We belong to each other
The grief of Demeter and the violence of Hades
Today, if we have no peace, it is because we have forgotten that we belong to each other–that man, that woman, that child is my brother or my sister.
~Mother Theresa
Today, I went to lunch with a dear friend. We decided to forgo our usual walk and share our grief and rage, heartbreak and confusion, and fear over a meal. We have spent countless hours sharing our stories of children, spouses, families, jobs, growing older, and connection. Our husbands met at their first job out of college, so our friendship has deep roots. We live in different towns—not far from each other at all—but this meant that during the busiest parenting seasons of our lives, we rarely saw each other. Our visits increased as the kids got older, with she and I getting together for long walks on a fairly regular basis and the four of us getting together for concerts and dinner often. While I could tell you a great deal about each of her kids and she about mine, we have actually spent very little time with our families together. We know and love each other’s kids deeply. If asked, I would do almost anything for her children. I know the same is true of her. But if you asked one of my kids about her, they would take some prompting to remember who she is. It is a strange connection, one I did not understand until I became a parent.
When you become a parent, many of your friendships expand to include your children. That expansion may include your friends spending actual time with your child, getting to know them in person, interacting with them, watching them grow. And sometimes, it is that your narratives change to focus on the joys and struggles of parenting. Through those stories, you get to know your friends’ children just as they get to know yours. You know the child through the lens of their mother. And what a special view this is. To see a child through the eyes of the woman who carried them in her body for more than nine months, who fed them, soothed them, taught them to communicate, cradled them in love, and helped them separate from her, even as it broke her heart. Even in her most intense struggle with that child (generally the teenage version), you can see how deeply and unconditionally she loves them. And so, of course, because you love her, you also love her child.
Long before our stories were truncated to reels and posts, humans told myths to explain their experiences. The Greeks and Romans created stories that remain woven through our culture today, dramatic narratives that tell timeless tales of love and heartache, violence and grief. One Greek myth is often described as an explanation for the seasons, but captures themes of power, violence, death, rebirth, and the depth and force of a mother’s love. Persephone, the goddess of spring, is the daughter of Zeus, the king of the gods, and Demeter, the goddess of the harvest. One beautiful day, Persephone is picking flowers with her friends, Athena and Artemis, when Hades comes out of the Underworld, where he is king, in a golden chariot and kidnaps her. He takes her to the Underworld to force her to be his bride and queen. Of course as these things go in Greek myths, Hades is Zeus’s brother and he went to Zeus requesting a bride. Zeus knew Demeter would not consent to a marriage between Persephone and Hades, so Zeus told Hades to kidnap her.
Demeter Mourning for Persephone, Evelyn DeMorgan, 1906
Demeter’s grief for Persephone is so great that she causes the first winter. Nothing grows, the ground becomes barren and hard. In this eternal winter, famine sets in. She searches and searches for her daughter, and finally, Demeter learns from Helios that Zeus is to blame for Persephone’s disappearance. She refuses to allow anything to grow until he releases their daughter from the underworld. Because Persephone had eaten six pomegranate seeds, she had to return to the Underworld for four months each year.
On Tuesday, this country selected Zeus and Hades, in their gilded chariots, to run the country. They chose two men who have told us time and time again that they will conspire to take what they want for themselves; others’ rights, health, well-being, very life be damned.
When someone threatens to take away women’s and LGBTQ rights, repeats and endorses incendiary stories even he admits are false to increase fear and hatred of immigrants, shares the stage with someone who calls Puerto Rico a floating island of garbage, I believed that people would respond with a clear rejection of these proclamations of hatred. When someone makes clear that he has no respect for our form of government, that he wants to be a dictator on day one, I thought that people would believe him and reject his tyranny. I expected that people would instead, embrace someone who promised to work for increased rights and opportunities for people regardless of who they love, how they identify, or their families’ origins. Someone who countered the hatred and vitriol with joy and hope.
I expected, upon hearing that this man was conspiring to come up from the Underworld in his golden chariot and abduct spring, that people would rise up in protest and protect Persephone. I hoped that they would recognize taking a woman against her will is violence. Telling a woman you can’t trust her to make decisions about her own body—that the government will make those decisions for her—is violence. I thought we had evolved far enough as a country to recognize that taking a child from her mother, even if that child is an adult, is also violence and it is a crime. That taking away rights from individuals because you don’t like whom they choose to love or how they want to identify and express their identity is violence and it is a crime. That calling immigrants animals and threatening mass deportation is inhumane and despicable.
Instead, a majority of people chose to endorse Hermes. They chose to crown the god of the underworld in his golden chariot. They endorsed violence, abduction, and rape. And like Demeter, the rest of us are sick with grief. Like Demeter, we will not stop until we have restored spring to the country.
Because what many seem to have forgotten, is that he is telling you exactly who he is and what he plans to do. When someone tells you they consider immigrants to be animals, Puerto Rico is garbage, women can’t be trusted to govern their own bodies, same-sex marriage will be abolished, trans rights will be taken away, you should take them at their word. If you aren’t on that list now, it is only a matter of time before you show up. We have seen this playbook before. We know how this will play out, if we and our government don’t stop it.
We need the vision of interbeing—we belong to each other; we cannot cut reality into pieces. The well-being of “this” is the well-being of “that,” so we have to do things together.
~Thich Nhat Hanh, Peace Is Every Step: The Path of Mindfulness in Everyday Life
We belong to each other.
We belong to each other.
I have heard the initial analyses of why she lost, how he won. There are lessons to be learned, for sure. But none of the political back and forth will assuage the ache that this country chose to elect someone who has told us exactly who he is and what he wants. None of it will make it easier to accept that more than half of the voters felt that their grocery bills or social security checks were more important than the dignity and worth of other humans. That they didn’t take the time to realize that they were trading on someone else’s rights for a false promise. That groceries will get more expensive. That social security may go away entirely. That if you live in a red border state, in the first 30-60 days after he takes power, people will stop showing up to work, children will be absent from school. Because mass deportations will start. And continue. Women will continue to die in hospital parking lots because their doctors are forbidden by law to perform sometimes simple, life-saving procedures.
I know that this country grew this nation and economy on the backs of Black, Brown, and Native peoples. I know we have a long legacy of racism, misogyny, classism, homophobia, and transphobia, that it has been a harsh and cruel place for many since its inception. And, I thought we had made more progress. I thought that whatever imperfections you saw in her, you would recognize they were small in comparison to authoritarianism and tyranny. Why have we not learned that we belong to each other? That when we stand by while others suffer, we lose part of our humanity. That this kind of hunger for power is endless, insatiable. That somewhere in our history, unless you are Native, we were all once immigrants in this country—it is only a matter of generations. That someone in your life has a trans family member. Someone in your life may have a pregnancy loss or complication that requires a medical procedure that is now considered illegal and no doctor within driving distance will perform. Someone else will want desperately to start a family, but IVF is no longer legal where they live. Someone will need an abortion. When is it close enough for you to care?
Demeter fought Zeus and Hades. She brought Persephone back from the Underworld every year for eight months. And those months brought rebirth and blossom, growth and harvest. And in those days and weeks before Persephone returned to the Underworld, the bountiful harvest was celebrated, food prepared to last through the cold of winter. And those leaves, well, they put on a vibrant show before letting winter settle in.
The dark, coldness of winter is coming. We don’t know how harsh it will be, how long and fierce the storms. But we do know the humans have faced these bitter conditions since time began.
And spring has always returned.
Orpheus
I know you miss the world, the one you knew
The one where everything made sense
Because you didn't know the truth, that's how it works
'Til the bottom drops out and you learn
We're all just hunters seeking solid ground
Don't stop trying to find me here amidst the chaos
Though I know it's blinding, there's a way out
Say out loud
We will not give up on love now
No fear, don't you turn like Orpheus, just stay here
Hold me in the dark, and when the day appears
We'll say
We did not give up on love today
~Sara Bareilles
All I can do now is grieve. When I feel fear, I will look deep into that fear and see what lies there. It is generally something I want to protect, something I am worried has been threatened.
And so much is being threatened.
I can keep connecting with my friends, my community, my heart.
I can resist the message of defeat and hatred and divisiveness by cultivating community and connection and joy and creativity and love in my circles.
And I will continue to believe that we belong to each other.
That every person is worthy of dignity and respect.
That each and every child deserves not only the basics of food, clothing, and shelter, but safety and love and comfort.
That it is easy to extend the same love and protection I would offer my friends’ children to the children in my community, my state, my country, this world. As long as I hold in my heart that we belong to each other,
That when the grief starts to lessen, joy and hope will come back in. That the opportunities to fight to preserve and protect what we love will become clear.
And each day, remember to do the next right thing.
The Next Right Thing I've seen dark before But not like this This is cold This is empty This is numb The life I knew is over The lights are out Hello, darkness I'm ready to succumb I follow you around I always have But you've gone to a place I cannot find This grief has a gravity It pulls me down But a tiny voice whispers in my mind "You are lost, hope is gone But you must go on And do the next right thing" Can there be a day beyond this night? I don't know anymore what is true I can't find my direction, I'm all alone The only star that guided me was you How to rise from the floor When it's not you I'm rising for? Just do the next right thing Take a step, step again It is all that I can to do The next right thing I won't look too far ahead It's too much for me to take But break it down to this next breath This next step This next choice is one that I can make So I'll walk through this night Stumbling blindly toward the light And do the next right thing And with the dawn, what comes then When it's clear that everything will never be the same again? Then I'll make the choice To hear that voice And do the next right thing ~Kristen Anderson Lopez/Robert Lopez
All photos were taken by the exceptional Dana Giuliana, unless otherwise noted.
Thanks for spending some of your day reading this post. I hope it resonated. Periplum of motherhood and other wonderings is free. If you enjoy reading, please share it with friends!
Beautifully done🇺🇸