It's somewhat embarrassing, but until the last couple of
weeks, I did not really understand what miasma was. Oh, I understood it
in a historical sense, but not in a truly personal sense. It didn't
seem to apply to me, in the here-and-now. We live in a world where such
things
as spiritual "dirtiness" are verboten – they smack too much of
Christianity, which many of us have left behind, and thereby brings up
bad memories. While I was never Christian, I still grew up with the
idea of sin because it is the most vocal and public of the religions
where I live.
Most of the gods I have worshiped have been cthonic deities. In other
words, they have no worry about the general types of miasma picked up
by people nowadays, those associated with death and birth. Hekate is
said to be one of the torchbearers showing the dead soul to the
underworld, and Dionysos revels in birth, death, and other unsavory subjects usually suitable only to mortals.
Lately, however, I have been garnering a relationship with Zeus and
Hera, whom I see as the supernal father and mother. I also have begun
to give honors to Hestia. These are not cthonic deities, to say the
least. They are quite Olympic in nature, and that changes my way of
worship. Much of my "general" worship has remained the same, but there
are details which have changed.
The change was most noted this past week, when I was mourning the death
of our unborn child. My sisterwife was 17 weeks pregnant, and
the baby died due to genetic issues. It was a very sad time for us. For
the first few days, I held everything together, and kept my grief close
to my chest. I felt that it was my duty, in a way, to keep things on an
even keel for my family. I am the priestess, the minister, and it's my
job to help others deal with their grief. However, I was not giving
myself time for grieving. After everyone else was over the worst of the
emotional storm, I finally broke down.
When I learned the child had died, I immediately covered my altar upon
which I keep my Olympic deity items. Zeus, Hera, and Hestia were all
shrouded, kept apart from my grief. I didn't feel it was necessary to
shield Dionysos or Hekate, as they have often been my companions in
grief in the past. Initially, I shrouded the altar because I had heard
it was something others did when they were "polluted" by death. I
wasn't sure it was necessary, but I wasn't certain that it wasn't
necessary, either.
I'm glad I shrouded the altar. When I broke down, I took a shred of
comfort from knowing that Hekate and Dionysos were with me, but I also
looked up at the covered Olympic altar and realized that it was very
right that it should be veiled. There was no need for the Olympic gods
to see me wallowing in my own mortality.
That was what I realized, then. The idea of miasma is not one of sin,
but one of pollution. It isn't so much that the gods would be offended
by our grief, but that they have no need to see it. Their interest in
us is as servants to them, as worshipers of them, and supplicants to
them. During the deepest days of grief, or the days just after a birth,
our focus is not on the gods but on ourselves, or our families. That is
not wrong, but it is not serving, worshiping or asking something of the
gods. It is a time to be mortal, and to fully embrace our mortality. If
we did not, we might be bordering on hubris, and that is decidedly not
a good thing.
The Greeks used a variety of methods by which they cleansed the body
and soul of miasma. These ranged from the simple washing of the hands
(something done before prayers and meals alike, as all were considered
sacred) to the slaughter of a pig and the sprinkling of its blood.
It's unlikely that those of us living in modern North America are going
to have pig blood handy for cleansings, however it's not beyond us to
use water, either spring water or purified tap water. Some people also
advocate the use of salt in water, while others feel this is contrary
to the idea of purification. Like most things we do within the Hellenic
Polytheistic communities, each of us must use our personal feelings and
study both historical texts and modern experiences to find the most
appropriate methods.
The Greeks of the Hellenistic era followed certain rules in regards to
funerals and miasma. When someone died, they would clean and dress the
body with oils and perfumes, and put the body into a clean outfit,
usually pure white. Then the body was attended for a time (and I have
heard that the lying out time was anywhere between 24 hours and 3 days;
my guess is that it depended a lot on the temperature, as if it
was hot out, the body would spoil quickly). After the relatives watched
over the body, it would be taken in a long procession to the place
where it was to be buried or burned on a pyre, and a funeral rite would
be conducted. Three days after the completion of this ritual, the
participants, relatives, and those who had actually touched the body
would undergo a purification process, and would go to the burial or
pyre location and make libations and sacrificial offerings. The
offerings would be made again nine days after the initial funeral rite,
and a last time 30 days after the rite.
Keeping this in mind, I went through the worst of my grief
(unintentionally) 3 days after the death of the baby. Though we have
not had a formal funeral, I am considering the day of my intense
grieving to be the funeral day. Three days later, I underwent a
cleansing that I created myself, spontaneously.
We are lucky enough to have a largish above-ground pool in our
backyard, and I went into the pool during the morning, and floated in
its cool water, allowing the warm rays of Apollon to burn away the last
of my grief. Just after noon, I went into the pool again, this time
making an effort to physically scrub my body while in the pool. Late in
the evening, after it was quite dark outside, I went into the pool one
last time. This last time, the water was quite chilly, and the air was
chill as well. I spoke an impromptu prayer, thanking the gods for being
patient with me in my grief, promising offerings the next day, and
asking for their continued love and blessings.
When I returned to the house, I felt very alive, very alert, and much
lighter in spirit. Though I was tired because of the late hour, I was
revived and I felt very good about taking the veil off of my Olympic
altar. I exposed Hera and Zeus and Hestia, and spoke prayers to them,
and made offerings of barley and fresh water.
This morning, I showered and washed vigorously with a lye soap that I
made myself. I picked fresh flowers and made a special
bouquet which I placed on my Olympic altar as an offering for Hera. I
also dedicated a special gift for Hera as well.
The miasma is gone, washed away in the light of the sun, in the caress
of the waters, in the earthy strength of my soap. My soul feels
brighter, and I am happier. Perhaps my practice was not what an
Athenian in 300 BCE would have done, but then again, perhaps it
was.
