My name was Ilicus.*
I was a man in his mid-50's, with salt-and-pepper hair, and a sturdy muscular body. I lived somewhere and some time in the Roman Empire. I was of medium importance in the community and considered a respectable person. I and my family lived comfortably, not extravagantly, and my work was vaguely political in nature. Maybe a city accountant or something like that. I had served in the military in the past.
I was dying. There was pain on my left flank. I don't know if it was a wound, or liver failure, or what. I was in bed, and my wife, Jaia,* was attending to me. She was so beautiful, so faithful, so perfect. I wanted to express my gratitude to her. I wanted to express my love for her. I looked at her and realized I had no words to express my feelings. I had never expressed emotion to her before, so how would I know how to do it now? I felt so at a loss.
I looked at Jaia's face, and realized with shock that she hated me. In a rush, I realized what I had continually refused to think about for years—I had hurt her in countless ways. I was cold, unfeeling, harsh, critical. I had made her feel alone and unloved. I almost never spoke to her. I had even been responsible for the unthinkable...
My memory flashed back to an undefined number of years earlier. There was a woman being whipped. The mists cleared: it was Jaia. It was my fault she was being punished, but I did not get the details of what had happened. The only thing I saw was that she was tied to a post before me, naked and in agony as a soldier did his duty. Each lash of the whip shot through my soul like fire. How could I have let this happen? My precious Jaia, and it was my fault.
I wanted to weep, but I didn't know how. I hadn't wept since I was a very young child. In fact, standing near the whipping, I didn't even flinch or cringe. I didn't show any feelings at all. As Jaia looked over for a brief moment, to search my face for any sign of concern or support, my memory told me that she probably found nothing there. As usual. This is why, I now realized in hindsight from my deathbed, when I had cradled her to take her home, she had not looked at me again. Pain shot through my heart as I began to understand the scope of the wounds I had caused her.
"Jaia," I faltered. What could I say? Panic began to arise in my chest. I began to realize that my entire life had been lived wrongly. I had prioritized everything except this woman, whom I now realized had been the most important thing in the world, all along. I had completely missed the point. Now she was going to be glad I was dead! The opinions of anyone else in the city did not matter to me. I wanted her to miss me. I loved Jaia deep in my soul; I always had. But why had I never told her? I had always wanted to be close to her. Why had I never made that a priority? I had failed at the only important thing in life: love. I saw why she hated me. I now hated myself.
Surely, I couldn't have been that bad! I hadn't completely neglected her. I was a responsible husband. I had provided a secure lifestyle. Our finances were in order. I felt a small sense of comfort knowing that she and our son would be comfortable after my passing. But that did not feel even close to enough, at this moment, as I saw the emptiness and bitterness in her eyes. The bitterness born of years of pain— wave after wave of pain that I had caused her. I began to feel those waves myself.
There was another memory flashback. Jaia was in bed —the same bed I was now dying on. She had just given birth to our son. I was elated, joyful, absolutely delighted with him. With her. With everything. I held the baby, love surging in my chest. I looked down at Jaia. Our eyes met. Could she see my joy, flickering behind my eyes? I think she did, because she smiled. Did she know I loved her? Probably not. But how could I tell?
"You should have kissed her." My memory's narrator chided me. "You should have knelt down and squeezed her hand and told her how beautiful and amazing she is. You should have offered to give her some food or water."
Did I not do all those things? I didn't? How could I have just stood there like some kind of dumb fence post, and then idiotically stumbled away to let the midwives finish their work, without even SAYING anything? That hurt Jaia too.
I was near the end. I had only regrets. I wanted to try to make things right, or even just to let Jaia know how sorry I was. I tried to say I was sorry. It sounded hollow. My body floated to the ceiling; I saw the scene from above. I was desperate. Everything was wrong. How could I do something, even one small thing, to make this better? I realized that since I was dying first, that meant that Jaia might die alone, and that seemed wrong. She should be with me. I tried to call out to her—"I will come to you when you die, and I will be with you. That's a promise." But I no longer had any physical voice. I hoped her soul heard me.
I blinked, and I was in a silent, warm forest clearing. It was all green and gray. There was moss underfoot, and the trees were impossibly tall and close together. There was no sound, just the green and gray light.
Guilt racked my soul. I had it in my head that the only thing I could do at this point to make things a little better was to provide some comfort for Jaia when it was her turn to die, by being there to guide her soul through the passage. I waited anxiously.
I saw an opening, and I saw that it was her time. I walked over, but I could not draw near. There was a powerful, invisible force that kept me at a distance. Then
The Goddess and her consorts
appeared, and THEY escorted Jaia —my Jaia— to the Beyond. I was not allowed. Jaia did not want me. I would never be united with her. My heart broke completely, and I wept.
Green and gray, and gray and green
Moss and tree and stone
I ignored my love, my love ignored me
And now I am alone
"What can I do!" I cried. "I am guilty! I was wrong! How do I make it right? How can I be united with Jaia? How can I heal the wounds I gave her?" I was crushed by the sheer impossibility of going back in time. What I had done, was done. Written in stone for eternity. There was absolutely no way to change it, and no way to atone for my sins. My sobs choked me. I was nauseous and terrified, completely overwhelmed by my guilt.
Did this mean that Jaia's pain would last through eternity? No... Surely not. She would receive comfort in the afterlife. She was a good person. But could I comfort her? That would be the only way justice could be achieved, right? If I could only make it right, if I could only heal her wounds!
Green and gray, and gray and green
Moss and tree and stone
I ignored my love, my love ignored me
And now I am alone
"The Goddess will heal her wounds," an invisible voice spoke to me. "You must sacrifice to The Goddess."
I looked around. "There is no water here," I spoke out. "There is no grain, there are no animals. What do I sacrifice to The Goddess?"
In answer, silence echoed around me. For a thousand years.
It must be part of my punishment, to contemplate the impossibility of atoning for my sins.
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At this point, the voice on the guided meditation track began to drone that it was time to return to my current life. Tears were on my current face, the life I'm actually living now. I was aware of nausea and a tightness of throat. I felt incredibly guilty.
"Ilicus," I spoke. "That's easy. You sacrifice yourself. The Goddess will take your body and your mind, your imperfect self, and dissolve them. She will absorb them, she will transform them, and she will create new pieces of life from them, to heal Jaia."
I scrambled out of bed, still crying and somewhat in trance, and found the only image of the Goddess I have at hand, a beautiful painting of Brigid. I set it on the floor, and enacted the sacrifice. Weeping, offering my body, prostrating myself. "Take me, dissolve me!" I called. "Burn me in your fire! Consume me until there is nothing left! And please, let Jaia know that I do this for her!" I repeated these words, until a calm settled. My guilt began to lift.
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*I don't even know if what I saw is true, much less whether my vision of it has any fidelity to what may have been the real story. I am terrible at meditation to begin with; additionally, everything that I experienced was processed through my conscious mind. Most details were vague. Any details I sensed, like names, are highly likely to contain at least some element of fabrication.
I do know that the imagery and emotions of this vision resonate with my current life, which indicates to me that there is a shift happening somewhere in my psyche.
