OPENING TO THE GREAT BELOW

Leaning into descent and Mythic Allies by Tracy Chipman

image by Sandy Ibrahim - www.sandyibrahim.com

From the belly of autumn, as sweet darkness overcomes day’s light, here at the edge of an inland sea I offer these words as breadcrumbs, as enquiries, and as cracks where insight and discovery might come through. We are animate beings, part of an often forgotten whole, remembering and attempting to walk ourselves home, together – aware of this, or not. Welcome here from whatever season, whichever edge. 

In the autumn of my own life, I am remembering the tapestry of my human experience as a weaving of phenomenon, of contractions & expansions, descents & ascents, ruptures & repairs, a wild, magnificent stew of mysteries & meanings. Those expansions, joys, the ah ha moments, I easily welcomed, however those experiences of descents, of rupture, heart crushing contractions – these have often been less welcomed. Yet over time, as my seventh decade beckons, I am noticing less resistance and more leaning into the pain, loss, grief, and the host of emotional and psychological repercussions. This is still damn uncomfortable and wildly awkward and yet, there is more conscious flowing into these still devastating ebb states. There’s a remembering that just as autumn inevitably follows summer these descents come  – the death of a beloved, a crushing failure, the loss of a job, a chronic illness, a global pandemic, these too are part of the cycle. 

Navigating these journeys alone, and/or in a perceived state of isolation has, for me, hugely compounded the wounding and trauma to my body – physically, emotionally, psychologically and spiritually. Discovering, learning to ask, and the practice of receiving from human and more-than-human allies has been the greatest gift for me in navigating rupturing experiences. 

Allies as peers who can bear witness to the deepest pain, who can listen, and might say, “ I see you, I’m with you.” The white pine who so beautifully reminds me I am not alone. That Andrea Gibson poem, the one I want to shove in my mouth, and swallow down into my body, as a sacrament, as an act of redemption and relief.  Surprisingly, or not, over the years one of the most essential ally-supports I reach toward again and are stories, often mythic ones. Myth as medicine, as maps wayfaring me through these chthonic depths. Listening, telling, reading, courting and even enacting these stories have become agents of deep support and transformation.

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When I was four, I was sexual abused by a family member. To protect my psyche, I repressed the memory of this until my mid 30s when a series of events lead to my remembering this traumatic experience. 

Around the time of this memory, I discovered a particular version of the Greek myth of Persephone, Demeter and Baubo, where Persephone was abducted from an endless summer paradise of mother-love and descended into the underworld. Her descent generated the seasons of autumn and winter. In this retelling of the story, her return from the underworld was brought forth by the erotic, primal dancing of the Great Hag – Baubo and her grief-stricken mother, Demeter. Persephone’s return was a rebirth ushering in spring.

At the time, this version of the story helped me navigate the grief, rage and the depression I was experiencing. There were also friends, counselors, Yogic practices, and an ocean that helped me, but this story inhabiting me became a touchstone helping me be with the discomfort of this memory, and with myself in healing and restorative ways. The story of Old Baubo reminded me of the simple truth that I am a cyclical being, in an expanding and contracting universe and that this downward, descending energy, while wildly uncomfortable, was an essential soul process of becoming more myself. This story also offered me the gift of courage helping me better integrate this massive initiatory event.

In my 44^th year I answered the call to step in as my dad’s caregiver during his end-of-life journey. Nearing the end of that experience I fell in love with a man who was a beautiful presence in that challenging time. Weeks after my dad had passed on, this new love and I attended an All Hallows Eve dance…on Samhain. After the dance, just as we were falling into sleep, he had a massive heart attack and died. That night, I descended into a profound initiation and unprecedented dark night of the soul journey. A few years later while still very much in the shadow and the unexpected grace of those losses I was told a story, a mythic Celtic tale about the Cailleach at the End of the World. This story became a profound healing ally for me, over many years.

In my retelling of story, the Cailleach, the ancient crone goddess of winter dwells in a cave at the edge of the world. One of her tasks in the cave is to sit at her loom and weave this great tapestry from strands of wool, silk, ribbons, even filthy rags. As she weaves images of stories emerge in the tapestry. Through a series of events, trickster raven destroys the weaving. Upon discovering this the Cailleach mourns the loss, eventually returning to the loom, and beginning again - weaving old stories and new into being.

Even now, in these seemingly downward spiraling times this story offers me courage and permission to grieve fully, to lean more robustly into the descent. I often retell this story with women’s circles and in 1:1 story medicine sessions, observing how it can help them be in their own descent times in a way that is empowering, and help them also welcome grief as an agent of transformation and regeneration.

So fellow travelers, perhaps we, like Eve, Inanna, and Hel are no stranger to falling, flailing into the deep labor of descending. And like Persephone rising, like wild Baubo dancing, and the Irish mythic Miis, we can grieve fully, regenerate, and transform through rupturing life events. 

What stories have served as sacred allies for you?

How might we all dig deeper into to this experience of stories as mythic allies, and through their support more consciously, intentionally lean into life’s inevitable descents, rising Phoenix-like, clods of underworld between our toes? 

How might we ascend into newer transcendent versions of ourselves? 

More whole in the whole-mess allied, carried by mythic stories ancient and new, then sporulating our deep soul gifts into world?

* * *

If you feel called to explore this further in community, in Oxford, in November, fellow storyteller, Jackie Singer ( https://www.jackiesinger.co.uk/) and I are facilitating a day retreat for women folx working with the Sumerian myth of Inanna’s Descent. Space is limited. More info here 

LET IT BE KNOWN

I did not fall from grace, I fell into grace.

My own body - a flaming star.

My own mouth exploding with sweetness

My own hands conjuring change

My own voice singing to me. And you.

Singing for us!

I fell into grace, arriving unmasked toward a new unknown.

The beckoning horizon ripe with possibility.

Hail the forbidden apple, holy the severed hands.

Sacred the descent and brave, brave and braver 

those willing to waver, leap, tip, ass-over-tea-kettle 

Singing salty sea shanties, all the way down,

plummeting eyes wild & hearts wilder

Into a paradise never known before.

Tracy Chipman (she/her/they) weaves the ancient rivers of oral storytelling, writing and somatic practices creating unforgettable experiences inviting us towards more embodied transformation & interconnectedness with the animate world. She resides in northern Wisconsin, occupying the traditional territories of the Ojibwe peoples. In March 2023 Tracy published her first book, Borealis Mundi - Resting in Place, Loss & Grace. Learn more about her work  www.tracychipman.net