The Wisdom of Dying

Norse Mythology: Ymir

‘Odin and Vili and Ve killed the giant Ymir.  It had to be done.  There was no other way to make the worlds.  This was the beginning of all things, the death that made all life possible.’

I once carried a large crucifix around Edinburgh for three days.  It wasn’t part of some immersive theatre production at the festival.  No, I was a student walking to and from lectures carrying a massive cross like an absolute nutter.  Why?  Well, at the time, I was a religious zealot.  I spent a lot of this year at university fasting, praying and reading The Book of Revelation!  And I had read about a man (not Jesus) who felt called to carry a cross around Sheffield.  The thought of doing this myself absolutely terrified me.  Imagine the looks people would give!  The comments!  The sheer embarrassment!  You see, although I was a religious nut, I was also quite cool.  Or at least, I was well-acquainted with quite a number of cool people from my more hedonistic era.  And the idea of walking to lectures, tutorials and bumping into people in the street carrying a massive crucifix felt excruciatingly awkward.  And in these moments of panicked reflection, I saw how much I cared about what people thought of me.  I realised how terrified I was about disapproval.  And in all of this, a daunting, daring question flooded my mind: could I do such a thing?  At the time, I would have described this thought as possibly God – who knows, maybe it was!?  But wherever the thought came from, I said to myself, well, give me a cross and I’ll carry it around Edinburgh for three days.  And as I walked out of my flat, in the stairway was an old ‘For Sale’ sign and a few planks of wood.  Oh dear, I thought, I could make a cross in seconds from that.  And so I did.  I went back to my flat and got some string.  And I got myself a massive cross.  Shit!

I won’t describe all the looks, pointing and awkward conversations that occurred as I walked between the library, lectures and tutorials.  Even the majority of my religious friends avoided me.   Quite right.  But something died in me during those few days: a terrified, controlling and overtly-image-conscious ego (well, it was, at most, severely injured).  And out of that death, a much freer, courageous and open person emerged. 

So much of what was holding me back, and what still holds me back, is fear.  Fear of rejection.  Fear of failure.  Fear of humiliation.  Fear of being pitied.   Fear of being laughed at.  And I don’t think that will ever completely go away.  But that experience of carrying the large cross helped me experience and endure the things I most feared in a very intense and ceremonial way.  And in doing so, it helped me go through the fears.  Being judged, laughed-at, pitied, mocked, rejected was not pleasant.  But I coped.  I survived.  It wasn’t actually that bad.   It was actually quite liberating and empowering at times.   I found that I could draw upon something within; a deeper security not based on external validation.  It was almost like having some kind of vaccine.  But instead of rabies being injected into my veins to help build my physical immunity, I received a strong dose of shame and humiliation to strengthen my psychological resilience.

Carrying the cross around Edinburgh was ‘the death that made all life possible.’  

Death, as the Norse myth reminds us, is key to creation.  It is vital for new life.  Evolutionary biology says the same thing.  As does depth psychology and healthy spirituality. 

Death, not only creates space for possibility and potential, it provides the material, energy and impetus for new creations. 

‘Odin and his brothers made soil from Ymir’s flesh.  Ymir’s bones they piled into mountains and cliffs. 

Our rocks and pebbles, the sand and gravel you see: these were Ymir’s teeth […] The seas that girdle the worlds: these were Ymir’s blood and sweat.  Look up into the sky: you are looking at the inside of Ymir’s skull…’

For me, the humiliations, insecurities, fears and disappointments associated with the death of ego are the material and energy that can be cultivated into songs; distilled into poems; crafted into characters; and weaved into stories.  Just as Odin and his brothers used the corpse of the giant Ymir to create the world, we must sculpt, mould and manipulate the rotting carcasses of our own lives: broken relationships, missed opportunities, failed enterprises, painful betrayals, stupid mistakes, infidelities, bereavements, dashed hopes….

And so, I want to step towards those fears that don’t seem to disappear like a desert horizon… I want to remember that these deaths are not the end.  Death is not the end.  Death is the ‘beginning of all things’.  It is what makes ‘all life possible’.  And the question is… what life can I make from all this mess, flesh and death?  I can write stories and sing songs.  I can make whole worlds.