You were kicked off a precipice when you were born...

... and it's no use clinging to rocks on the way down. Alan Watts

Synchronicity... and Waking the Tiger

3rd Century BC statue of Athena,
Musee du Louvre

There ain't nothin' in this whole wide dispensabubble cosmos a-better to show one that one's on the right track, than a run of good ol' synchronicities. I've heard it said, by none less than the venerable Ch'an Buddhist Master Sheng Yen, that when a person gets onto the path of enlightenment a thousand Bodhisattvas will pop up, out of the woodwork, as it were, to help him along the way.

The Aegis

Be that as it might - and it might as well, although I'll grant that all of the above could be construed as flights of fancy - I was pleasantly surprised to have my re-interpretation of the Medusa myth doubly confirmed during a recent trip to Paris. Firstly, while touring the Louvre, I came across two ancient statues of Athena... both bearing the Aegis with the Gorgon's head: one of them even had snakes as the decoration on her robe. Disregarding the ban on photography, I took this here snap, for you, dear blogophile. And then, not 20 minutes later I went for a sit down in the Tuileries, and started to read a new book, that I'd brought along for just such idle moments on my travels: In an Unspoken Voice, by Peter A. Levine.

Flabbergasted is not the word. Levine mentions Medusa as an ancient example of a traumatised person... his interpretation of the story is not identical to mine, but it's close enough for my jaw to drop as quick as a guillotine, much to the puzzlement of a passing party of Chinese holidaymakers.

Levine does point out one feature of the tale that I hadn't noticed... it is the look of fear in Medusa's eyes that turns people to stone, rather than anger or hideous snakiness!


I think the ideas from the book are worthy of dissemination, so I'll give them a write-up in another post. For now, here's a paragraph from Chapter 3, dealing with Medusa.

"The Greek myth of Medusa captures the very essence of trauma, and describes it's pathway to transformation.
[...] those who looked directly into Medusa's eyes were promptly turned to stone... frozen in time.[ ...] There is more to this myth. out of Medusa's wound, two mythical entities emerged: Pegasus the winged horse and the one-eyed giant Chrysaor, the warrior with the golden sword. The golden sword represents penetratng truth and clarity. The horse is a symbol of the body and instinctual knowledge; the wings represent transcendence. Together they suggest transformation through the living body.Together these aspects form the archetypal qualities and resources that a human must mobilise to heal the Medusa (fright paralysis) of trauma.."


More on Levine and his theory of trauma to follow. Stay tuned ;   

Sympathy for the Gorgon, Part the Third

Often a quick backflip precedes two steps forward, so let's recap. In Part 2, we uncovered a hidden meaning to our myth. Athena and Medusa should not be viewed as opposing entities, but as complementary aspects of the same feminine power. We noted that traditional representations show the face of Medusa as a talisman on Athena's shield.  We've also seen how this Athena-Medusa complex finally thwarts Poseidon by turning his whopping great phallic-symbolic sea beast to stone.

What now? Well, we could of course go French, and interpret the whole shebang in terms of the power of the female Gaze: which would make a degree of sense... in fact it's a totally obvious approach, given that Medusa's dirty looks are the main player in the piece. But this is a Reichian blog, OK! What interests me is the dichotomy between the goddess's cerebral, rule-based approach to life, and the instinctual, embodied responses of the gorgon. To paraphrase the immortal words of Dory Previn, Athena just can't get down with the iguanas.

The Greeks believed in a sound mind in a sound body after all: Νοῦς ὑγιὴς ἐν σώματι ὑγιεῖ. The outcome of the whole piece is a new improved Athena, whose high ideals are backed up with natural aggression: she no longer needs to renounce instinct and pleasure in order to embrace reason. As for Medusa, she turned totally iguana after the rape... and needs to be restored to humane behaviour, by very drastic means.




But what of the bit players, onlookers, bystanders and passers-by? While the gods and gorgons are throwing tantrums, Perseus and Andromeda have their own crazy-making dysfunctional family systems to contend with. Perseus's mother Danae was impregnated by Zeus during a surprise golden shower gone wrong; then thrown into the sea in a wooden chest by her first husband; then kept locked up in a tower by the next guy she bumped into. Like Medusa, she shows many of the hallmarks of a survivor of sex abuse: she can't make positive changes to her situation... either by marrying king Polydectes, or by leaving him: she can't exercise her will in a healthy way. Her son is compelled to act as her proxy. 


(In case you think I'm spinning too many implications from this old Grecian yarn, take a look at the very similar Danae/Danu myths and placenames dispersed from Ireland to India and beyond. These stories have survived for millenia, because they provide useful lessons for human life, and resonate deeply.)


Polydectes says he'll stop pestering Danae, if Perseus will slay the gorgon. So off goes Perseus, mummy's good little helper, to do just that. Perseus's enthusiasm for this dangerous mission can be analysed in various ways: he wants to redeem the family's honour given the shameful circumstances of his birth; his place in the world is threatened - he has the role of surrogate spouse and confidante to Danae, which Polydectes might usurp; he's just a typical hormonal teenage boy. But the parallels between Danae and Medusa are too strong to be accidental.


Those who study infant development tell us that, warm, open, attuned touch and visual contact from the initial caregiver are vital if a child is to grow into a self-confident and happy adult. Ideally the child should receive unconditional positive regard from its mother. This is precisely what Danae cannot give, try as she might: she is disturbed, depressed, shamed, and scared stiff... understandably. And Perseus goes through childhood knowing something isn't quite right: 'What's wrong with Mum? Why isn't she happy. Am I to blame? Can I fix this?'' Additionally, he's filled with unconscious rage at the emotional neglect he experienced as a baby. This makes him an ideal candidate to work as Chief 
Gorgon Exterminator. To kill Medusa, he looks at her reflection in his shield... I can only agree with Robert Bly's interpretation: direct confrontation of a mother's rage and pain are too much for any boy, only by a gradual approach to the truth of the situation can he succeed. This is a partial explanation of why men unwittingly choose partners who have the same faults as their mothers did, and why girls 'marry their fathers' - we need to resolve the initial conflicts of our lives before we can form healthy adult relationships. It also explains why therapeutic processes can take years to produce lasting results... primal pain can only be safely experienced in small doses. 


That's Perseus. As for Andromeda, her father has chained her to a rock to be enjoyed by a sea monster: and she's gone along with it! She really needs to learn to pull a gorgon face.   ;