Gabby print

Gabby print

Wednesday, May 7, 2014

Cursed or Crazy?


            In visiting a patient named “Lisa” at Geauga hospital, one is immediately struck by her level of sedation. She is on suicide watch after an attempt to take her own life in a road side motel room. The sedatives are meant to keep her convulsions at bay. The assumption, upon speaking with hospital staff, is that the bulk of her reckless behavior takes place amidst her manic phases of euphoria. No music is permitted to be played around her as it arouses her and causes the convulsions to return. While mental illness          today is viewed as physiological: stemming from chemical imbalances in the brain, Lisa rocks back and forth on her bed crying and confesses to feeling cursed.

            Over the span of recorded time, many different mechanisms are devised to cope with the mentally ill. Some African and Native American tribes elevate those who experience visual and auditory hallucinations as well as convulsive fits to the rank of Shaman. This is not the case in early modern Europe, where mental illness and epilepsy are often thought to be caused by demonic possession. It is solely in England that the etiology and care of the mentally ill stem from medical means as early as the thirteenth century.

            The image of the strega/putana as it exists in Italian culture today, is a carryover of the early modern image of the village witch. In Federico Fellini's blatantly misogynist Amarcord, the strega/putana character is reduced to nothing more than the village whore. She hyperventilates and trembles, as if only satiated by boughts of sex. These convulsive states of mania are indicative of many etiologies. In Medieval and early modern Europe, convulsive fits are commonly attributed to demonic possession, even when symptoms would seem to the modern eye to point more directly to such modern diagnoses as epilepsy, bi-polar disorder, autism and schizophrenia.

            Symptoms relating to demonic possession in which victims feel themselves stolen away by forces outside of themselves include strong convulsive gyrations, wild facial expressions, feats of extraordinary strength and swelling of the throat as well as abdominal distention. Periods of fasting and self-mutilation are also reported. Midelfort points out that: “culturally specific psychosis are kinds of madness that one finds only in specific societies” (4). This corresponds to the modern contention that many behavioral disorders are socially constructed. Hence a diagnoses of demon possession, while a common occurrence in France and the Germanic states, is less likely to occur in Spain or Italy where Catholic magical curatives are still sanctioned. A diagnoses of demonic possession is even more seldom an occurrence in a country like England where mental health is viewed as being biological in origin and care is under the jurisdiction of the crown.

            These same symptoms of suffocation, wild gyrations and acting out are seen as Moth frenzy among the Navaho. Young women are often thought to be the target of witches and this disease is thought to be the result of a moth bite. In kind, young people afflicted with Saint Vitus's dance and girls who succumb to the bite of the tarantula and subsequently dance the Tarantella, are responding in part, potentially to a spider bite, a beta-hemolytic streptococcal infection, or hysteria. The diagnoses is a matter of where the symptomatic person lives. In France and Italy the pizzica tarantata (little spider bite) is thought to be the cause of a wild spastic, uncontrollable fit of dancing. The dancing is supposed to help the afflicted person sweat out the spider venom. But the etiology as defined by Allessandra Belloni is: “'the bite of love' that occurs when one's subconscious mind is filled with repressed desires. This bite of love often begins during puberty and is caused by a repression of erotic desire or an experience of unrequited love, abuse or depression” (Belloni). These fits correspond to a portion of the symptoms of hysteria, which is commonly attributed to pubescent girls and elderly women who are recently widowed and thus are suddenly deprived of sex.

            Many of these symptoms correspond to Dionysian behavioral rites. Through the repudiation of ordinary protocols of existence, the afflicted seeks momentary respite from imposed societal boundaries. This is true both in Navajo culture as well as in lands that recognize the Tarantella and St. Vitus's dance. In North Africa, Spain, Greece and Italy, the dancing convulsions are thought to be cured solely by music and dance. Tambourines and drums are beaten until the afflicted attains an ecstatic pinnacle that is considered to be a rite of purification. Today, Ms. Belloni, the resurrector of this ancient ritual volunteers at Mount Sinai Hospital in New York where she teaches the dance to mental patients. Along with medication, the dance of the ancient spider is a tool in the healing process of those suffering from bi-polar disorder, schizophrenia, dissociative identity disorder and epilepsy. The point of the exercise is to: “break through into another order of experience. The desire of the Dionysian, in personal experience or in ritual, is to press through it toward a certain psychological state, to achieve excess” (Levy 10). Once reached, as in the shudders of orgasm, the symptomatic behavior subsides.

            Many who complain of feeling cursed are also thought to be the victims of melancholy. Melancholy is characterized as a form of depression that deprives the patient of enthusiasm and eagerness. When diagnosed within the context of bodily humours, melancholy is thought to be caused by burnt or black bile. Melancholy is unquestionable the primary inspiration of most of the art of the middle ages, as is evidenced by the fact that, among its sufferers are Eustache Deschamps, George Chastellain and Jean Meschinot. The primary treatment of melancholy is music and dance; the antithesis of acceptable behavior in the eyes of Protestants. Indeed, divine music is thought to drive out the very Devil himself.

            The Greeks consider those afflicted with visions and a flatness of countenance to be possessed by the gods. But all those affected filter occurrences in their world, “through the linguistic lenses of their time and place, and of their ethnicity, class, age, and gender” (Midelfort 10). It is not surprising, therefore, that those afflicted might be considered to be possessed in the early modern era, as even today, ninety percent of disorders experienced worldwide are not to be found among modern diagnostic journals.

                        'Madness' is so general, so vague a term that we find ourselves forced to ask what it                                     meant in any given time or place, and so it well serves the purposes of an empirical                          historian who aims as I do, to convey some of the flavor and strangeness of a forgotten                                culture. (Midelfort 11)

            Midelfort goes on to see a correlation between the flatness of melancholy in the manic level of rationalism and introspection that so often accompany the myriad symptoms of demonic possession.

            Other symptomatic behavior includes disassociation and a refusal to eat or drink. People who refuse food or water are thought to be possessed by demons and are kept alive solely by the hand of God. The conflict in diagnoses arises when one who believe this melancholy is the result of black bile must confer with those who believes these symptoms speak to the presence of the devil. This conflict of diagnostic opinion is one that become more and more common in the days following the Protestant Reformation. Very often rifts in diagnoses stem from one who believes the alienated individual is merely suffering from a humoural imbalance in their juices coming up against a more conventionally minded person who sees the victim as overcome by sin and turning a blind eye to God. Demonologists would infer that, “rather than being concerned solely with the well-being of the individual … exorcism was a proving ground for faith, legitimizing the authority of the individual who performed it” (Ferber 3). Thus the well-being of the sufferer is less important than the saving of Christianity's face with regard to those who suffer from an acute case of disenchantment with the presiding culture.

            A case that highlights this disenchantment is that of Flemish painter, Hugo van der Goes. The artist suffers a breakdown which he chooses to contend with by becoming a spiritual recluse in a cloister.  In the midst of his spiritual downturn, he still paints and receives visitors, among whom is Emperor Maximilian I. His depression is documented by Gasper Ofhuys:

                        When he saw and heard all that had happened, he suspected that he [Brother Hugo] was                             afflicted with the same disease [morbo] as had befallen King Saul, and recalling that                                    Saul had been helped by David's playing the harp [1 Sam. 16: 14-23], he ordered lots of                              music to be made [probably to be sung] and other theatrical performances [spectacula                                  recreativa] for Brother Hugo, by which he hoped to drive off his mental phantasies.                                    Despite these efforts, Brother Hugo did not get better; talking madly [aliena loquens], he                 called himself a son of perdition, and thus indisposed he came home [to the Roode                           Clooster]. (Midelfort 26)

            Hugo van der Goes remains convinced that his spiritual state of alienation is a curse set upon him by God for the sin of pride in his accomplishment as a painter. Therefore he punishes himself by retreating from the world lest his smite God with his talent. As he lives in an era in which Godliness is all that matters, the only means of coping he ascertains for himself is seclusion from the world which would herald his achievements. This is a mental state also visible later in the lives of both William Blake and Allen Ginsburgh. William Blake is often beaten by his mother when he tries to explain to her that God speaks directly through him. It is only through the eyes of history that one sees the communication of that voice in Blake's poetry and paintings. Likewise, in GO by John Clellon Holmes, the character Holmes bases on Ginsburgh, Stofsky, is seen sleeplessly speaking to the ghost of William Blake in search of some personal direction, in search for divine inspiration as it were:

                        To find the Western path

                        Right through the Gates of Wrath

                        I urge my way … (Blake 85)

            Here Ginsburgh's character seeks spiritual guidance through his own mental illness in one whom has suffered before him before God and man. These afflicted souls are trying desperately to reconcile themselves with a spiritual dogma that would stifle the human character in the name of what is culturally deemed to be 'right'. The melancholy suffered herein, thus, is a mechanism by which the afflicted tries to reconcile the spiritual world in which they must live, with the illness that dwells within them. Thus anomie becomes the more accurate diagnoses of those the late Medieval period and the early modern era would perceive as demonically possessed.

            Faucaultian theory contends that power, be it political, economic, or sexual, is derived through knowledge, hence the presiding construct of knowledge is that which yields the most power in a given society. Thus people who present as having knowledge in a marginalized form, such as that derived through sexually driven dancing mania, or that stemming from morose introspection, cannot be permitted power within a Christian social paradigm. Therefore a diagnoses of witchcraft or demonic possession must ensue. Demoniacs are seen as defying the presiding conventions that are the socially constructed ideal of morality of the day. In their trauma, they foresee the future, speak in tongues, and disclose the secrets of the universe.  These symptoms operate in discord with Christian ideals, the predominant knowledge and thus the predominant power.  Judicial records only record the names of demoniacs and witches when they are accused of disrupting societal norms of behavior and thereby calling the social construct of power into question.

            As sixteenth century Europeans concern themselves greatly with the concept of sin and with the existence of the Devil, scandalous, marginal behavior falls under the umbrella of only one possible etiology: that of demonic possession caused by witches. No mind-body connection is understood as being anything other than of this construct. During the Reformation, more Protestants than Catholics commit suicide. Lutherans expect and even anticipate these suicides, given that Luther himself is reported to wrestle with the Devil. Further consensus of this belief that the human soul must live in constant battle with the forces of darkness is the biblical account of Jesus in the wilderness working to cast out demons within his own psyche. This myth serves to validate a phenomenon of exorcism in the early modern era. However, exorcisms are often orchestrated to win over converts, “to either Catholicism or a particular Protestant denomination, making the veracity of all such accounts of possession fundamentally suspect” (Levack 4). This is evidenced in the fact that many of these stories are utilized in sermons meant to win converts and also in the fact that these testimonies are often the words of the scribes and not the words of the victims of possession. These instances serve to validate Emile Durkeim's theory of anomie: that state of rootlessness and normlessness found in a social construct that has been so quickly and so profoundly changed as to leave its people with no tangible paradigm of reality in which they can comfortably find and define themselves. Much of the conflict defined as demonic possession therefore can be defined as the alienation of those souls who, for whatever reason, fall into a state of conflict with the presiding social norms of their day, norms that leave no room for the normalcy of emotions such as despondency, despair, sexual anxiety or ecstasy: “efforts to unmask demonic possessions as schizophrenia, melancholy as depression, or all psychiatric categories as the ultimate tools of repression … are ubiquities. Only the subjective notion of despair remains fairly common to most societies” (Lederer 145). One other means of healing these anomalies left to the people of the early modern era albeit one that is becoming less common, is the healing act of pilgrimage.

            The average pilgrim comes from the socio-economic class of commoners. Both men and women resort to this means of healing their ills when faced with feelings of being cursed. Many records of such accounts are kept at these shrines and record the number of afflicted who seek out treatment. However these books have been edited to favor the results ascribed to these individual saints. The numbers however, are staggering and are recorded to dissuade the average skeptic. Unedited versions of these records still do provide a uniform picture. Even shrines not directly affiliated with the treatment of the mentally ill confirm that an even number of men and women sought wellness in the name of various saints and the blessed virgin: “The earliest printed miracle books kept at any shrine in Bavaria are those of our Lady of Altotting from 1495 to 1497 … confirm that at least forty-three pilgrims were treated for their spiritual afflictions, both major and minor” (Lederer 150). Marian shrines also carry records that state pilgrimages are made by relatives in the name of over 350 cases of madness and suicide. More than 1500 cases of spiritual afflictions are also recorded elsewhere. These records are all coherent, deliberate and consistent. The ill include criminals as well as law abiding family members. All records delineate symptoms via means of, “Galenic humoral pathology, Aristotelian faculty psychology, moral causality and magical explanations” (Lederer 150).  There is no record of whether these treatments worked either completely or at all.

            The elimination of etiologies such as hysteria and St. Vitus's dance from the vocabulary of maladies require a change in epistemology. For this to occur, the mind and the body have to be viewed as separate from the soul. Nowhere are the cultural and social forces necessary to cause this change, a place where behavioral discrepancies are evaluated at face value during the late Medieval and early modern era more prevalent, than in England.

            Throughout Europe people have enough wherewithal to differentiate between congenital mental illness and supernatural afflictions. There are even hospitals that house the insane although these facilities are rather Dickensian in their outlook and treatment of such patients. While treatment is still inhumane by modern standards, men like Juan Vives and Cornelius Agrippa are espousing treatment plans based on scientific theories of the day. As early as the thirteenth century theorists such as Bartholomaeus attribute mental illness to nature rather that demons: “much evidence exists to suggest that the Inquisition's interest in witchcraft – and its inevitable corollary insanity was belated and secondary” (Neugebauer 478). Much of the mentally ill, like those who suffer from diseases of questionable origins, are cared for by the community as well as their families. Demonology only receives importance as an etiology after the fifteenth century when relics, salt, and holy water are no longer curative options. 

            Patients in England fall into two categories, idiots: those who are incompetent from birth, and lunatics: those who fall ill due to an accident, trauma or prolonged illness. Idiots are protected by the crown, whereas lunatics are the responsibility of their family. These agreements are a matter of English law, but it is an understood aspect of culture that community care is to be provided. In the paperwork for some patients however, diagnoses is occasionally worded so that the onset of illness is said to be caused by the, “snares of evil spirits” (Roffe 1708). One patient's information accounts her as being not   mentally sound and not having the intelligence to care for herself. These intelligence tests entail her being asked to correctly account for money and knowing what day of the week it is. This confusing of intelligence with sanity is worth noting. Still, according to Chancery, her family is allotted due sums of income from her estate sufficient to cover the cost of her care.

            The diagnostic tool of humoural imbalance is still the norm. While most treatment plans in hospital entail herbal, dietary and surgical procedures, spells are still occasionally used to remedy symptomatic behavior. However madness brought about by trauma is recognized and is treated with no regard for any possible demonological root cause. Once the crown sorts out who is to be paid to care for the mentally unsound person in question until they either became well, or until an heir is old enough to inherit, both the family and the community resume care for said person.

            The decision to put a person under the care of their family comes about through a process of inquisition by jury. These men are asked questions so as to ascertain their ability to judge the situation fairly. They then break down a plan for the care of the incompetent person that includes, family, community and royal involvement. The law that puts this form of guardianship into practice is known as the Praerogativa regis. This dates back to the time of King Edward I. The most enlightening fact of this legislation is that it does not grant the right to a lord to interfere with the financial affairs of his tenants and workers, making this the earliest known proof that England's healthcare system is among the most compassionate in the world. That said, complaints are still put forward often regarding caretakers not providing sufficiently for their wards. This system of care, “was rooted in the need to manage land, the primary nexus of medieval society” (Roffe 1710). The English, here, manage to find a way to make making money and caring for their public coincide.

            The question of whether a person is cursed or crazy is one affected by many variables during the late Medieval and early modern era. Convulsive fits and anxiety are often attributed to demonic possession. These diagnoses are not pervasive, but rather occur where Protestantism has more of a stronghold on cultural norms. Diseases like the Tarantata and St. Vitus's dance, once explained as demonic possession, more accurately can be defined as responses to the religious oppression of natural human responses to sexual and ecstatic desire. Indeed, the cure for melancholy, dating all the way back to the time of King Saul is music and dance. It is only in the face of the misinterpretation of Christ's message that the well-being of the spiritually afflicted is considered less important than the saving of Christian face. Artists throughout history leave us with the evidence of this spiritual turmoil in the paintings, poems and plays. This creative evidence points to the power of the church to mandate the definition of knowledge. Worth noting is the higher number of suicides among Protestants versus Catholics: this denoting the efficacy of magical healing arts such as salt and holy water to assuage symptomatic behavior. Other tools such as pilgrimage to holy shrines serve to heal the anomic tumult felt by so many people during the fifteenth, sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. It is only in England that mental illness begins to be viewed as a natural phenomenon.

            Upon leaving the patient “Lisa” in Geauga hospital, her visitor tries to remind Lisa that she is a child of God. The visitor recites the following prayer to her in hopes that it may make Lisa feel better:

                        May the road rise up to meet you.

                        May the wind always be at your back.

                        May the sun shine warm upon your face,

                        and rains fall soft upon your fields.

                        And until we meet again,

                        May God hold you in the palm of His hand.

            Lisa responds with a smile. It is the sincerest hope of her visitor that she might understand that this morsel of spirituality is meant to buoy her in her time of pain. In this era of medicalization of what was once considered to be a spiritual conflict, pain still exists. The social construct of how that pain is addressed is all that time has amended.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Works Cited

Belloni, Alessandra. “Liner Notes.” Tarantata: Dance of the Ancient Spider. Alessandra Belloni. Sounds True, 2003. CD.

Ferber, Sarah. Demonic Possession And Exorcism In Early Modern France. London: Routledge, 2004. Print.

Blake, William. “Daybreak” in GO. New York: Thunder's Mouth Press, 1952. Print.

Lederer, David. Madness, Religion And The State In Early Modern Europe. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2006. Print.

Levack, Brain P. The Devil Within: Possession & Exorcism In The Christian West. New Haven: Yale University Press, 2013. Print.

Levy, Jerrold E. et al. Hand Trembling, Frenzy Witchcraft, And Moth Madness: A Story Of Navaho Seizure Disorders. Tucson: The University Of Arizona Press, 1987. Print.

Midelfort, Erik H.C. A History Of Madness In Sixteenth-Century Germany. Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1999. Print.

Midelfort, Erik H.C. Witchcraft, Madness, Society, And Religion In Early Modern Germany: A Ship Of Fools. Farnham: Ashgate Publishing Limited, 2013. Print.

Neugebauer, Richard. “Medieval And Early Modern Theories Of Mental Illness.” Archives Of General Psychiatry 36. 4. (1979): 477-483. Print.

Roffe, David., and Roffe, Christine. “Madness And Care In The Community: A Medieval Perspective.” BMJ: British Medical Journal 311. 7021. (1995): 1708-1712. Print.

Public 5. “Irish Blessings & Prayers” Island Ireland. Irish Folk Culture. Web. 26 April 2014.  

Friday, December 14, 2012

Kinship Assignment - Anthropology



Let the sting of urea from the paint tingle your nostrils as you relax and watch the stranger tug at the bit of rope hanging by the right side of the wooden gate. The rope leads to the bell that clangs a good twelve feet high in the air of azure folded into cerulean. Relax. Relax and remember that you are bigger than all of this, stronger than any broken marriage, tougher than any of your mother’s romances. The gate that smells of urea and is tacky still to the touch, encloses the property and a house carved out of the stone of the side of the mountain and as you relax and let your eyes get heavy, she walks in with you and sees only a perfunctory living space carved out of the stone of the mountain, a family villa typifying the provincial architecture that is the skeleton of each and every one of these mountain top towns. Erase the windows of your mind and visualize a blue sky and let Zia tell you a story which I sincerely hope will help to ease your pain. Nonna Dina (your Nonna Lucia's mother) is re-latching the gate as she spits at the dirt and curses the misery of pigs, ushering in the stranger toward the darkness and the scant and ashen black and gray of the stone kitchen’s hearth. (This is the house where Nonno Primo, Nonna Lucia’s father was born. This is where he grew up and eventually where your Nonna Lucia spent the summers of her childhood. It is where your Nonna Lucia lies now, sickly in an upstairs bedroom. It is for her that the stranger comes. Ah, but her mother was nasty and foul tempered. It was the war. World War Two broke so many people and unfortunately our Nonna Dina was one of them.) So breathe in and picture Nonna Dina as she mutters a lamentation toward the unwelcome stranger, wiping the dried egg from her hands onto her apron briskly, turning the skin of her hands bright red. Execrating the day she ever thought it wise to marry into this God forsaken family and the nerve, the audacity this woman has of coming into her home. For what? Because she knew her mother-in-law? Because she know of our families’ lineage? Ma che disgrastiata. What a shame and disgrace. Because she knew her mother-in-law, that woman who was the cause of all her troubles. A dappled fawn appears in the doorway. A dappled white tailed fawn. Relax. Because she knew her mother-in-law as both a blessing and as a curse. The stranger steps around the plank-board table and draws closer to the eight stone steps that lead to the girl (your Nonna). Nonna Dina looks at the fawn. What is it doing here? What else aside from this strange woman and all her secret knowledge and bottles of scented oils could be responsible for all her troubles? What is she doing here? Hadn’t that wretched mother-in-law been of the same caste of people? Ma che shama! What a despicable shame! Questa magari, this magus, this sorcerer, what could she want with her and her child? Take your silly dappled fawn and go, and be off with you!

“Che cose vuole?” asks Nonna Dina. What do you want, in a tone of reproach.

“I’m here for the girl.” stated the stranger quite flatly. She makes no indication that gaining Nonna Dina’s approval is in any way important to her. “I knew your mother-in-law, Adele. I know what ails the child and how to heal her.” The stranger smiles at the fawn in the doorway. Breathe in and relax, dear.

Indignant as is her usual manner of deportment, Nonna Dina nods her head toward the eight stone steps carved into the stone outer wall. Ashen faced and stalwart, she leads the stranger up to the room where the child has lay stricken down for the past six months. People knew. People still knew. This magari lineage is inescapable. Such a shame, such an embarrassment! To be seen by her neighbors letting this Strega putana into her home! But what choice did she have the end? The child had not walked in six months, had not walked even as tremulously as the fawn. What choice did she have? She is tight lipped, her arms folded across her chest in resignation. With no attempt at even the lightest of pleasantries, she steps aside at the top of the stairs and indicates the well lit room at the top of the stairs to the right. The child lays in a wrought iron bed, limp and moribund. Her breathing is forced and a coarse rasp is heard as she grapples at the air for each breathe. Breathe in and breathe out, says the stranger to the girl. Breathe in sweet Lucia. There there now child, breathe in and breathe out. And the sky gleams clear and pristine blue and cerulean through the window as a breeze carries itself across the child’s bed. The stranger turns her back to the indignant non-believer in the hallway of stone. She has no interest in sharing what she is about to do. Carefully searching through the pockets of her skirt, she retrieves a small pair of finely etched sterling silver sewing scissors. She cuts a lock of hair from the nape of sweet Lucia’s sweat soaked neck and recites the following incantation: No light shall die that dwells within. Your spark internal sustains you. On upswept wings alight the wind. Send her west where the light shall reclaim her.

The girl reaches faintly for the stranger’s wrist. The heat emanating from the tender tips of her fingers rests against the cool soft flesh of the stranger’s wrist. “The fawn” breathes the little girl without opening her eyes. “The fawn belongs to her. Take it with you.”

The stranger nods and agrees. She turns, tucking the lock of hair in her skirt pocket and brushes past Nonna Dina flowing down the stone steps to the plank-board table and the cold and lifeless hearth. Nonna Dina is deeply offended. She follows the stranger, both curious and angry.

“That’s it? No liniment? No teas?” Nonna Dina is appalled that this strange woman whom she has let into her home has done nothing to aid her ailing daughter.

The stranger turns, imparting a thin lipped condescending smile upon this dolt of a simple woman. How often it happens that women of means have no meaningful thoughts in their heads beyond the quality of their curtains.

“The child shall walk by tomorrow morning. I can let myself out.” The stranger makes her way around the backside of the plank-board table and out to the dirt foyer before the game-pole. She looks back into the dank cold darkness.

“Your hearth is cold?” It was more a knowing statement than a question. “How can you make bread?”

“My bread is fine!” chortles Nonna Dina. In high animation she snatches the gold and purple matchbox from the table and takes out a pungent long slender match to strike.

“Relax” says the stranger as she glances over at the knots in the wooden beams of the game-pole. She smiles and looks down at the fawn. She sees the dark film of miasmic energy as it lays softly about the parameter of the house. She recalls the day it appeared. The day the bombs dropped from German bi-planes cutting the bloodline. The day the magari ceased to be in this house. The searing, eerie whistles and hissing and then silence … the looming silence before the boon of the bomb would sound and her lifeless body struck the ground in between the latticed grapevines of the garden’s rich black soil. She smiles at the fawn who shows no fear. It walks toward her, begging passage in exchange for unconditional love. The stranger waits as the fawn draws nearer, then makes her way down and around past the dahlias and delphiniums, and out the freshly painted gate, the fawn in tow.



The preceding is taken from my fictional account of my mother’s bought with La Mal’Occhio ( the evil eye) in 1949. In this one of my family’s many old stories lie the seeds of my socialization and enculturation as a first generation Italian-American, as a Catholic, and as a member of a secret Italian lineage tradition called Stregonerhea. The surnames that have sculpted the clay of my being are Ercolani, Barbarini, Dentici/e, Terwilliger, Higgins, Clark, Crabb, Merritt, Ronald, Brady and finally Irwin. While each of these surnames have left their mark, it is the stories passed down from my grandparents more than my technical genealogy that I have found myself in. Those stories offered me a slightly different perspective than the ones found in the kitchens and on the front stoops of Brighten Beach, Brooklyn or Latina, Italy. Much of my self-definition has over time leaned more on my Italian-ness than on my father’s Dutch and Irish heritage. This is not for a lack of old stories, but more due to the fact that I am the fourth generation of Irish descendants who seem perfectly happy to be gentrified Americans and have no problem with the fact that they have willingly lost touch with their native language and customs of their mother country. And my Dutch family is completely estranged and unknown to me due to the rampant mental illness therein. Having corrected my mother’s English since I could speak it myself, I am keenly aware of her continuous connection to Italy and thus her and by extension my “other-ness”.

I was born in Fitzsimmons Army Hospital on Lowry Air Force Base to an American Air Force private and his foreign bride at the height of the social revolution of the nineteen sixties. This is the thesis of who I am. It has been my privilege to watch both my family’s and the country’s definition of kinship change over the past forty-five years. The issue of divorce, once a deviant form of behavior, has been common place in my family since 1948. This is in part due to religious tension, but is also due to alcoholism and mental illness both here in America as well as in Italy. The first divorces in my family were handled with so much shame that each father was completely erased from the family's appearance so as to seem “normal” to the neighbors. Thus both my biological father and I have no knowledge of his father's family. Ironically, finding the Terwilliger line on Ancestry.com was the easiest to follow due to it being patrilineal and based here in the United States for generations. My aunt in Italy found herself divorced after her husband could no longer contend with her post traumatic stress due to having been raped by a German soldier during World War Two. Her husband went so far as to have my aunt declared unfit and have their children institutionalized in orphanages until they each came of age. Thankfully the cultural issue of divorce, through becoming more common place, has begun to be handled more effectively. In my own two divorces my pre-liminal phase was one of mental illness which facilitated an inability to form healthy attachments. It is the combination of religious tension and mental illness that has informed and re-socialized and re-enculturated me through the rites of passage leading to adulthood. As divorce and mental illness are my anti-thesis, proper mental health care and religion have brought me through these rites of passage and my post liminal phase is now one of being happily married and mentally healthy.

Stress has been the universal response of everyone who ever dared to step a toe outside the Catholic Church. As is evidenced in the above work of fiction, my great grand-mother’s reputation as a strega/magari was still well known even after she died amidst a German air raid during WWII. So the fact that some strange woman who had clearly been a friend of my great grand-mother’s showed up one day to save my mother from the brink of death was extremely disconcerting to my grand-mother. My grand-mother had not known that her husband’s mother was a Strega (witch) when they had married and so was understandably shocked and embarrassed once she found out. Her relationship with her mother-in-law had always been strained as a result. But my great-grandmother was a temperate woman and so knew how to walk the line as a “good Catholic”. Even as a child visiting the family home in Castelviscardo, we went to church every day and the altar in the house was set up in veneration to la Madonna Negra. It was not until I was older that I understood that a statue of a black Madonna as opposed to a white one carried a vastly different meaning.

In 1975, amid her fieldwork in pre-Christian Italian medical anthropology, my mother managed to trip over what had over time become our family’s forgotten heritage. In her interviews with the elders of Castelviscardo over that summer she discovered we were Strega descendants. A Strega is usually a spiritual healer who worships Etruscan or Sicilian Gods exclusively, but often times, as is the case in our family, these healers are followers of the cult of the black Madonna thereby infusing their worship of pagan gods with Catholicism. Animism is a part of all of this as well. Having been raised to be a good Catholic by my grand-mother, my mother, while tickled by this information, managed to keep it a secret from my father for the remainder of their marriage out of fear of reprisal. But I had been in tow that whole summer. I carried around that big clunky tape recorder and listened in on every interview and the thought of being a witch delighted my imagination to no end. I began referring to my mother as “the queen of ‘no’” in response to her constant attempts to suppress my detective work on the matter. But what I did not understand as a child was the culture bound idea of secrecy and suppression that had come to surround Stregonerhea in Italy out of necessity as a means of protection against the Catholic Church. This culture bound concept has been shed by the many Streghe here in America today thanks to a handy dandy little thing we have here called the first amendment. In fact this year marked the first time Rome has ever hosted a Pagan Pride Day. Similar events were held this year here in both Cleveland and Pittsburgh. Interestingly, the Wiccans who are the majority of the attendees to these events all claim as their primary research materials on modern day witchcraft works of research that all originated in Italy (Leland, Gardner, and Crowley).The last fifteen years has also seen a dramatic rise in the number of “out of the broom closet” Streghe, in large part because of the internet. It seems that walking between the worlds is now defined as cyber-reality.

Here, on the other side of the pond, a different kind of religious tension was finding its way to synthesis in Brooklyn when my paternal great grandmother and great grandfather met and fell in love in Brighton Beach around 1919. The story goes that after they were secretly wed, both my grandma Lillian and my grandpa Willie each remained in their respective parents’ homes because grandpa Willie was an Irish Protestant and grandma Lillian was a Catholic. Grandma Lillian’s parents found out she had married that Protestant boy two weeks later and she was turned out of her house with one suitcase and did not speak to her parents again for another two years when she gave birth to my great aunt Mildred. It seems that Grandpa Willie had converted in the years between their wedding and the birth of my great aunt and so the provisional synthesis in this instance came in the form of religious acceptance along with the softening of the veneer of pride via the arrival of a grandchild.

As the daughter of an anthropologist, I would listen to these old stories and beyond the stories themselves, I found myself wondering exactly what had loosed the bonds of Catholic sub-culture over the past century. Is it the growing agnostic nature of American life, is it the disappointments brought about by the church scandal, or is it just cultural diffusion? Perhaps it’s a little bit of all three factors. I remember my father telling me how Grandpa Willie spanked him once for leaving his bike out on the front stoop. My Dad had told Grandpa Willie, “It’s okay Grandpa. They’re all Catholics.” To which Grandpa Willie responded, “Son, those are the worst kind.”

The concept of identity is also one that has touched my family and my own enculturation. After World War Two, my grandmother convinced my maternal grandfather to change the spelling of our last name from Dentici, which was thought to be a low brow country name, to the more prestigious sounding Dentice. My grandmother’s reasoning once again had to do with getting away from the peasant reputation of my grandfathers birth. Interestingly, after my grandmother’s death in 1991, my uncle changed the spelling of his last name back to its original form. He had never felt ashamed of being Castellesi (from Castelviscardo, a town with a population of 1500). In the Strega tradition, one’s name is what informs the development of personality. Being from humble means was apparently too embarrassing for my maternal grandmother. But after her passing, the rest of our family in Italy seemed to embrace the original spelling as a means of embracing our collective humility as well as our authentic selves. It seems some of us are not so afraid of what we see in the looking glass.

I too have felt the sting of ever changing identity via being adopted by my step-father and thus receiving his last name and then receiving the last names of all three of my husbands. This has meant that my last name has changed five times. I have looked into the looking glass and seen too many different people. In response to watching me struggle with my every changing identity, my sister from my mother’s second marriage has held firm to her maiden name and has refused to take her husband’s last name. While our grand-mother looked for prestige in the name that labeled her, my sister and I, like my Uncle in Italy are simply looking for our authentic selves. I tried to keep my maiden name when my third husband and I got married, but he is a very traditional man and would not hear of it. I believe my sister won her battle with her husband due to having been born after the feminist revolution in the seventies and thus in many ways she was born to a different version of our mother. I am far more like the Italian lady on the cover of this paper. I acquiesce. In my search for my more authentic self, I chose to take my husband’s name and be “Mrs. Michael Irwin”. However in my writing I will not give credit to any man whose label I have ever been identified with. My pen name is Ercolani: the maiden name of the last Strega in our family.

The dizzying phases of identity would not have been such an important issue to me had it not been for the restless and volatile childhood I shared with young and unhealthy parents. In 1981, our family pediatrician diagnosed me as manic-depressive. I was fourteen and had just survived my parents' divorce. I felt strongly that my volatile emotions were completely valid given my life circumstances at the time. It would take two more doctors and another twenty-five years before I would succumb to the diagnoses, now renamed bi-polar disorder. As I look back on those twenty-five years of symptomatic behavior, I see why every annihilated family relationship occurred. I also see in retrospect who else suffered from this genetic disorder and thus who passed it down to whom. Each divorce, including the one between my paternal grandfather and grandmother in 1948 was the result of an untreated mentally ill spouse who drank to excess and was abusive. Thus Grandpa Bob, my biological paternal grandfather most definitely had it because my biological father was diagnosed with it a few years after I was. The three of us have been the ostracized and the notorious and violent black sheep of the family all our lives. I have my suspicions that my paternal great grandfather also suffered from it because he died of delirium tremors and bi-polar disorder has affected other cousins on the Irish side of my family as well. Bi-polar people suffer from racing thoughts, insomnia, visual and auditory hallucinations, and magnified emotions that can lead to abusive outbursts. Many people self medicate with drugs and alcohol because they know something is wrong but fear the stigma of a psychological diagnoses. Most of the afflicted in my family have coped by becoming closet addicts who turn to the church for help. My father and one second cousin coped for years by drinking their marriages to death and faithfully attending eight thirty mass every morning. The only person who was willing to talk about the elephant in the room was the family heathen. (That would be me.)

When I think of how I coped with my illness for so many years I think of my childhood as that pre-liminal phase, in which I had no idea that I had a bi-polar father and a mom who had PTSD. Now I look back on how each unhealthy family member all relied on their respective tenets of faith and I can't help but think of the epiphanies of William Blake or the visions had by Allen Ginsberg. We are all self seeking wounded healers to a fault. This phase of visions, of hearing voices and of alcoholic black outs that leave destroyed relationships in their wake was unquestionably the liminal phase for each of us. Each of us who suffered were creative, sensitive and artistic. Each of us was ill equipped to over-come the ravine our self esteem had fallen into. I remember begging my paternal grandmother to let me go to therapy only to be told, “You don't need any of the psychological crap. You just need to be around your family.” But as I grew up and looked more closely at my grandmother, I saw the daughter of the man who died of delirium tremors. I saw the girl who was valedictorian of her high school class in Brooklyn, a high school of seven thousand students, who was told she could not attend college because “nice girls don't go to college”. I saw in her someone who had been told no all of her life and who at the end of her life suffered from deep chronic depression, sleeping much of every day away. She never got to reach her post liminal phase.

And so it it the woman on the cover of this paper once again who I have modeled myself after that ultimately empowered me with the tools of my own recovery. I am the daughter of a woman who had the wherewithal to get the hell away from an Italian family drowning in PTSD in 1966. I am the daughter of a woman who is the only member of her family to come and make a life for herself in a completely foreign environment. I am the daughter of a woman who made a life threatening mistake by marrying an abusive mentally ill alcoholic in a foreign country and who as a result lived and anomic life for many years until she finally became re-socialized and re-enculturated as an American with friends and peers of her own.. I am the daughter of an art major turned anthropologist, who took the creative skills of observe and report and turned them into learning experiences that helped her to understand her new life here in America.

Two days after my diagnoses and the afternoon after my mother managed to get me out of psychiatric lock-up, she and I sat on the couch in my apartment in Harlem and discussed what my illness actually meant. She told me of how in many cultures, it is the mentally ill who are chosen to be the shamans of the tribe. I thought of how my cousins and my dad and I all dove feet first into our spiritual lives in an attempt to heal ourselves. Then I thought of the Italian great grandmother who I had eventually learned how to channel and I asked her what her thoughts on the matter might be. This is what she said:

There had been a curse put on the family. By whom and what for I have never been able to tell. The towns people had always been jealous of my ability to earn an income for myself in spite of the fact that my husband left me so some jealous woman may have been the cause of it. But it began the day your Nonno married that Dina. They say the fires of a family's hearth refuse to light when there is no more love in the house and your grand mother was a love-less woman. Three deaths would be the cost of this curse before it could be lifted. I was the first. Then your Zia Gabriella, your namesake, and then finally your cousin Paula. Ah but you Gabriellina, cara mia have figured it out. And now the hearths all burn bright, and the bread starter lives once again.

It is interesting to me that my path to recovery began upon the advice of a Pagan Shaman named Andras Corben Arthen in Cambridge, Massachusetts back in 1990. He told me that the best form of therapy for “people like us” was Jungian dream analysis. And so it was for seven years that I exorcised daemons in the form of dreams and visions. The Jungians however do not believe in medication and so the ripple effects of my emotional flailing took a tremendous toll on my family. This is a large part of why I no longer have a relationship with my father's side of the family. Being devout Catholics, they had little patience for my pagan antics. But my mother understood that this was all part of my vision quest pathway out of darkness. When I came to Ohio, the life lessons that would lead me to stop scapegoating my problems came to pass: yet more face down in the mud rites of passage.

Is my fascination with my great grandmother and her Strega faith what C. Wright Mills called the sociological imagination? Did I used those old stories as escape fantasies? Maybe. But I don't think so. I think we hold onto the legends that are told to us by the fireplace after mom has had too much sangria and we macrame those stories into the fiber of our being. The fawn in my mother's vision has manifest in my marrying a deer hunter. Our animism states that a stag or a doe is a symbol of unconditional love. The hearth in her vision is equally important. A hearth that cannot hold a fire is said to be one that is cursed and is only found in families that have forgotten how to love one another. Now both my mother and I have fireplaces: hearths upon which we may bake bread. These fireplaces are warm. They burn bright now that the issues of mental illness have all been healed and the greatest magic of all has been restored: love. You had mentioned at the beginning of this semester that often amid these assignments, students manage to rekindle splintered family relationships. You were right. My Dad has been diagnosed and is on meds now. He wants to apologize. This is my story. Nobody came over on the Mayflower and nobody in either Ireland, Holland, or Italy had birth certificates prior to 1900. But I don't care about that. All I care about is retrieving from my past that which will grant me a brighter future.

Sunday, June 17, 2012

Naked Lunch Serenade

CAST OF CHARACTERS
Vagrant: Emblematic of the marginalized
Carrie: Emo, 21 year
old lesbian art major
Abby: 40 something English major in a black leather biker
jacket and jeans.
Strawberry Girl: Emblematic of the marginalized
Henry: 60 something Biker, graduate student wearing boots,
jeans, leather jacket and a patch vest. This is a black leather vest with the
emblem of a motorcycle club on the back of it.
Ed: 40 year old IBM Executive who has lived an interesting
life. Wears khakis and a polo shirt. Rocks ever so slightly in his seat and
seldom makes eye contact. This is extremely subtle. DON”T overdue it.
STAGE DIRECTIONS
This is an environmental piece which means it can be staged
in any bar, coffee house, or cabaret
with any size stage and modest lighting equipment. Conversations can take place
at booths, tables or at the bar provided the lights can hit these spots. Stage
is reserved for monologues. If staged in a coffee house replace all beer with
coffee.

Naked Lunch Serenade (script)

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