dannydmc

As times have been getting a bit difficult for me as of late, I find that I've been drawn back to my old savior; mythology. I've taken to reading a collection of Celtic myth which I bought last year, but never quiet got around to reading at the time. After that, who knows where my mind will wander; I purchased a book on Shamanism when I was in Anchorage last weekend which I badly want to get through. All of this is also acting as inspiration for the epic poem which I've been writing for the past three years; I almost hit the 50 page mark tonight, and it was only due to creative brain death that I was forced to stop (of course, seeing as how I'd been stuck at a log jam for the past few weeks, perhaps I just expended myself in finally breaking through it).
Its funny how when ever I manage to get to a low point in my life, I find that these stories are here; and they always do seem to help in one way shape or form. In this case it all started because I am teaching a unit on mythology to my students and we were beginning to read several Arthurian tales in the next few days. I was doing some research, refreshing my own knowledge, when I happened to stumble upon the Fisher King.

The Fisher King; now there is a figure which, I am sad to say, has been bedeviling my mind as of late. King Afontas, the Keeper of the Grail, who as a young man charged into battle with a grand lance, and upon that lance was written the word "Amor"; love. It so happens that while out riding, and searching for adventure, he came upon a pagan knight, and upon the two seeing one another, they leveled their lances and charged. The King's lance struck the Pagan knight and killed him instantly, but the other Knight's strike was also true; the lance struck Afontas in the thight, wounding him in the groin and making him lame.
Immediatly upon recieving the injury, the King was brought back to his castle, but it was to no avail; he could not be healed. He lay in his castle, served only by the grail maidens, unable to venture out, existing only upon the radiance of the grail which he was not fit to truly possess. The Kingdom itself suffered, and became a wasteland where nothing grew or lived healtfully. And so it stayed until one day, a brave knight was able to enter the castle and finally asked the one question which could heal the lame-man; "What ails you, sire?"

And so, the question I've being forced to ask myself as of late is; what ails me? Because I'm not well; I can sense that much now. I'm doing better that I was a few days ago, but still am not in a good place. My house is cleaned, thank god; I came home yesterday and cleaned it from top to bottom, as it had become a wasteland of my own making. My general mood in much more cheerful, and its not a show; but its not exactly difficult to be better off than I was earlier in the week.
All of this goes back to stress of course; I wasn't truly sick the other day when I spent much of two school days nursing a stubborn headache that refused to leave and a series of other ailments. The oddest thing is that I don't feel stressed out; just burnt to a cinder. Its only November, and I don't know how I'm going to get through the rest of the year; the full force of that fact hit me the other night and almost took me out for the count. I suddenly realized that I was stuck in Kipnuk, and I couldn't get out; no matter how hard I tried.

Its funny, I guess; I've been reading myths since I was a small child and I believe them very much to have meaning and relevance. I'm an old fashioned man by nature, and have built much of my philosophy towards life off off, among many other things, the old virtues extoled in those tales. I consider myself to be a rather stalwart person; someone who doesn't back down easily, who takes pride in what he does, and strives to do everything 'big'. And yet, here I am on an on-line blog admitting to these petty weaknesses. It truly does gall me; I can't tolerate the thought that I'm being a 'whiner'....

I was going to make some sarcastic observation, asking whether Cuchullian was beset by illness when Queen Maeve sent her soldiers out to kill him. Then I realized that was a stupid question, because the only reason he had to fight her armies all by himself was because the warriros of Ulster were all beset by birtthing pains as part of a curse......as I said, I know these stories like the back of my hand
So, I'll reword it to ask "Did Beowulf feel like he was going to fall apart, just because Grendle was making him feel 'unwanted' in the land of the Danes?" I think not. He ripped Grandel's arm off instead and then sliced the mother's Mother's head off just for good measure. Sadly, I don't quiet think it would go over well if I systematically ripped the arms off of everyone in this village who looked at me wrong

All right, I'm not complaining now. In happier news, I dressed up like a modern Celtic warrior for Hallwoeen; pictures should be posted soon. I actually scared quiet a few young children who came to my door, took one look and me, and screamed. Yes, this makes me feel good; I am such a bastard!