In the early days of CrossFit, which is seemingly almost a household name now, I experienced what I would now call a death and rebirth experience. It was an odd thing, brought about in no small measure both because of my psychological strengths, and my quite profound and sundry short-comings/stupidity. The outcome of that experience, arguably, is what put CrossFit on the path to the success it now enjoys. It was never certain it would grow as large as it has; that was certainly far beyond the wildest hopes of the founders. I know this. This story has been so thoroughly buried that it is now known by few.
I experienced something like this with Holotropic Breathwork. I nearly got booted from the training, and was definitely in limbo there for some hours.
Which of course brings me to Achilles (perhaps on my gravestone–which I won’t have, since I plan cremation; oh, maybe it could be written on a piece of paper and burned–they should put the proper Latin for what I intend by Pater Non Sequiturum.)
I have not read the actual Iliad, other than simplified versions that were not direct translations, but I did listen to an excellent series on it from someone (I’m sorry, I don’t remember the name: she teaches at Northwestern) from the Teaching Company. Even without reading the prose, I was absolutely fascinated by the story. I had always thought it was a retelling of the Trojan War story, soup to nuts. It is not. It is about a period of the war in which the greatest warrior first rejects all Greek conceptions of war–first by isolating himself and rejecting the traditional enticements of booty and fame, and then by going too far in his violence, becoming almost the embodiment of violence itself, remorseless, pitiless, tireless.
He dies three times: first, by rejecting his role in society as a fighter and leader; second, by violating rules of conduct of war; and third, most importantly, by accepting the inevitability of his own death. He had been given a choice, and had chosen being forgotten and living a long life, until stirred back into action by Patroclus’ death. He had literally shed his skin in the form of armor, and taken on another skin.
Please do not laugh immediately when I say I am no Achilles. Yes, this is obvious. But in a deeper sense, i would argue that we are ALL Achilles. We are all here to fight battles. We have the choice to stick to the tried and true, to emulate and follow the models society sets before us; and we have the choice to feel and fail and die trying to win our own worlds, our own sense of self.
For my part, I have no desire to consciously and consistently violate the rules of others, but I would submit that being willing to do so while chasing something else–to stray onto someone else’s sacred land chasing a deer or following a cloud–is an inevitable and ineluctable element in trying to learn how to cross over into death and rebirth.
Take this for what it is worth. I felt this needed to be said. I do not share much of what I say to myself here–it is probably half and half–but some things I feel may have or grow wings, and are only able to do so with traction–earth–water, and the light of other spirits.