Libation for the Green Man

I saw a picture of the Green Man on someone's website yesterday, and that got me looking up images of this popular, virile, but somewhat mysterious nature spirit; you know, the one with the face wreathed in greenery and vines. Some renderings make him look jolly, sort of like a Santa Claus with vines growing out of his mouth, but many images depict him more ambiguously, so that you're not really sure you'd want to see him peering at you from out the foliage. Some are downright scary (look up the Bamberg Green Man for one of the less friendly-looking nature spirits you'll ever see).

I think B and C above are closer to the truth where the Green Man is concerned; a nature spirit should seem remote and inhuman, because he is. He's not your pal, and he wants you to know that; hence the inscrutable expression. If he's smiling about something, be assured it's not necessarily something you yourself would find amusing.

The joke's all on you where he's concerned. For instance, the Green Man seems just the type who would think up a concept like pollen. While it's lovely to see all those butterflies and bees spreading the stuff all over everything (and thank goodness they do), it's not so lovely in the form of allergens. Whatever it is that bothers me in the spring is fairly mild in the scheme of things but enough of a nuisance some years to be annoying. So why can't we just enjoy the flowers and the trees without all this sinus congestion and sneezing? Because the Green Man is a trickster, that's why. It's kind of a reminder that nature isn't a show put on for our amusement. Tornadoes and spring floods are other reminders of the same type, and of course there are many others.

In one mythology class I took, there was some discussion of the ancient concept of sacrificing to the gods as a way of showing respect for the powers and forces that surround us. It sounds old-fashioned and superfluous today, but I think it's the spirit of humility and the recognition that there are larger forces at work (larger than us), not the burnt offering or the fatted calf itself, that's beneficial. The spirit of our age tends toward bending nature to suit our purposes. I don't say this is always bad, but it does seem that an acknowledgement that there might be other laws at work other than just what suits us could be a sane and healthy thing at times.

The ancient Greeks were always pouring libations on the ground; the Wiley Encyclopedia of Ancient History defines a libation as a "ritual outpouring of liquid"--wine or something similar--done to honor a god. I haven't done any laying on of spiritous liquors, but I have been spring cleaning, which is less lyrical but possibly more practical. Instead of spilling wine on the earth, I've been lavishing baking soda, vinegar, and bleach on every surface I can lay my hands on, and dusting, mopping, and running the vacuum like it's going out of style.

Really, I'm just trying to keep ahead of allergens, but it's a ritual cleansing, too, if you like to think of it that way. It's a tip of the hat to the Green Man, a way to let him know that I got his message about nature not being a tame thing (just like Aslan wasn't a tame lion, I guess), that I know I'm just a minute speck in the universe at large (and I'm OK with that, too: in fact, I'm glad of it), but that I do like to be able to breathe through my nose and to smell all those lovely flowers he's been spreading around. Call it a libation with a purpose.