*Every journey has secret destinations of which the traveler is unaware. —*Martin Buber

In preparation for a series of 14-hour drives through farmland to my father’s, from Kentucky to Minnesota, I revisited the story of Odysseus. Most of you will remember his 20-year voyage, and the monsters, goddesses, Sirens and storms he met along the way. I felt the mythical impact of being called to attend to my 96-year-old father and his dying wife, but also the “something else” — the invisible difficult web present in the family legacy. I felt trapped in that story, which creates a fixed frame of reference. A fixed frame of reference impedes the celestial help that is always here. I needed to have a deeper story inside me. Not the monkey-mind stories, but one from the universal myths that carry a perennial wisdom and a primordial knowing that has nothing to do with culture, race, gender, economics, time or family. I was entering enemy territory.

I learned the skill of turning to myths as a child, when I discovered Edith Hamilton’s Greek Mythology, and had the sudden realization that these were not simply made up stories, but true aspects of human nature. After many failures at forging a relationship with my step-mother, I was now taking the position of being caretaker for her and support for my father. I needed the comfort of a universal myth, of a timeless wisdom.

I. The Story as a Sacred Map

How can I begin to tell the transforming effect of having a story, which becomes a sacred map inside you? The map shows the next step, and the road is a pathway to traverse the human dilemma — the impossible circumstances we sometimes find ourselves in. I was not looking forward to walking into almost forty years of being banned from my stepmother’s family. In all that time (before she became ill), I met only a couple of her six siblings, and only for brief moments. My brother and sister had not met anyone in her family. The two families — the children of my father, and my stepmother’s siblings, nieces and nephews — had never shared holidays or social occasions. Yet, soon we would all be thrown together with the prospect of our stepmother’s imminent death. Like Odysseus, I knew I had to prepare to meet the Cyclops, within and without. The Cyclops has only one eye, and therefore no depth perception. The Cyclops does not care who you are, does not listen to reason, and cannot be confronted directly. I knew, like Odysseus, my focus needed to be on getting to the other shore. This is the Home inside you, the place where you belong, and where you are recognized for who you are.

My fortitude and strength came from cultivating my imagination through this story, and taking the journey seriously by having reverence for each person who showed up. I had the certainty inside me that I was answering a call. This conviction lived alongside my uncertainty about how to care for my father, who is about to lose the wife that he loves, and have to sell his home of the last 40 years, and move across the country during an epidemic. And how do I care for my stepmother, at home in Hospice — a stepmother who comes out of those fairy tales where the father’s children end up in an oven?

Out of the muck of your experience, you must re-enchant the world.
— Tiresias, the blind seer, from Travels With Odysseus by Michael Goldberg

II. Signs Along the Way

When I was preparing for one of these trips, and planning to drive alone, Steven was clearing everything off of the shelves in our entryway in preparation for the arrival of a new door. As I was leaving, he admired the empty shelves, so white and clean. But at the last moment, he reached way down under the bottom shelf, just to make sure he had everything, and pulled out a beautiful hand carved oar that we didn’t know was there. I recognized it immediately as the one belonging to Odysseus, and confirmation that I had both the guidance and the tools I needed to navigate this ocean of grief, conflict and misunderstanding. Upon discovery of the “oar” I knew I was inside the story, collaborating with the divine.

Upon discovery of the “oar” I knew I was inside the story, collaborating with the divine

As you continue, which you will do, the way to proceed will become apparent to you.
—John Cage

Carrying the story and the oar (the latter was small enough to fit in my pocket) with me allowed me to have a curious, open stance to those I was told “would never speak to me.” Another story begins to emerge when you give the benefit of doubt and just see what will happen. It was not easy, but small miracles kept appearing — ancient locked doors, enemies and old patterns opened and transformed. It is true, as revealed in the stories, that help comes from unexpected places when you step fully in. I made a surprising and meaningful heartfelt alliance with the very one I was told was my worst enemy. He showed up at my father’s home one day, unannounced, a stranger at the door. I opened the door and introduced myself, and he said, “I know who you are, I came because I want to meet you.”

*Help Comes from Unexpected Places,* oil on wood, L. Doctor

But the hero-soul goes boldly in — and discovers the hags converted into goddesses and the dragons into watchdogs of the gods.
— Joseph Campbell, The Hero With A Thousand Faces

III. The Funeral

Here is one of many stories from my last visit: How do I handle the inherent conflict of my father needing to be present at his beloved wife’s funeral with the knowledge that she was struggling to the end to find a church open for an indoor ceremony duirng the height of Covid? On the border between North Dakota and Minnesota, she found a small church that would allow a service indoors with no masks, no social distancing, and lots of singing.

When my father and I arrived at the country church on County Road 10, we were the only ones wearing masks. I stood by him, outside the church, waiting to see what would happen. The funeral director asked him to go up the ramp, into the door of the church, and visit her body. “Go ahead”, said the funeral director to my father, pointing up the ramp. “Give your respects to her body.” My father did not move. “Go ahead”, he repeated. After three attempts Dad gave his final refusal. I don’t know if it was because he didn’t want to go inside the church, or because he didn’t want to see her body, or both. I asked the funeral director to help me protect my father from getting Covid, and having to die in isolation. The funeral director brought us chairs, and sat us behind the congregation in the outside doorway of the vestibule.

Afterward, the congregation walked to the cemetery to witness the lowering of the casket, and my father and I were directed to follow the white hearse in our car, where we could observe from our window. I felt that in a sea of strangers, I had an ally in the funeral director. He unknowingly did something forbidden when he came up to the car afterward, surprising me with an offering of my stepmother’s bag of jewelry. Odysseus knew the dangers of accepting gifts from the Lotus Eaters, and the resulting peril of forgetting why he is here, and what he is meant to do. I refused the offer, and the director offered the jewels to others in the crowd. When it was over, I let my father know that it was time for the “wake” — another indoor event with food and lots of people. In all of these instances, I gave him information, but did not advise him. He pronounced: “I am done.” And we drove back to his house.

IV. The Return

The returning hero, to complete his adventure, must survive the impact of the world…. The trick in returning is to retain the wisdom gained on the quest, to integrate that wisdom into a human life, and then maybe figure out how to share the wisdom with the rest of the world.
— Joseph Campbell

Now I am back home. I feel the oar as an instrument of courage inside me. This is the fortification that I needed. This inner reference point is the one that needs attention, that teaches how to not be a victim of circumstance, but a collaborator with the divine.

In the story of Odysseus, after his return home and his reunion with Penelope, some time passes, and he begins to get restless again. He forgets the inner wisdom he has gained on his long journey. He longs for the excitement and glory of the battles of his youth, he wants be a hero again, and go back out to sea. On the day he decides he can wait no longer, that he must go— he falls asleep outside in the sun, against a tree. Tiresias, the blind seer, visits him in a dream and says: Your journey now has nothing to do with glory, recognition or winning. You are not to go out to sea, but inland. It is time to cultivate and integrate the wisdom you already have inside you. You must carry your oar with you. You will know you have gone far enough in when you meet a stranger who mistakes your oar for a winnowing fan, as he has never even seen the sea. It is in this place that you must plant your oar in the earth, and then you will find your way back Home.

What helps you navigate difficult situations? Where are you recognized for who you are? What stories do you return to? Have you forgotten what you are here to do? I’d love to hear from you.

The current issue of Triggerfish Critical Review is out — there is an extensive interview and dozens of images of my work paired with featured poets.

Next coloring page will be “O” for Odysseus.