.
Three months ago, I unexpectedly entered into a relationship with a horse.
I met Zor during a visit to Liberty Stables in Florida, where I had gone to spend time with a friend’s horses. I had no particular expectations. I have no background with horses, no training, and no experience in equine-assisted therapy. I simply met this magnificent Friesian, and something quietly familiar unfolded between us.
I fell in love.
The women who arrive in my classes, retreats, and therapy sessions are sincerely looking for healing, expansion, clarity, or sometimes just a little room to breathe.
They are thoughtful women, deeply engaged with the people and work they love. Rarely do they arrive because they want another spiritual philosophy. Most are carrying something much more ordinary.
A life that has become full. Beautiful in many ways, but crowded.
About twenty-five years ago, I was driving with a colleague to a local conference. As we approached the hotel entrance, I noticed an open parking spot near the front door.
“There’s a spot,” I said, pointing to the right. He drove past it.
A few seconds later, another one appeared. He drove past that one, too. Then I pointed to a third. “There’s a spot.” Without the slightest hesitation, Dan replied, “I’ll leave that for someone else.” And he calmly parked much farther away. As we walked to the entrance, I asked about that statement.
During the Seeding the Light Gathering, I had the privilege of hosting Pascual and Jose Tomas in our home.
They feel like family as this was their second visit to New Jersey. We’ve also spent a week together in Damanhur and the Temples of Humankind in Italy. I’ve sat in many ceremonies with Pascual in Peru’s Sacred Valley. His flute playing often carried me up mountain trails in the thin air and hot sun.
I planned to work a bit, complete some projects, and enjoy slow days with plenty of relaxation.
All of that certainly occurred, but beneath it all, something else began quietly inviting my attention.
The plane had begun its slow fall toward the earth when a sharp ache pierced my ears. Half-dozing, half-aware, I surfaced into the moment just as the toddler in front of me woke with a scream that broke her open. The sound wasn’t defiance or misbehavior. It was pain.
I felt her small body struggling to make sense of something she couldn’t name.
Her mother bent over her with the tenderness of someone trying very hard to be a good parent. But her soothing came dressed in urgency, in the quiet pressure to behave, to use words, to be okay, to not disturb those seated around her. Her voice shook with the effort of managing her child’s distress and her own rising shame.
