Finding Accompaniment in Myths

“Language has always gone toward places where we think language cannot survive.”

Dear friends, 

Today, Sunday 9th of April, is a day when some people mark Easter. Some have other celebrations to mark, some don’t mark any, and even among those who mark Easter, there is some disparity about dates. (A friend from Bethlehem loves Orthodox Christmas but Catholic Easter.)

I can’t think about Easter without thinking about hell. 

As a child I had an interest in hell, for all kinds of strange reasons. A boy in my class said that if you said a prayer backwards while looking in the mirror you’d see the face of the devil. He tried it, saw it, and threw up. I walked home with my friend saying prayers the whole way. Oh the thrill and the fear of it. 

When I did my undergrad, I was a pretty average student. The “yeah, you did fine, but you could have done better” kind. Except for one exam, where I gained a ridiculously high grade. The exam was on hell. My supervisor called me in for a conversation because, he said, it was “an unusual thing to do so well in.” I was delighted, and my explanation that I’ve loved Dante’s Inferno for years didn’t satisfy him. “Hmmm,” he said. 

Anyway. All of this goes to say that I’ve put a small poem about hell here. It’s one I wrote years ago. It’s gone by many titles, but mostly it’s “Go to Hell”:

He is called to hell this man
he is called to glory
he knows well those twisted ways
and those who’ve lost their story.

He is called to clay this man
he is called to yearning
he has heard of hidden streams
that heal those tired of burning.

He’s searching out those raised in hell
he wants to know the things they know
he believes in dreamland
where the ragged people go.

He is called to quiet now
he is called to silence
squat down on the broken ground
with those who’ve swallowed violence.

He is called to anguished thoughts
he is called to flowers
to find in hell’s own lonely fury
that which no flame devours. 

I saw him on the midway path
he carried two things only.
On his way to hell this man,
he is called to glory. 

Who is the “he” in that poem? Search me. An anyone. I like how he only carries two things. I wonder what they are. 

Hell is, for me anyway, best appreciated when you don’t believe in it. There are enough hells in the world without imagining one that goes on forever. But the myth of it — the story of it told in a way to bring a conversation to the surface — is a helpful one. It’s language that acknowledges how awful things can be, but also how far you'll go to find someone you love. 

The further I am from any belief in hell, the more I appreciate the literary value of it. Not as a place of punishment, but as a way writers acknowledge how hard things can be, some of the time. In hell, there is always someone going in, someone crawling out. Many cultures and religions have a version of it. From this, I take it that language has always gone to the places where we think language cannot survive. And language has made a survival — a life, a flourishing, a mark, an etch — in those netherworlds. A flower in hell, a trickle of water offered as an obeisance, a hare galloping through the underpassages, an echo, a track, a desire-line, a way. A handprint on the wall from someone else. 

Photo by Max Bender on Unsplash

This is what I know I need. Not easy answers. Not sugary beliefs. Just a sense that there is accompaniment, even if only in the myths we tell. I’m not looking for certitude in poetry, just a bit of the enough. 

Friends, some of us are in Springtime, some of us are tracking our way through Autumn. And some mark one festival and others mark others. Some of us are seeking help and others are offering it. And others are doing both. In all of these, I honour the language that shares love in times of demand and times of delight. Reading your comments every week is a delight.  

I’m in transit, so I'm going to take a week off from the Substack for the 16th of April, but I’ll be back the week after. I’ll read any comments below, but it’s free for you to leave and respond to thoughts about hell and flowers! It’s been lovely to meet some of you at events in Seattle and Florida this week. Thank you for making time. 

Pádraig

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In the middle of May, I’ll be leading a two-day retreat with the Small Giants Academy in Melbourne, Australia. We’ll be exploring ways of finding poetry in our everyday lives, and how that might shape our lives and the world around us, in turn. With exercises and conversation, and plenty of good company. May 12-13. Details and registration here. 

Returning and Becoming Conference | Asheville, NC

I’ll be sharing poetry and thoughts at a retreat at Kanuga (near Asheville, NC) on June 13 (morning and evening) and June 14 (morning). Hosted at an Episcopal Retreat Centre, this conference is open to all. My sessions will examine poetry, language, challenge, and change. Details and registration here.