Thigh of the beholder.
August 2024
Dear Friends
A few weeks ago, I received an email from a psychologist friend of mine discussing the mythic implications of ‘the wound that will not heal’. Her reference was to the global political stage, but as we teased it out I began to think in terms of a more personal mythology.
In the cut and thrust of my dance with a rare blood cancer, there are numerous physical niggles that come and go, but the one constant for me has been this—a pain in my upper right thigh. While it seems to originate somewhere deep in the bone marrow, producing a consistent dull ache, at other times it delivers an intermittent ice-pick pain that can last several days. It also has a surface quality, so that when brushed even lightly it stings sharply like a shard of glass sitting just under the skin.
Biologically—where our journey must begin—the thigh is quite remarkable. Able to support our weight, the femur is the largest and strongest bone we have. Along with the thigh’s musculature—quadriceps, hamstrings and adductors—it is crucial for movement and balance.
The thighs play a pivotal role in childbirth, providing support and stability during labor and delivery. Their strength and positioning helps effectively push and guide the baby through the birth canal.
The thigh also contains the femoral artery and vein, vital for blood circulation, as well as the sciatic nerve, the largest and longest in the human body.
Last—but by no means least in relation to my own situation—the femur bone’s marrow is a major site of hematopoiesis, the process by which multipotent stem cells differentiate and self-renew to become the various types of blood cells that sustain life.
So with the ‘matter’ of the thigh now stated, we can turn to it in the sense of a bio-mythic narrative. As we make the transition, let’s take the hand of the ‘tenth muse’, lady Sappho—the ancient Greek lyric poet who wrote of love and physical beauty—and give thanks to the mighty thigh:
“Despite all the grief, I shall love you
and delight in the beauty of your thigh,
rejoicing in that part of your body.”
Excerpt, Fragment 94
Throughout Greek mythology, the thigh is considered sacred. Animal femur bones wrapped in fat were often used in sacrifices to the gods, signifying a deep relationship between the mortal and the divine.
Teacher, author and poet Dennis Patrick Slattery wrote that the femur serves as a metaphor for existential support and that it’s role in producing blood cells connects it to our life force.
This is vividly illustrated in the story of Dionysus. After the premature death of his human mother, Semele, Dionysus is sewn into the thigh of Zeus, who hematopoetically nurtures him there until his rebirth, when he emerges fully grown to take his place among the Olympian deities.
What is the story gestating in my own thigh, waiting to be reborn?
In Egyptian mythology, the thigh appears in a cosmological context. The constellation we know as the Big Dipper is seen as the thigh of the god Set.
In the Hebrew Bible, Jacob wrestles with an angel who strikes the sciatic nerve in his thigh, causing him a permanent limp. This encounter transforms Jacob, earning him the name Israel and forever changing his destiny—he reconciles with his brother Esau, whom he had previously deceived, and establishes the family that will eventually grow into the twelve tribes of Israel.
Jacob wrestling with the Angel by Eugène Delacroix (1861)
I have long found resonance with this story. It reminds me of Rilke’s grand poem, The Man Watching. The final stanza (as translated by Robert Bly) is offered here:
Whoever was beaten by this Angel
(who often simply declined the fight)
went away proud and strengthened
and great from that harsh hand,
that kneaded him as if to change his shape.
Winning does not tempt that man.
This is how he grows: by being defeated, decisively,
by constantly greater beings.
Interestingly, gid hanasheh (forgotten sinew) is Hebrew for the sciatic nerve and by Jewish law, as derived from the story, it is not to be eaten. The thigh is also mentioned biblically by way of sacred commitment when Abraham asks his servant to place a hand under his thigh to swear an oath.
One of the most profound explorations of the thigh’s mythic significance is the Arthurian legend of Parzival, written by Wolfram von Eschenbach in the early 13th century. Central to the story is the search for the Grail and the suffering of the Fisher King, Amfortas, who endures a debilitating wound to the thigh. This not only causes him immense pain but also leads to the desolation of his kingdom, symbolising the interconnectedness of individual and collective wellbeing.
Parzival’s quest hinges on asking the fundamental question, “What ails thee?” This inquiry, which moves him from personal glory to communal service, is essential in healing the Fisher King and restoring the land.
Dear reader, what is it that ails thee? Where is it you are wounded?
Another story that draws us back to Greek mythology is that of Chiron, the wounded healer. Unlike the other wild and unruly centaurs, Chiron stood out for his compassion and culture. He was accidentally struck in the thigh by Hercules’ arrow, which had been dipped in the lethal blood of the Hydra, causing him an incurable and painful wound.
Chiron’s suffering transforms him into a master of medicine, embodying the paradox of the healer who cannot heal himself. The sacred wound in the thigh represents the coming together of strength and vulnerability. It is the liminal in-between space of both/and where inner transformation and rebirth can occur. Through his pain, Chiron develops deep compassion for others, turning his suffering into a wellspring of wisdom and healing.
The wounded healer archetype, exemplified by Chiron, teaches us that our most profound abilities to heal others often arise from our own personal suffering. Mythologist Michael Meade suggests that this archetype is a ‘response from the inside out’ to the wounds already present in ourselves and the world.
These stories speak to the parts of us that language alone cannot touch. Through the symbolism of the thigh, we understand that our physical wounds are far from just afflictions, but are deeply intertwined with our personal and collective mythologies.
As we have seen, the thigh’s significance extends well beyond its remarkable biological functions, embodying an intersection of strength, vulnerability, balance, movement, commitment and new life. It is even written in the stars, serving as a powerful metaphor for our journey toward healing and wholeness.
The stories of Dionysus, Jacob and Chiron invite us to view our physical wounds as sacred sites of transformation. These narratives teach us that our suffering is not merely a source of pain but also a potential catalyst for profound inner growth.
Wounds are openings. They are doorways through which we can enter our own lives and be born again, revealing our innate genius and enabling us to be of service in bringing healing and restoring the world.
As we navigate our own personal and collective challenges, let’s remember the sacred stories of the thigh. Again I ask where it is you are wounded, and remind you of words from my friend’s email: “the stories speak to us where we need to be met”.
Oceans of love.
Asher
References:
Slattery, Dennis Patrick. ‘Dionysus, Apollo, and Asklepios: The Road from Dis-ease to Recovery, A Bio-Mythic Narrative’. Spring Publications, 2003
Notes:
On Tuesday evening, August 13, The Fifth Direction plays host to author, storyteller and ecologist, Andreas Kornevall, who will be joining us in Story Circle to host The Flowering Tree: A Journey into Northern Myth, Ritual, Runes and Cosmology.
You can also listen/watch Andreas in recent conversation with me for the Warrior Within podcast.
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