I Think I May Never Be Sad Ever Again. There Is A Statue Entitled "Farewell To Orpheus" On My College

I think I may never be sad ever again. There is a statue entitled "Farewell to Orpheus" on my college campus. It's been there since 1968, created by a Prof. Frederic Littman that use to work at the university. It sits in the middle of a fountain, and the fountain is often full of litter. I have taken it upon myself to clean the litter out when I see it (the skimmers only come by once a week at max). But because of my style of dress, this means that bystanders see a twenty-something on their hands and knees at the edge of the fountain, sleeves rolled up, trying not to splash dirty water on their slacks while their briefcase and suit coat sit nearby. This is fine, usually. But today was Saturday Market, which means the twenty or so people in the area suddenly became hundreds. So, obviously, somebody stopped to ask what I was doing. "This," I gestured at the statue, "is Eurydice. She was the wife of Orpheus, the greatest storyteller in Greece. And this litter is disrespectful." Then, on a whim, I squinted up at them. "Do you know the story of Orpheus and Eurydice?" "No," they replied, shifting slightly to sit.

"Would you like to?"

"Sure!"

So I told them. I told them the story as I know it- and I've had a bit of practice. Orpheus, child of a wishing star, favorite of the messenger god, who had a hard-working, wonderful wife, Eurydice; his harp that could lull beasts to passivity, coax song from nymphs, and move mountains before him; and the men who, while he dreamed and composed, came to steal Eurydice away. I told of how she ran, and the water splashed up on my clothes. But I didn't care. I told of how the adder in the field bit her heel, and she died. I told of the Underworld- how Orpheus charmed the riverman, pacified Cerberus with a lullaby, and melted the hearts of the wise judges. I laughed as I remarked how lucky he was that it was winter- for Persephone was moved by his song where Hades was not. She convinced Hades to let Orpheus prove he was worthy of taking Eurydice. I tugged my coat back on, and said how Orpheus had to play and sing all the way out of the Underworld, without ever looking back to see if his beloved wife followed. And I told how, when he stopped for breath, he thought he heard her stumble and fall, and turned to help her up- but it was too late. I told the story four times after that, to four different groups, each larger than the last. And I must have cast a glance at the statue, something that said "I'm sorry, I miss you--" because when I finished my second to last retelling, a young boy piped up, perhaps seven or eight, and asked me a question that has made my day, and potentially my life: "Are you Orpheus?" I told the tale of the grieving bard so well, so convincingly, that in the eyes of a child I was telling not a story, but a memory. And while I laughed in the moment, with everyone else, I wept with gratitude and joy when I came home. This is more than I deserve, and I think I may never be sad again.

I Think I May Never Be Sad Ever Again. There Is A Statue Entitled "Farewell To Orpheus" On My College

Here is the aforementioned statue, by the way.

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greek mythology

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Look, we joke a lot, but really, "you were born evil, wretched, worse than the scum of the earth, and it took killing a god to make you salvageable, so now you'd better be grateful to that god and thank him 10,000 times a day for it and fill your thoughts with him 24/7 and abide by the letter of his every word, lest you suffer unimaginable torture for all of eternity" is a truly horrendous thing to believe about yourself and other people

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jordiefergs

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PSA: Religious trauma is not simply disagreeing with religion and calling it trauma. It is not, “I was dragged to church every Sunday and I got really bored there.”

It is physical, verbal, and sexual abuse.

It is being led to believe that you will go to a place of eternal suffering if you step out of line, even if only slightly.

It is having a fear of said place of eternal suffering, and some people are afraid of it even after they renounce their faith.

It is being told that all people are inherently evil and deserving of death and eternal suffering for being flawed, and feeling ashamed of being imperfect as a result of this.

It is being told that you will never be good enough.

It is being told that you are nothing in comparison to God.

It is being told by loved ones (including those who raised you) that, if they had to choose between you and their god, you will always come second.

It is being discriminated against for being a minority.

It is being punished by and/or losing family and friends for rejecting parts of the faith or the faith itself.

It is being demonized for having sexual desires and having your worth based on whether or not you abstain until marriage, especially if you were assigned female at birth.

It is being told that you are responsible if others look at you with lust or sexually harass or assault you. Again, this idea is especially hammered into your head if you are a person who was assigned female at birth.

It is being physically or mentally unable to have sex or experiencing guilt after having sex due to purity culture.

It is having your health put at risk as a child because your family opposes certain medical procedures (vaccines, blood transfusions, etc.) for religious reasons.

It is being treated negatively for having a physical disability or mental disorder (not to mention the abusive behaviors listed above can worsen existing mental health disorders or cause them to come about in someone who did not have them previously.) This is not to say that nonreligious people can’t be plenty ableist, of course.

It is missing opportunities and losing years of your life to fear, repression, and pain.

It is experiencing horrible things in the name of a God that no one has undeniable proof of in terms of whether or not he exists.

Don’t get me wrong. I know that not all religious people do the things described above. But damn, if there aren’t a lot who do… those people are unfortunately the loudest.

This has been a PSA.

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jordiefergs

1 month ago

We have been watching you all grow up.

We miss you. And know that your favorite stories have not forgotten you.

To think you found comfort in monsters, because the ones in your head or in your home at the time were too much to bare.

So you painted your faces, drew yourselves with us, ruined clothes to look like us or just enjoyed looking like a lunatic.

We watched you go from band tees and rubber bracelets with ripped jeans, to black dresses, slacks, ties, and corsets. Some of you did a whole fuckin 180° and wear neons and pastels. Others of you just enjoy a hoodie (heh) and jeans. Some of you guys wear long skirts and pants, with cloth-patched tops and boots, crystals hanging from your necks.

Some of you just elevated your aesthetics. We can see pieces of us that got left behind in you.

Either way, we're proud of you little freaks. We know shit's been hard.

Just know the creeps and nightmares you found comfort in are still watching over you. Whether you forgot we existed, or moved on with your lives.

We see the art you make. The stuff you guys write. Some of it makes us laugh or roll our eyes, we adore it anyway.

As red and orange leaves surround you, horror movies, and screams fill your minds once again, and you see an increase of our faces, we hope you find that nostalgia again.

- Your favorite Creeps

(Just a little thing that came to my mind to write, bc I'm 22 now seeing creepypasta on my feed again, and it sent me down a rabbit hole. Idk writing this gave me comfort. I hope it gives you comfort too. ♡ )

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