November 30: "The Return," Theseus, Thread

Mary Oliver on how to find your way home, with a little help from Theseus . . .

The Return

by:  Mary Oliver

The deed took all my heart.

I did not think of you,

Not till the thing was done.

I put my sword away,

And then no more the cold

And perfect fury ran

Along my narrow bones,

And then no more the black

And dripping corridors

Held anywhere the shape

That I had come to slay.

Then, for the first time,

I saw in the cave's belly

The dark and clotted webs,

The green and sucking pools,

The rank and crumbling walls,

The maze of passages.

And I thought then

Of the far earth,

Of the spring sun

And the slow wind,

And a young girl.

And I looked then

At the white thread.

Hunting the minotaur

I was no common man

And had no need of love.

I trailed the shining thread

Behind me, for a vow,

And did not think of you.

It lay there, like a sign,

Coiled on the bull's great hoof

And back into the world.

Half blind with weariness

I touched the thread and wept.

O, it was frail as air.

And I turned then

With the white spool

Through the cold rocks,

Through the black rocks,

Through the long webs,

And the mist fell,

And the webs clung,

And the rocks tumbled,

And the earth shook.

And the thread held.

Yes, Oliver is using the myth of Theseus as a way to talk about being lost and found.  Most of you, faithful disciples, are probably familiar with the narrative--how Theseus outsmarts King Minos of Crete, kills the Minotaur, and leads the Athenians out of the labyrinth.  Of course, he doesn't do it by himself.  He seduces Minos' daughter, Ariadne, and Ariadne gives Theseus a ball of yarn to help guide him out of the Minotaur's home.  It's Ariadne's love that saves Theseus.

Love is a powerful force in the universe.  It has started and ended wars, inspired sonnets and plays and songs, and led many a lost soul from darkness to light.  In the end, that's what homecoming is all about--following your heart back to a place where love blooms like dandelions, wild and golden and abundant.  (Let's not get into the fact the Theseus lied to Ariadne, who either hanged herself or ended up marrying the god Dionysus.  Either way, Theseus is an asshole.)

Tonight, I am sitting in my office at home typing this post.  My wife is reading in the living room.  My son is upstairs playing online games with his friends, and my puppy is perched in a living room window, barking her brains out at every passing walker or car.  Basically, I'm surrounded by love on this last night of November.  I even received a text message from my daughter a little while ago; it contained a video of all these famous people thanking their fathers for their unconditional support and love.  It made me cry.

Yes, I'm struggling with darkness right now, but I know that my wife and kids love me.  That is the thread that I'm holding onto this evening--the thread that will lead me out of the labyrinth in which I currently find myself.  That thread will lead me home.

When my mother was dying in the nursing home, I sat by her bed, listening to her watery breaths.  All my other family members had left for a little while.  I took my mother's hand in mine, and I held on for dear life, as if she was a balloon or kite struggling to slip "the surly bonds of earth to touch the face of God," as Ronald Reagan said after the explosion of the Challenger space shuttle.  I thanked her for being my mother.  Told her how much I loved her.  Let her know we were all going to be okay.  "It's okay," I whispered to her.  "You can go home now."  She died a few hours later.

Everyone on this planet needs a home--a place to return after long and fraught days of struggle.  A place where love simmers on the stove like a pot of tomato soup, filling the air with promise.  My mother taught me this, not so much in words but in everything she did for our family, every day of her life.

Saint Marty hopes he can do the same:  be the thread--the tomato soup--for his wife and kids.