How to invoke the muse… this is probably best answered through questioning:

What is a Muse?

In Greek mythology, the Muses were the nine daughters of Zeus and Mnemosyne (Memory). They were believed to be the source of all knowledge and provided the inspiration for music, literature, science, history, and the arts.

According to Hesiod:

He is happy whom the Muses love. For though a man has sorrow and grief in his soul, yet when the servant of the Muses sings, at once he forgets his dark thoughts and remembers not his troubles. Such is the holy gift of the Muses to men. 

Sounds pretty good, huh?

Which Muse should I invoke?

The answer depends on the work you’re undertaking. These are the nine Muses and their domains:

Clio — history

Urania — astronomy

Melpomene — tragedy

Thalia — comedy

Terpsichore — dance

Calliope — epic poetry

Erato  – love poetry

Polyhymnia — songs to the gods

Euterpe — lyric poetry

Personally, apart from Clio, I’ve had very little need to invoke the Muses mentioned above. So following the time-honored tradition of summoning Muses according to artistic need, I’ve added two personal Muses to the nine:

Photila — photography

Artesia — artistry (catch-all)

Feel free to  invoke them if you have need.

What is an invocation?

An invocation is a plea, a prayer, a petition for help, inspiration, guidance, and support. It’s a type of conjuring. Traditionally the Muses are invoked at the beginning of a project or work of art.

Do I need a Muse?

You can, of course, try to go it alone, but some help from the Muses couldn’t hurt. Some of the greatest minds that ever walked the earth conjured the Muses for inspiration and help:

Homer — Sing to me of the man, Muse, the man of twists and turns…

Shakespeare – O for a Muse of fire, that would ascend the brightest heaven of invention…

Dante — O Muses, O high genius, aid me now! O memory that engraved the things I saw…

If those guys needed a Muse, I figure I need a whole legion of them.

Which invocation should I use?

Taking a cue from the great minds above, invoking the Muse is a personal endeavor, so your  invocation should be personal as well. It’s best to start out with a plea begging the Muse for help. Follow this plea with compliments extolling the virtues of the Muse — no one ever turned away from a compliment. Next, summon as much humility as you can and explain why you are unworthy and why you cannot even think of starting your endeavor without help from the Muses — be honest, no one likes a charlatan. Finish up by telling the Muse exactly what you need help with and what you wish to accomplish.

This might seem difficult, but I recently came up with two invocations of about seven or eight lines each and I was surprised at how easily they  flowed.

Give it a shot. Let me know how it goes.

Is there anything I should beware of?

Whenever one deals with Greek gods or goddesses, there is the risk of insult and the scary repercussions that result from such transgressions.

Case in point: There was once a king of Macedonia who had nine daughters that he named after the nine Muses because he believed them to be their equal. As  punishment for his impudence, the Muses turned the nine daughters into chattering magpies. Cute birds, but still…

Remember to be humble and you should be fine.

© 2012, Ithaka Bound. All rights reserved. Text and images copyright protected.

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Pegasus, where I least expected to find him — in my own backyard.

This is total projection, but of all mythological flying creatures, Pegasus always struck me as the wisest, kindest, and most quiet. I don’t think I’d make much use of a flying creature that was always squawking and performing scary maneuvers to impress onlookers (see Harry Potter), but Pegasus and I would have gotten along just fine.

Pegasus was sired by Poseidon and brought to life from the blood of the dying Medusa. Wherever his moon-shaped hoof struck the earth, an inspiring spring came forth. The most famous of these springs was the Hippocrene, spring of the Muses, on Mt. Helicon near the Gulf of Corinth, making Pegasus a favorite of the Muses.

Pegasus’s most famous rider was Bellerophon, a mortal son of Poseidon, who used the winged horse to defeat the Chimera and fight the Amazons when they invaded Lycia. Bellerophon eventually fell victim to the most human of all human weaknesses: hubris. Believing himself to be equal to the gods, he tried to ride Pegasus up to Olympus to take a place among the immortals. But Pegasus knew better and refused to make the ride.

Endearing himself to the gods, Pegasus found shelter in the heavenly stalls of Olympus where he was given the honor of becoming lightning and thunder bearer to Zeus. To thank him for his faithful service, Zeus transformed Pegasus into a constellation and placed him in the sky, where he remains to this day. On the day of his transformation, a single feather to earth near the city of Tarsus.

© 2012, Ithaka Bound. All rights reserved. Text and images copyright protected.

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or What happens when alpha males get together

The story goes something like this: The great Athenian hero Theseus and his best friend Pirithous, King of the Lapithae, were sitting around bored and looking for a challenge. On a whim, the newly widowed Pirithous announced that he would have the most closely guarded lady in the entire universe for his second wife–Persephone herself. Theseus pledged his support, and true to his thrill-seeking competitive nature, took up his friend’s challenge and declared that he would first carry off Helen (always Helen!)–future heroine of Troy–before he helped Pirithous abduct Persephone from the underworld.

I think it’s safe to assume that alcohol and massive egos were involved.

Theseus successfully abducted Helen (poor Helen!), but while Theseus and his friend were on their way to the underworld, Helen’s brothers, Castor and Pollux, led the Spartan army against the city that held her. They made sure to sack the city before taking Helen back to Sparta.

Few details are known about the journey to the underworld, but Hades–Persephone’s ‘husband’ and god of the underworld–was perfectly aware of Pirithous’s and Theseus’s intentions and devised a plan to thwart them. When the pair arrived, Hades didn’t kill them, as they were already in the realm of death, but rather invited them to to have a seat and rest after their long journey. As soon as they took the places Hades offered them, serpents tightly coiled around them and bound them to their seats. They had unwittingly sat on the Chair of Forgetfulness–a chair that makes a clean slate of memory and holds forever those who sit on it.

Luckily for Theseus, his cousin Heracles was passing through the underworld to finish his twelfth labor–taking Cerberus back to Mycenae. Cerberus was the three-headed dog who stood guard over the entrance to Hades, ensuring that all who crossed the River Styx were never allowed to leave. When Heracles saw the two unfortunate over-achievers, he took pity on them and managed to free Theseus. Unfortunately, Hades returned before he was able to set Pirithous loose.

Athenians are said to have such lean thighs because part of Theseus’ thighs were torn off when Heracles pulled him free from the chair.

Back in the land of sunshine, Theseus set off for Athens. But poor Pirithous, for all we know, still sits on the Chair of Forgetfulness. (O thou Memorie! So fleeting! O Despair!)

Inspired by this story, I’ve designated the beautiful bench pictured at the top of this post as my Chair of Forgetfulness. My chair is benevolent in nature and differs from the chair of legend in several key ways: it’s in a garden rather than in Hades; it’s surrounded by roses rather than serpents; and I’m free to leave whenever I want. These differences work out well for me. In this sylvan setting, saturated with the heady scent of roses, I’m able to forget just about anything.

Where is your chair?

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After the Athenians trounced the Persians so thoroughly at the Battle of Marathon, the Persian emperor Darius became so single-minded in his quest for vengeance, he instructed a slave to whisper in his ear three times every night while serving dinner, “Master, remember the Athenians!”

First, how could you possibly ever enjoy a dinner again when constantly being reminded of your most crushing defeat?

Second, how awesome would it be to have someone around who constantly reminded you to stay focused on your priorities! It goes without saying that I am completely against servants of any type, but if I could, I would gladly pay someone to serve this function in my life.

I’m particularly sold on this now, because for the past two months I’ve been focused on a singular goal to the exclusion of all other goals. So much so, I couldn’t even visit my parents in Wisconsin for Orthodox Christmas because it meant I would probably lose hold on my tenuous focus. I justified this by reminding myself that they would be gaining much by my success as well. I reached my goal, but my victory wasn’t quite as resounding as the Athenians. It’s the equivalent of the Athenians saying, “Well, that wasn’t half bad, but next time we’ll have to really defeat them.”

Still, I comfort myself with the reminder that at least I got further along than Darius did. Xerxes, Darius’s successor, initially cared very little about getting revenge on the Greeks until his ambitious brother-on-law Mardonius began provoking him to rage over their humiliating defeat at Marathon. This led to the Persians amassing the greatest land force in history to meet 300 Spartans at a 50 foot pass at Thermopylae. We all know how that turned out. Hubris: too bad we can never see it before it’s too late.

In other news, now that I have somewhat more time, I’d really like to spruce the joint up a bit. This current blog theme was only supposed to be a temporary hold until I had more time to do a redesign. I find myself wanting to avoid my own blog because I don’t like the look of it. It’s like this blog is my hard-scrabble cousin who lives in a trailer park and sells his own moonshine: I am bound to him by love and affection, but a little too embarrassed to claim relation. So, it’s time for a redesign. I’m definitely open to suggestions.

© 2012, Ithaka Bound. All rights reserved. Text and images copyright protected.

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