The Road is dark here, and full of potholes and stones. Since the war, the one described in the posting entitled War, Symbols, Connection, everything seems to be in disrepair; the war has really taken a toll. So this way between the two worlds is difficult to navigate. I stumble all the time. There are other ways to get across but some of them present even more problems than this one, and some don’t allow any return at all. (Some of the stories of people not coming back are true.) All along the way, of any of the paths the Theoi Chthonoi, the underworld spirits, lie in waiting, waiting to confront the unwary traveler with all sorts of wild surprises. I would say, “Watch your step,” but it wouldn’t do any good.

This morning’s meditation actually Began with last night’s Dream of horrific, grotesque, disfigured, ghoulish figures, “people” somehow working in tacitly understood ways with Death himself. They worked quietly, respectfully, powerfully. I understood there was no other place for them to find work, but down there, doing grisly work in the shadows. In my dream, I was not afraid of them directly, only collectively. But recognizing they are all a part of me (After all, they didn’t originate from someone else’s mind), this morning I began with an invitation to everyone who lives in there/here to show up, sit at the table and share a meal together. I assured them there would be food and drink for all. In this respect, the realm of the gods is much like the conscious human world: the common currency is acknowledgement, and respectful acknowledgement will get a great deal more at the table than will disdain.

While we were eating, I couldn’t help but notice that whenever one of those particularly difficult-to-look-at daimones would reach for a turkey leg, their mere touch would turn large areas of the normally golden brown, roasted bird, black, and fearfully putrid. We didn’t talk much. “Oh, I notice you have such a way with ah, coloring,” just didn’t seem appropriate, and I wasn’t sure how sensitive they were. But the invitation had been accepted, food and drink shared, and the blackness of the stained rotted turkey meat began to shrink and disappear by the end of our time together, so I assume the party was a success. But I cannot tell you what that actually means, and I don’t want to try. Whatever it means will eventually emerge, or maybe it won’t. I am satisfied they simply showed up.

Turns out that the light from the eyes of those dream creatures is extremely useful. I can see this road a little better now, its stones and bushes, but particularly where the edges of holes and drop offs might be, and just a little further off, into the mouths of caves that hold dark surprises. Even though I have no idea where this road goes. But the light glowing eyes of those daimones gives form to the previously unshaped feelings and thoughts that emerge into my conscious. Who would have thought they are creative little critters.

It’s no accident that the original word that described “Creator” (in the sense of deity being The Creator) was a Germanic word that meant to shape, to cut, and to scrape, so creator is actually more accurately, The Shaper. So it makes sense these theoi chthonoi, these underworld spirits, are denizens of the boundaries that separate conscious from unconscious, and complete unconscious is of course Thanatos, death itself, which both receives and exhales energy to which archetypal shapes are provided by my dream friends.

When I finally realized who I had invited to dinner I understood I have invited the metaphor for Creativity Itself, Creativity at its most radical, autonomous and independent, deepest roots. Now I understand why there was no conversation, that language failed, why only images and emotions maintained our relationship for that limited time, and like the storm that swept through here last week, are gone without a trace.

I suppose it is part of the paradox of the creative that an encounter with the dark deities can bring forth light, insight, even in-lightenment. The result is often not clear. The result may be a sense of ‘what just happened?’ in one’s consciousness, and maybe a residual image. But those images speak, which is, of course the whole reason why one has the encounter in the first place. But in the full light of Apollonian rational explanation, the sureness of those images and their emotional power can seem but a dim wisp of remembered imagination.

So I do not expect you to follow my description, much less try to follow this road. You’ll find your way without a problem, the bright light of Apollo is instantly available to everyone in our age. But, here, take this small stone from the road, for your pocket.

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