Lately I’ve been much more focused on doing things and a lot less on writing about things. Unfortunately, as a result my PBP posts have fallen behind. On the plus side: doing things.
One of the things I’ve been doing is getting up earlier every morning to make sure I have time for daily meditations at my shrine. The first day felt really awkward, but after that its been a very positive experience.
I’m not good at remembering Greek names and I really want to do better, so my chosen meditation at the moment is Dionysos’ epithets. There are some that are really familiar to me – that describe so well how I perceive Him that they have embedded themselves in my mind in spite of the language difference. Others are more difficult. I’ve been choosing one a day at random to meditate on its meaning. It sticks with me all day. A way to keep the though of Him near.
The other day, the epithet that came up was Kissokomes, ivy crowned. In some ways, an obvious one and easy to remember, but deeper than it may seem. It got me thinking about ivy and Dionysos. Since this is an “I” week, I’ve decided to share some of these thoughts. Apologies in advance for the randomness that follows.
Ivy is everywhere in my town. This is not necessarily a good thing. Invasive species and all that. I remember being told as a girl that we don’t plant ivy in our garden, no matter how lovely it is, it’s too destructive. But it is lovely, and I like seeing this reminder of Him where ever I go.
I find it interesting that the religion of Dionysos, in many myths, was considered foreign and destructive as well. That must be unintentional, though. It only works as a metaphor in North America – in the Mediterranean region where the myths developed, ivy is a native plant.
In myth, ivy is associated with Dionysos because it was the ivy that protected Him from Zeus’ fire when His mother was destroyed.
I don’t know of any instances where natural ivy is considered protective in this sense, but its berries sustain many species during times of the year when few other plants supply food.
Here the ivy thrives wild in liminal places. I’ve never seen ivy growing deep in the forest, but on the edges of civilization.
I like this metaphor better.
I literally live on the edge of a wood, just like in the fairy tales. Unlike the fairy tales though, my home is part of a fairly sizable town, that butts up against a redwood forest that is even larger. The forest starts two houses down from me. And many of the trees along the road that borders it are covered in ivy.
These trees, for the most part do not appear to be damaged by its presence.
Ancients considered a vertical surface, like a tree, covered in ivy to be sacred to Dionysos. The ancient ivy covered pines at the local cemetery struck me as particularly so when I (re)discovered them this past Anthesteria.
Which leads me to another thought on Dionysos. He tears us apart so that we can start fresh and become what we are meant to be. Ivy tears down weak, human things, but embraces the strong in nature.