For Saying No At First, But Yes As An Afterthought

Epimetheus, the god of afterthought, is a sad sort of fellow, as gods go. I’m not aware of him appearing in any myth other than the first creation of Humanity, where he gets cast as the clown, the thoughtless one who bungles the making of animal life, using up all the powerful defensive and offensive traits on other species and having none left for the humans. His brother Prometheus (Forethought) had to fix his blunder by stealing a part of the power of the gods to give to the poor furless, clawless, slow-running humans.

Wow, it only just occurred to me: as the god of forethought, Promethus must have known exactly what he was getting himself into. He really was selfless, accepting his fate of being chained to that rock for thousands of years. Stuck there with only that hungry bird for company, cut off from the friendship of gods or humans until Heracles came along, someone who was both human and god, to free him. And he knew at least in outline what was going to happen to him.

I’ll admit, I prefer the story of Hanuman, the Monkey King, who sacrificed his tail to set a string of fires to accomplish his mission, assigned to hiim as penance for invading Heaven, and when he asked for his tail to be restored, Brahma said, “No, your destiny is to never have a tail again. Instead, you shall become the father of a race of tailless monkeys who will rule the world.”

Hanuman - although I actually prefer his Chinese name, Sun Wu Kong, because then he’s King Kong - clearly was lacking in forethought, or he wouldn’t have tried to challenge the Supreme Being. I wonder what his afterthought was, as he nursed the cauterized spot on his behind and contemplated his descendants, tailless and hairless and walking in such a ridiculous fashion, torso parallel to legs, that their footprints would always be unmistakable in their weirdness. Did he wonder if we were a fair trade for his lovely tail?

But what about poor Epimetheus? Aside from mourning his own failure and his brother’s suffering, what did he do with his afterthoughtful life? Did he visit humans who had behaved foolishly and torment them with all the things they should have done? Did he invent the mirror, so people could reflect? Did he lurk on staircases to taunt people with l'esprit de l'escalier?

Or was he something kinder: offering people a chance to turn the past over in order to become better? After all, the past can’t be changed even by the gods, but we can at least reflect on it to improve our future.

[Afterthought: Oh, right, he was also the husband of Pandora, and was equally ineffectual at saving her from that nasty trick the gods played on her.]

https://comraderadmila.com/2020/01/23/phase-one/

The Magic Eight-Ball says, "Think."

Promised Walks Never Taken

 Promised Walks Never Taken

In the face of an overwhelming loss like the death of a life partner of many years, grief can turn every small regret into a burden difficult to bear. You regret every missed opportunity and every occasion when you took your beloved for granted.

A photograph accidentally tucked into a box of bills can derail a search for a document with a long period of just sitting and looking at a picture of a place you didn’t actually enjoy visiting.

Coming across a garment that missed its date with the donation box, you may clutch it to you as something precious - before you put it into a bag for the next trip to the thrift shop.

A reference to a place or a time of year can squeeze your heart time after time, until you feel like you’re the recurring character in Abbott and Costello films who would fly into a rage at the mention of “Niagara Falls”.

A breeze across your face can take you back to a windy afternoon which was entirely ordinary, except for whom you were with.

“Our song” can turn out to be the entire catalog of a musician or even an entire genre of music.

Even the sight of the door can arouse sorrow for promised walks never taken.

You can’t stop remembering, though, and you wouldn’t want to.

In the end, all you can do is appreciate the memory of what you once had, and try to take solace from it, and hope that you can build a life after bereavement that is something more than a compendium of regrets and backward glances. 

https://africa.si.edu/2014/05/when-great-trees-fall%E2%80%A8%E2%80%A8-by-maya-angelou/

One of the members of my group said that she'd heard this poem read four times in different places in honor of Justice Ginsburg, but it made me think, inescapably, of my own personal loss.

Kathe, I love you. I will never stop loving you.

The Magic Eight-Ball says, "The only way to avoid the pain of loss is never to have had anything to lose."