And so the Goddess sprinkled a sweet liqueur
over her lover's blood, something magical known
only to her, something sacred and mysterious.
And then the miracle occurred; the blood of Attis
stirred like a fountain in a storm of rain,
and from the pool came forth a flower, crimson
and the young man's blood, as beautiful as he had been,
and as briefly blossoming. The goddess named it
anemone, after the wind, for spring's winds come
and shake its petals off - too soon, too early,
too brief, like joy, like youth, like love.
~Ovid Metamorphoses
The last part of the ancient Roman festival was called the Hilaria, for it was a hilarious day of laughter and joy. It affirmed that life rises out of death, that good times follow bad. The myth behind the festival is that, faced with the loss of her lover, the goddess turned his blood into a springtime flower so that he would always spring forth and remind her of her love for him. He was reborn, reunited with her, each spring in this way.
In the same way, the cycles of life bring us good things after periods of difficulty. There is no life which is perfect, no life which has not endured some loss. We may have love, but not enough money; we may have family, but no partner; we may have work, but no love. Like a garden, we find different parts of our life blooming at different times. The wisdom of our foremothers permitted sharing grief for what is missing, with the knowledge that even the sharpest grief is ultimately healed.
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