Beyond Ithaca

The Gift My Grandfather Gave Me

Listen Here

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Sing to me of the man, Muse,

the man of twists and turns.

Homer

Photo by Andreas Motsios on Unsplash

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I couldn’t look away . I was mesmerized by his lips and the shapes that they made as he talked. His hands spoke a language that my heart could understand. It’s my oldest memory. The stories we shared were part of my essence and my bones ached for them. 

I was sitting on his lap, staring up at his face yet somehow I was at a table with Homer, Cavafy, Tennyson, Pericles, and Odysseus. 

In his voice, he told me their stories and in my heart I heard my own. He was my hero. The hero of heroes. An alchemist. He turned my world into words. He helped me see my life as a poem. 

He spoke of myth and metaphor. He spoke of mercy and magic. He invited me into the mystery. He spoke of mind and body. He spoke of spirit and heart. He prepared me for a life. He foretold that God shows up in us as us. He invited me to meet my soul. 

He saw me. We all have our own journeys and he helped me to see mine. 

He was my grandfather or as we say in Greek, Papou.

The Odyssey is one of the oldest known literary poems in the world and is credited to the ancient Greek poet Homer. The Odyssey reflects the ten-year voyage home of the great hero Odysseus, the King of Ithaca, after the Greeks won the Trojan war. In Romanized Latin, Odysseus is known as Ulysses.

The story of the ten year Trojan war is told in the Iliad, the predecessor to the Odyssey which is also attributed to Homer.  At the conclusion of the war, it could be said that Odysseus had become vengeful, bloodthirsty, glory seeking, and greedy. He had lost his soul and was all ego in every sense of the word.

Proud and arrogant, young and strong, Odysseus starts off on his journey home to Ithaca. On the way he encounters all kinds of monsters, witches, cannibals, ferocious gods and possessive goddesses. He even travels into the underworld where the shadows of the dead reside. For ten years Odysseus faces a constant barrage of challenges and he is deprived of everything: youth, riches, companions, power, pride, hope, possessions and even his own clothes.

 Odysseus finally arrives home to Ithaca twenty years after he had initially left home. Upon his arrival, he had to face yet another ordeal: fifty-two suitors, younger men from the surrounding islands, had been living in his house for years and had been squandering his fortune, all while waiting for Penelope, Odysseus’ wife, to choose one of them to marry. Disguised as a beggar he tries to negotiate with the intruders who refuse to leave and attempt to kill him. Odysseus reluctantly slays them to the last man. 

He reveals himself to Penelope yet she does not accept him. She tests him one last time, requiring proof of his true identity. She asks him to move their wedding bed out of the bed chamber, and to prepare it with blankets for their reunion. Odysseus quickly retorting that those words cut him to the core. The bed was immoveable and could not be uprooted. As a young man, Odysseus had carved the bed out of an olive tree that grew through the room, and he had even incorporated the bed into the tree. Odysseus passes the test and he is ultimately reunited with his Queen.

What does Ithaca represent?

In 1911, the Greek poet Constantine Cavafy wrote a poem inspired by the Odyssey, called Ithaca. The poem describes Odysseus' journey home to the island of Ithaca. In the poem Ithaca symbolizes the experience, wisdom and knowledge that everyone is searching for in life. Cavafy tells us that we will neither meet the Laestrygonians (a cannibal tribe), the Cyclops, or the ferocious Poseidon, unless we already carry them within us, and unless our mind is already putting them out in front of us. Cavafy was telling us to enjoy the journey of life and all of the growth that it brings us. Ithaca represents that journey. 

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The journey is its own reward

Homer

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The Odyssey can be read as a spiritual road map. The real hero doesn’t conquer monsters and enemies; they conquer themself. This is the odyssey that we will all embark on. A spiritual journey that begets being aware of Being. A journey to the awareness of Being as opposed to living only for the outcomes of doing. In the end it's an inside job. An ego and soul conversation. 

The Odyssey can be seen as the journey of the soul’s return to itself. The Odyssey is an allegorical journey of Odysseus shedding his ego to take the inner path back to soul. Far from a hero's journey, the Odyssey is more fractal and is more a soul journey. As we watch Odysseus learn how to shed his ego we learn how to shed our own. In doing so Odysseus became twice born.

What then lies beyond Ithaca?

A legacy? A life? Lifetimes?

A soul.

My Grandfather had his own 10 year odyssey. A Nazi occupation and a civil war behind him he returned back to the shacks, and dirt floors of Drapetsona. 

It was not the same place that he had left. He was not the same man that had returned home. Greece was not the same country. After 10 years of war, Greece was decimated and had lost 10 percent of her people. He had lost his youth for her. He had fought for her. He had killed for her. He had even lost children for her. She had nothing left to give him. 

One person’s will for freedom created a legacy of existence 8300 km from home. He undertook a perilous journey that caused even Odysseus himself to roll in the grave.

In 1953 my Grandfather sailed far beyond Ithaca leaving war ravaged Greece behind to cross the great western ocean and start all over again in Canada. My mother arrived from Greece as a young child a year later.

The immigrant experience was mine to witness, not to travel. I reaped the rewards from the post war collective effervescence of bravery and courage. The resilience of our ancestors to only just survive is what got us here.

My grandfather was only 43 when I was born and started my own journey to Ithaca. He passed away in 2014 in his 90th year. As I reflect on his life I see clearly now that what he left behind is not just etched in stone. It is woven into the lives of all of his own. Three generations deep now in Canada, his poetry lives on. He, just like Odysseus, is now onto his next big adventure. Our births are not our beginning and neither will our deaths be our end. As birth is a continuation of our souls’ journey, so too is death. Just as Odysseus went into the underworld and was given instructions on how to return home. Nostos. There are similarities metaphorically here with the Christ story. We are inherently twice born. A body in a soul. 

In this poem and essay that I share, Ithaca represents more than just an island and a country. As a metaphor Ithaca encompasses the mystery of soul, the mercy of heart, the myth of mind, the magic of body and the mirror of spirit. Ithaca is the journey across these bridges and through all of these ports or portals of experience, wisdom and knowledge.

The bridges of the Greeks. We have inherited them but we do not know how to use them. We thought they were intended to have houses built upon them. We have erected skyscrapers on them to which we ceaselessly add storeys. We no longer know that they are bridges, things made so that we may pass along them, and that by passing along them we go towards God.

Simone Weil

Crossing bridges from human to divine and back again. We journey across these bridges and we also get stranded on them in what the Greeks knew as Metaxu. Betwixt in the spaces in between. Liminal space.

Beyond Ithaca is a way of Being. It is the journey through creativity, love, and passion fueled by meaning and purpose. The journey beyond ego. Beyond Ithaca speaks to being a soul. A body in a soul. 

My grandfather reminded me that we were here for the journey no matter where it will lead us, as a beggar or as a king. The kisses and the bruises. The husk and the grain. In the spaces between. Human and divine. Bridges. Doors. Thresholds. Here. Presence. He taught me to listen deeply, to ask questions, to speak wisely and to tell my own story. Never to search for myself but to find myself. To travel from fear to love. A body in a soul.

The journey between what we once were and who we are now becoming is the poetry of our essence. A spiritual warrior on an epic odyssey. Lifetimes long. The centre of the labyrinth. The eye of the storm. A never ending love song. Sung in widening circles. A soul.

What then lies beyond Ithaca?

 A soul’s journey.

What then lies beyond Ithaca?

Everything

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Beyond Ithaca

When you arrive at the end of your journey 
as a beggar
what suitors wait 
to claim your possessions? 
Will you attempt to string your bow 
to slay them 
or will you welcome them 
in open arms? 
For some will call you a hero
others a cunning thief
Will you tell your own story 
or will their stories tell you?

What bed will you choose to die in?
One of comfort 
bought for you 
or the one you built
and anchored to the earth  
with your own two hands?
For Ithaca granted you this wonderful journey
Without her 
you could have never set out
Her bones 
carried you through your conquests
Your armour 
heavy on her back
Her scars 
sing the songs of your glories
and the malady of your wars
Faith cuts deeper than any sword
For you she has truly bled
Ithaca has nothing left to give you now

Your will still strong to seek and to find
You are not yielding
Your demons are now guests
At your table 
they freely dine
The lessons and harbours 
have long been discovered
No you are not yielding
The dust and ash you leave behind
are not carved into time
The poetry of your blood and tears
lives on
Enshrined 
by the light
Stained
in the heart of all
For you will never die
The whole world is your tomb
You are not yielding
You are only letting go
to fall beautifully onto the ground
of your next 
adventure

To sail beyond Ithaca
Beyond the setting sun
past the safe harbour of the Happy Isles
across the western sea
to new harbours
Where the Cyclops waits to defeat you
Where Poseidon will greet you 
with a mighty storm
Where the passionate magical fire of Circe 
meets you as a fine wine
bathes you in sultry honey
and casts you into a winter spell 
of pelting snow and frozen grey
Where the warm perfume
of sweet long summer days 
welcomes you to a new journey

Where a new Ithaca awaits you
To arrive at the beginning
or is it the end?
Both become like the other
No after or no before
Twice born
There is a new book 
within to sign your name 
and write the lines
Some which may seem strangely familiar
Others you will discover for the first time
knowing yourself yet being another
If you came this way before 
you may not remember 
that you were once a wise yet broken king
No body has fooled you
What you thought that you came for
you could never genuinely keep
This odyssey of Ithacas
has always been your Queen

© Jamie Millard

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The summit is for the ego.
The journey is for the soul.

Unknown

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Thank you for being a witness to this journey!
The full recording of the whole journey of Beyond Ithaca, can be found at the top of this essay.
The poem recording only is found below.

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Beyond Ithaca is written in gratitude to Demetre Politis, my Grandfather, my Papou. Thank you Papou! Thank you for the gift you gave me. Everything.

We are all on the same journey from ego to soul. There are many bridges and doors, monsters and storms on the way. We will all slowly come to understand just what these Ithacas all mean. The journey is its own reward. This poem is also a tribute to Homer, Cavafy, Tennyson, Pericles and TS Eliot who have all impacted the poem. To them I express gratitude for being an influence on my own poetic journey to that awareness of Being. The journey inside. A journey home. Nostos. Twice Born. A body in a soul.

Lots of love,

Jamie