The destruction-renewal tableau is both vast and ancient. Dating thousands (and thousands) of years before Christ, gods and goddesses alike have enacted (and reenacted) the life-death-rebirth drama.
The Egyptian God Osiris, the Greek Dionysis, the Semetic Adonis, Akkadian Ishtar and Aztek Quetzalcoatl are just a handful of deities sharing the journey to and from the underworld. Need I mention Christ’s own Easter journey?
The Aztek deity, Quetzalcoatl sacrificed his life and blood to create a new world of mankind.
Many–if not most–of the deities associated with both life and death are also associated with vegetation, agriculture, sex and fertility. A natural explanation for this correlation becomes obvious when observing the life cycle of plants. The paucity of winter gives way to the growth of spring and the abundance of summer followed by the decay of autumn and the quiet poverty of yet another winter. Life follows death. Death follows life.
The sun cycle also speaks towards the life-death archetype. The sun–the ultimate provider of life–climbs and defeats the sky, only to “die” every night, only to be born again in all its matinal glory. Nature is profuse with illustrations of this natural pairing: life-death.
The Hindu story of the goddess Parvati speaks towards another understanding of the life-death, creation-destruction archetype. Parvati is bathing in a river with her two attendants, Jaya and Vijaya. The goddess is busy, lost in thought. She ponders great things, important ideas and meaningful concepts. Meanwhile, her attendants are not as dismissive of their bodies. They complain of hunger and beg for food. Parvati asks them to please wait. She is thinking about other matters, but her tearfully hungry (and apparently helpless) attendants reply, “You are the mother of the universe. A child asks for everything from her mother. The mother gives her children not only food but also covering for the body. So that is why we are praying to you for food. You are known for your mercy; please give us food.”
The goddess asks them again to please wait until they have returned home. Then they can eat to their heart’s content.
The image of Chhinnamasta (Parvati after she has severed her head) conveys an amalgamation of sex, death, creation, destruction, and regeneration.
The ravenous attendants insist. They beg. They plead. “We are overpowered with hunger, O Mother of the Universe,” they cry. “Give us food so we may be satisfied, O Merciful One, Bestower of Boons and Fulfiller of desires.”
Hearing this, Parvati, speechless with mercy, lops off her own head, from which springs blood she uses to feed the hungry children.
The binary pair: destruction/creation proves deeply embedded into our psyches. Indeed, it is an archetype. Whether it is like the Parvati or Jesus story (among others) where the sacrificed life produces life–or resembles the Arabian Phoenix story (the fire bird, following a 500 to 1,000 year life-cycle ignites into flame, crumbles into ash, only to rise again, anew) where death naturally leads to life and rebirth, these ancient tales speak of a scenario human beings recognize on a deeply primitive level.
The death of Bambi’s father followed by a great fire leads to a spring meadow and a new age under a new leadership. Similarly, in The Lion King, the death of Mufasa followed by the death of Scar and plenty of fire and rain ends with the promise of a flourishing, new spring. Elton John sings of the “Circle of Life” while children listen, wide-eyed and serious. These tales resonate because they already exist in our blood. We know them without being told.
Life follows death regardless of our choice or lofty intentions. "It's the circle of life and it moves us all," we do not move it.
Despite what it seems, because archetypes are nature, they are instinctual and primitive–they are not moral. There exists no room for choice when it comes to an archetype. We lose free will when we approach the animal objective so closely. The instinctual life is amoral. If you contest, watch the nature channel for a bit.
However–and this however is huge; it is a twist in the plot, a change of direction–I want to write about a different kind of life-death, creation-destruction pairing: A creation that is conscious choice, life that is an act of will.
Last week my friend, Jessica Kaufman, posted an article on her facebook profile. The article was so brief, I will include the entire text, here.
QUAKE: GRANDMOTHER `CROCHETED` DURING 30-HOUR WAIT
(ANSA) – L`Aquila, April 7 – A 98-year-old grandmother rescued 30 hours after Monday`s earthquake in Abruzzo said she had whiled away the time “crocheting“ amid the rubble.
Firemen on Tuesday morning found Maria D`Antuoni waiting in her bed surrounded by fallen plaster in the small village
of Tempera.
D`Antuoni ate some crackers and told television crews “at least let me comb my hair“ as they waited for an interview.
“What did I do all this time? I was working, I was crocheting,“ she said.
Photo: A rescuer searches through rubble in Tempera.
Link: http://www.lifeinitaly.com/node/4946
My thoughts have returned again and again to this simple–even quaint–news item. In the midst of complete and utter destruction–this earthquake and its after shocks have killed hundreds, they have wreaked havoc on homes and public buildings– in the midst of this natural and wild destroying, a little old woman chose to “work” on creating.
She was working, she says. She was making.
Creation in spite of destruction is what captivates my heart this spring, this Easter. As thousands upon thousands lose their jobs, as men pull out their guns and shoot into crowded spaces, as pirates hijack and earthquakes dismantle–creation continues to be both a primitive necessity and a human act of will.
Joseph Campbell writes, “Revolution doesn’t have to do with smashing something; it has to do with bringing something forth.” I do not need to worry about destruction; nature will take care of that enough–human nature, mother nature, call it what you will. I will, however, concern myself with bringing something forth (this baby, anydaynow, among other things).
This grandmother, with her yarn, quietly crocheting in her broken home, inside her broken village is a symbol to me of a choice I wish to make daily–of a choice I wish we all could make, if only a little, every day of our lives.
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[...] Webster Emerson writes a very interesting post about the miracle of staying ‘alive’ in The Crocheting Grandmother and the Saviour of the world. Read it, it’s [...]