This is part of a Wednesday series on Goddess spirituality and political activism.
As September 11th rolls around again, there’s some talk about making it a National Day of Service. I think a National Day of Service is a fine idea – any day except September 11th. I understand the desire to take back September 11th from the people who made it a brand name, who made it a National Day of Being Scared and Hating Muslims. But I don’t want to replace one brand with another. I’d rather set aside some time just to grieve. When it comes to grieving, American culture does denial and anger really well, but then we get stuck there, and never get around to sorrow and acceptance. There are times when it's appropriate to grieve like Airmed .
Airmed is an Irish healing Goddess. Her father Diancecht and her brother Miach were also great healers, saving lives on the battlefield as war raged over control of Ireland. Their king, Nuada, was the victor – but at great cost to himself. Nuada lost his hand, and since the king had to be physically unblemished, he was forced to abdicate his throne. Diancecht made the king a marvelous silver hand, which he attached to Nuada’s wrist, and it worked like a real hand.
As all admired Diancecht’s creation, Miach stepped forward and stated that he believed the original hand could be restored. Nuada gave him the severed hand and told him to see what he could do.
For nine days, Miach held the mangled hand next to his body and worked magic over it. On the ninth day, he presented Nuada with a hand covered in healthy flesh. He took off the silver limb and reattached the living one. Nuada was fully restored and could resume his place as king.
Everyone was in awe – except Diancecht, who’d been upstaged by his own son. Showing surprisingly little regard for the Hippocratic Oath, Diancecht demanded to see if Miach could heal wounds on himself. Diancecht drew his sword and attacked his son. Three times he struck, and three times Miach healed himself. The fourth time, Diancecht sliced straight through Miach’s skull, and Miach fell lifeless to the ground.
For one year, Airmed spent every day at her brother’s grave. Anyone who’s lost a loved one knows what that first year is like: birthdays, anniversaries, and family holidays pass, with an empty place at the table. There are moments of forgetting, "I have to tell Miach about –." Only to realize that Miach is no longer here to tell.
For a year Airmed grieved, and she wept. Her tears watered the 365 herbs growing on Miach’s grave. In her silent contemplation, Airmed gradually began to understand the healing properties of each herb. At the end of the year, she saw the bigger picture and realized that their pattern on the grave showed the secret of immortality. Airmed spread her cloak on the ground, then carefully plucked each herb and laid it out in the same pattern as the one on the grave.
Then, alas, she went home to rest.
While she was gone, Diancecht found the herbs and divined their purpose. Losing his son had not quelled his jealousy. He seized the cloak and shook it, scattering the herbs in every direction.
When she returned, Airmed was unable to reconstruct the pattern of immortality. But she still knew the healing uses of the herbs. She became a greater healer than either her father or brother, with knowledge that was hard won in the course of her grief.
9/11 was one of those defining events where everyone remembers where we were. Everyone in my office was sent home from work (never mind that a local government building was unlikely to be a target) and I spent the day watching the same footage over and over, each time hoping there would be more information that would make some kind of sense out of it. Thousand of Americans (and friends in other countries) stood in line to give blood, just out of an overwhelming urge to Do Something.
That grief, and that desire to Do Something, quickly got co-opted for a right-wing political agenda. After the attack, there was the inevitable temptation to just go kick someone’s ass in response. The Bush-Cheney government was able to manipulate those feelings so that it stopped mattering whether it was the right ass or not, and we tore up two countries (and bankrupted our own) while Osama bin Forgotten is still walking around free.
Grieving for the 9/11 victims got turned into a political symbol, a brand name, a prop to shield the regime from any criticism of bad policies. On the 5-year anniversary, they "honored" the 9/11 victims with a march in support of the Iraq war. Similarly, we were told that we had to "honor" the military members who had died by keeping the war going and sending more people to die.
Progressives, too, have that urge to channel our grief into Doing Something, and that’s a good thing (otherwise we’d be passive-progressives). It inspires us to act in small ways (like giving to a deceased loved one’s favorite charity) and big ones (like getting rid of the corrupt government that dragged us into disastrous wars). There will always be more that needs doing. But there are times when it’s good to just take time out to acknowledge the loss and the sorrow.
The victims of 9/11 rarely got to be acknowledged as individuals, with lives and loves that mattered apart from the way they died. This is even more true for the victims of Katrina, because the Bush-worshippers’ brigade on the right was searching frantically for ways to blame Katrina victims for their own deaths.
One of the most important regular features here on dkos is IGTNT , "I Got the News today," a diary series which honors the soldiers killed in Iraq and Afghanistan. Reading about these individual losses is often excruciating, much more so than just seeing the numbers. Each one deserves to be recognized and mourned as an individual, important for so many reasons besides the way they died.
Just to be clear, I’m not knocking the desire to Do Something, and the IGTNT diary always contains come great suggestions for turning our grief into action. But there’s also time and space just to deal with the grief. After that, like Airmed, we may arise with a clearer idea of what we need to do.
About that National Day of Service – I still think it’s a fine idea, maybe for September 12th. Better yet, for the 4th of July. Spend the day doing something to defend the rights guaranteed by our Constitution: freedom of speech, freedom of religion, freedom from illegal search and seizure, freedom from cruel & unusual punishment. The fireworks don’t start until after dark anyway, and we’ll have one more thing to celebrate when they light up the sky.
Due to other commitments and a screwed-up schedule, I will be ending the "How a Woman Becomes a Goddess" series soon, at least as a regular feature. This isn't a GBCW; I'm still around, and may post Goddess diaries on an occasional basis. I'm not sure if one will be up next week; the final one will be in two weeks for Mabon, the Autumn Equinox.