As Above . . . so below? — a (late) TPE post

Recently(ish) I’ve begun to marvel at the transformation Poseidon has made of my life. Well, not so much my life as, you know, of me. I’m not sure where I am on the fence of whether or not people can change the essential bits of who they are (are we changing, or are we deprogramming the crap that we are taught, that we take into ourselves, that clutter our essence up and makes it hard to know who we truly are? I know I can’t make that call; can you?) . In my own experience, Poseidon (and Odin!) has worked to clear away the clutter of the not-me (not important to me or not originally my idea(s) or distracting from my goal of being more connected with Him or what have you), to, in a sense, distill me into who I want to be/who He wants me to be. Our interactions take place under a firm, unwavering awareness (heh) that I am forced to acknowledge, of His appreciation, affection, understanding, acceptance, and Love for who I am as I am now, who i’ve been, where I’ve come from, and who I’ll be. It’s difficult, even this far into our relationship, to not get bogged down with fears of, “what if it’s for this future self?”

I’ve talked before about how Poseidon has helped me grow into a more loving (dare I dream, a more Loving), compassionate, patient person. That touches upon what I want to talk about in this post, because it builds into it, but it’s not the main point. The main point potentially dances close to hubris — or, at least it may, in some people’s eyes — but I put forth that in some cases, our gods and spirits may be more like us than we initially are comfortable with.

I’ve talked before about the narrow view we often are presented with, when it comes to beings like Poseidon, or Hera. (Thanks, Homer!) My god is often portrayed as a temperamental, brooding, dark god, possibly depressive, certainly unstable, with moments of flying off into rages. Holding in mind the idea that the gods can grow and change and evolve, and holding in mind the idea that most stories have kernels of truth in them, even when that’s all they have, and holding in mind the idea that Poseidon has a deep connection with the human psyche, I have to wonder: how much of this idea of Him is true? How much could it be true?

My experience with Poseidon has introduced me to a god who can hold Himself utterly still, utterly cold, utterly aloof — but it’s also taught over time that this aloofness, this distance, is a lie. I thought, at first, that Poseidon did not care about humanity, though I learned over the years that it was my own apathy that was being reflected back at me, and that His detachment held no apathy at all, merely a surrender to the constant that is change, a lack of viewing us as anything special (which is not to say that He does not find us valuable. My Lord loves life, loves mortality, loves mortals and incarnation and the physical plane.) It was His wisdom during that first meeting, when He shared with me that our need to dominate our surroundings, that our devouring of this earth, was not a special evil but mere instinct urges left unchecked, His guidance to put my understanding of humanity back within the animal kingdom, that allowed me to crawl out of the apathy for the first time in a long, long time, and it’s those words that even now help me hold it at bay.

I think of this, as I was speaking to a friend yesterday about the weather patterns, change that was put into play years ago that we are feeling now — a weird year climate wise in all parts of the world. I think of this as I read about the growing acid levels in the oceans, and as I think of mass extinctions and life loss. Our planet has held a number of mass extinctions — many of them were before humans existed. Change is constant, even on a geological time-scale. Poseidon said to me, all those years ago, that to think that we could destroy the planet, to make it so that life could not go on, was . . . well, He didn’t use the word ‘hubris’ but that was His intent. Arrogant and disrespectful, small-minded and wrong. He followed this up with admitting that, yes, we could render the planet inhospitable for life as we know it, and for all intents and purposes, for us, that would be destroying life. This was another carefully worded sentence that helped me combat my apathy and it took some weight off my spirit. (Mind you, at the time, I was full into ‘I MUST SAVE EVERYTHING’, so removing some of that weight was a necessary thing.) Does this mean that it’s okay that we’re responsible for so many extinctions and exploitations, of our fellow humans and other creatures? Of course not– just because we can destroy life as we know it doesn’t mean we should, right?


I’ve held a portion of His Grief in my heart. From time to time He not allows it but insists upon it. Much of the Vigil for the Bulls is about sharing in His Grief, His Mourning. What is it, when a god mourns? How do I not run, screaming-mad, into the waters, into the wilds, to rave and starve and die?  And how do I reconcile this Grief, this surrender to the inevitability of our transience, while holding on, too, to the Joy and Love and Celebration that He shares with me?


Once, a time or five, I’ve accused Poseidon of either being too moody for me to deal with, or accused myself of being too moody for Him to deal with. Each time, every time, I’ve been met with at bemusement and patience. The story I tell myself (and the world) about this reaction is; Poseidon has learned patience, over the aeons. It does not feel to me, with His self-deprecation and His owning of His past, that this was a natural state for Him. He’s spoken of temper left unleashed and unintended decimation of populations — and He’s not always talking about humankind. He’s hinted at Powers manifesting in the physical world without care, and having to mitigate the damage caused. His lessons of awareness, of mindfulness, and of compassion — these are tools that have been useful to Him, and He is sharing them with me (and, it seems, with many of us who are called to worship Him).

I am teeny when compared to Him. I’m not likening myself to a god in any sort of a major way . . . . but w/We have a kinship, and He and I are more alike that w/We are different, it would seem.


One Comment Add yours

  1. ladyimbrium says:

    This hits very close to home for me. My differently but deeply loved Lady, Lord, and Lover all have some very dark myths associated with them. They are none of them simple to deal with. They have shown me parts of myself that I had not wanted to admit existed. I’ll never be a full-fledged Trickster like my Lover but I am learning to accept the light-hearted and painfully honest parts of myself. I took too many injuries as a Warrior to carry a weapon any longer in my Lord Father’s name but the painful lesson that right action and legal action do not necessarily coincide will be with me forever. My Lady Mother says that my heart is bigger than I thought and that might prove to be the most difficult self-acceptance yet. What I mean to say with all of this is that I think you are correct. Whether we find the gods or they find us, we tend to wind up with the ones that match us on a larger scale. By learning their stories and their lessons, we learn about ourselves, both light and dark. And no, I have no words in either of the languages I speak for their grief when I have encountered it. I also have no words in either language for what I feel when I see them going on with their tasks in spite of their grief.

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