Myth of Eros and Psyche: Lovers, Partners, Equals
- Kylie Hughes
- Jan 13
- 20 min read
Updated: Jan 17
The human Psyche ('soul') was so beautiful that people started to worship her. In a fit of jealousy, Aphrodite sent her son, Eros, to nullify the girl once and for all. Instead, they fell in love.
The Myth of Eros and Psyche is a powerful myth, chiefly because it operates on numerous levels. You'll recognise it as the basis for many well-known fairytales, including 'Beauty and the Beast,' 'Snow White,' and 'Cinderella.' The goddess Psyche is likely one of the original exemplars of the Princess and Maiden archetypes. The soul that Psyche represents is beautiful, yet naïve. To awaken fully into consciousness—to manifest fully in the physical plane—Psyche must be roused into desire.
But the princess Psyche is no helpless maiden. Eros and Psyche's need and support of each other is quite reciprocal. Eros (embodiment of desire, attraction and union), sees Psyche (embodiment of soul) as his necessary and perfect complement. He does not merely regard her as an object of desire, but as his equal. And Psyche, as you will see, is capable of overcoming the gods' trials via her own resources.
I mentioned that this myth works on many levels. You can read it as a love story, if you like. Alternatively, you can read it as an exploration of feminine and masculine dynamics. Like Belle in 'Beauty and the Beast,' Psyche is incarcerated in the magical palace of a masculine monster figure who is transformed into human qualities by her love.
You might see in Psyche feminine, earthy and mystical connections with nature. Like the basement-dwelling Cinderella, whose fairy godmother turns a pumpkin into a carriage and mice into horses, Psyche, via the quality of innocence, is part of nature and supported by supernatural forces. She is helped in her trials variously by animals, insects and unembodied voices that emerge from the natural world.
On a psychological level, you might explore the idea that Psyche and Eros dwell within the inner realm of the self. Psyche represents the soul, the indelible spirit of the individual that originates from the universe with its own unique character and purpose. Eros represents the principle of procreation, the primal law of attraction and union.
From the Greek word 'eros,' we get words like 'erotic' and 'erogenous,' which point to Eros's sexual quality. But humans possess non-sexual creative impulses, too. We might therefore agree, where anything is created into physicality, that the energising Eros-principle is present. Eros is a factor in bringing new things into being—not just offspring, but thoughts and art and ideas, too.
Before we jump into the myth, the word 'psyche' deserves a brief clarification. In modern usage, 'psyche' broadly describes the human mind. However, in ancient Greek it means something quite different. The origin of the word is associated with 'breath' or 'life-breath.' The goddess Psyche, therefore, embodies the vital, animating energy that enters the physical body at birth and exits at death. You might aptly call it soul, spirit, qi or life-force.
📖 PRIMARY SOURCE:
This retelling is based mostly on Apuleius's version of the Myth of Psyche and Cupid which appears in 'The Golden Ass,' written in about 2CE. You can read it online for free here, thanks to Penguin Classic. The relevant passages begin on page 110 of the PDF document.
The Myth of Eros and Psyche
Psyche started her life as a human. She was the third-born princess of a king and queen whose family ruled a small kingdom. Though born of human parents, Psyche's looks were nothing short of divine. Her beauty was ethereal and her disposition as sweet as ambrosia. As Psyche developed into a young woman, she found great enjoyment in nature, as well as the company of her sisters, who were, by comparison, raucous and worldly.
Word of Psyche’s beauty spread far and wide. In fact, some of the locals went so far as to worship her. When Aphrodite, the goddess of beauty, caught wind of this, she was furious. Prone to dramatics and jealousy, she was easily insulted. In a rage, she called for her son Eros.
Eros, god of physical love, heard his mother's call and arrived on powerful wings, armed, as always, with his bow and golden quiver of magical arrows.
[The Roman version of Eros is Cupid. Both are sexually mature young men, and not to be confused with the greeting card version of Cupid, which is a winged toddler armed with a toy bow and arrow!]
Aphrodite had a plan to deal with Psyche. She presented Eros with a pig, a very ugly pig. The poor animal sprouted clumps of warts from its slimy nose and drooling lips that curled up to reveal a snaggle of yellow-brown teeth. The sour stench of mud and pig swill followed the animal like a cloud.
Under the cover of darkness, proposed Aphrodite, Eros would fly with the pig to the palace of Psyche. Entering via the balcony, he would deposit the pig in Psyche's bedroom, shoot the sleeping girl with an arrow of desire, and quietly exit. Not a soul would know.
"The girl will wake," said Aphrodite, "see the pig, fall madly in love, and spend the rest of her days rolling in a pigsty!”
Eros did, indeed, possess such powers. The magical arrows he carried in his golden quiver were arrows of desire. Even the merest scratch produced overwhelming throes of physical desire in their target. The victim became irrevocably entangled with the object of their longing, usually the next person—or in this case, pig—they saw. Even Zeus had no immunity to Eros' arrows.
[You will find an earlier, pre-humanised version of Eros in Hesiod's 'Theogony.' Eros, says Hesiod, was one of the first principles to arise out of Chaos at the dawn of time. Eros represents the primal, sexual instinct (desire, attraction and union) that motivates coupling and brings new things into being.]
As night fell, Eros set out with the smelly animal in his arms. Having entered Psyche's bedroom and released the pig, Eros loaded his bow and aimed at the shape of Psyche lying in her bed. That should have been that, except that just as Eros was about to let the arrow fly, Psyche rolled over. A moonbeam piercing through the curtains illuminated Psyche's sleeping face.
In that moment, Eros was dumbstruck, overcome, paralysed with awe. He had never imagined anything so frail yet so perfect. Psyche’s gently breathing body seemed to Eros an embodiment of the universe and all its potential. He could not bring himself to complete the mission. He would rather risk his mother's vengeance than bond poor Psyche to a hideous farm animal. Eros returned his arrow to its quiver and made a quick exit through Psyche’s bedroom window, leaving the pig behind.
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Time passed, as time does. Psyche’s older sisters got married and yet Psyche remained single. Suitors came by the dozen, but mostly to gawk at her famous beauty. Psyche felt diminished and lonely in the suitors’ company. She was nothing to them but an object of admiration, a curiosity, an infatuation.
“I have no desire to be worshipped or adored,” Psyche told her father, the king. “I long for a partner, an equal who desires to know me, all of me, seen and unseen.”
The king wished the same for his youngest daughter and so, under secrecy, he travelled to the Delphic oracle in search of advice.
“I am worried that Psyche will never wed,” said the king to Apollo's priestess. “Her beauty is a curse. Men admire her, but none love her.”
“Your daughter will marry…” the oracle started, and the king let out a sigh of relief.
“... marry a monster!” she went on. “Even the gods fear him! Take Psyche to the mountain for her wedding and leave her there for sacrifice. Her cruel brute of a husband will collect her from the peak.”
The king returned home grief stricken. As he recounted the prophecy to his wife and daughters, they fell into fits of wailing and pleading. The king, however, insisted that the gods must be obeyed.
Thus, Psyche prepared for her wedding day in the knowledge that it would be her last. The bridal party proceeded up the mountain with the austerity of a funeral. At the peak, they laid out Psyche, in her wedding gown, for sacrifice. Eventually, the king dragged the miserable procession away, leaving Psyche all alone to meet her fate.
No sooner did they leave and the weather changed. Clouds sped across the sky, driven by a tremendous wind that suddenly lifted Psyche into the air. It was Zephyrus, god of the west wind, and he carried Psyche in his arms. Was this her husband? she wondered.
They sped down the far side of the mountain, flying above jagged rocks as sharp as dragon's teeth. When Zephyrus gently placed her on the ground, Psyche found herself in a wondrous garden. Topiary hedges, fountains, festooning flower beds and fruit trees surrounded a glistening castle.
The doors to the castle were wide open, so Psyche entered, and what a sight greeted her. The floor and walls were made of solid gold bricks—solid gold! The furniture was of the finest timber and fabrics.
“Is anyone here?” Psyche called out.
“This is your new home and we are your servants,” answered invisible voices in friendly tones.
Psyche discovered that she merely had to desire something and it magically materialised. She was the queen of an enchanted castle.
[Remind you of 'Beauty and the Beast?]
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Psyche quickly adapted to her new life. By day, she was served by invisible staff and, by night, attended by a generous and mysterious—and not the least bit monstrous—lover. He always arrived after sundown and disappeared before dawn. The two of them made love and talked for long hours. He wanted to know her every like and dislike, her interests and opinions, her deepest hopes and wildest dreams.
Psyche was of course grateful for her lover’s devotion, but also frustrated that she could never see his face. His body felt divine under her fingers—not in the least like a monster—yet she longed to see him with her own eyes. She wanted to dissolve the mystery of his identity so that she could know her lover fully.
One evening, Psyche broached the topic. “My love,” she began, “could we possibly light the lamp so that I might see your face?”
After a pause, her lover replied, “I promise you that we can always live happily like this. The only condition is that you must not see my physical appearance.”
“But why?” asked Psyche.
“Because I want you to love me as an equal,” he responded, earnestly. “I want you to love me, not what I represent.”
This touched a tender spot in Psyche’s heart for she appreciated all too well what it felt like to be objectified. It made her love him even more.
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All was well in the enchanted castle, except that Psyche missed the company of her family, especially her sisters. Psyche was accustomed to their teasing and jokes and lively companionship, so she asked her lover if he would permit them to visit. He offered to arrange their transport with Zephyrus.
“But please, my love," her lover warned. "Be wary of your sisters’ intentions and never tell them about me. Our situation must remain secret.”
Psyche agreed.
The older sisters were initially delighted to learn that Psyche was alive and well, and intrigued by the magical mode of transport. They supposed that Zephyrus would deliver them to the cave of a gorgon or cyclops. However, when they arrived at the enchanted castle and saw Psyche’s luxurious living conditions, and all her worldly desires met, their attitude grew suspicious.
Repeating the oracle’s words—”He is a monster! Even the gods fear him!”—the older sisters harassed Psyche. Not accustomed to lying, Psyche stammered her way through a flimsy story about her husband being absent due to business. The wily sisters did not believe her. Smelling a rat, they set about convincing Psyche that her lover was indeed a monster in disguise.
“If he’s not a monster, why can’t we meet him?” said one.
“What does he have to hide?” said the other.
“He is manipulating you, silly girl!” they barked in unison.
The older two barraged Psyche for long hours until she was eventually too tired and confused to resist their arguments. All the while, they pretended to be acting out of concern for Psyche’s wellbeing, but their real motivation was envy. They resented Psyche's happiness and wished the enchanted castle was their own.
The older sisters hatched a plan and coached the youngest through it: Psyche must cut her sleeping lover’s throat! With Psyche’s lover gone, the older sisters connived to swoop in and take control of the castle and all its riches. They rode home on Zephyrus sniggering about how clever they were.
That evening, once her lover was asleep, Psyche lit the oil lamp with trembling fingers. From under a cloth, she drew a knife that her sisters had sharpened, and nervously approached the bed. Psyche could barely control her nerves as she hovered the chattering lamp over the shape of her sleeping lover.
Oh my, what a vision! Physical perfection revealed itself under the lamp light, even as the shaking flame threw distorted shadows around the room. Psyche's eyes feasted on the chiseled line of his jaw. On the ripe curve of his buttocks. On flawless skin, as smooth as Persian silk. And what was this? Two powerful feathered wings protruded from her lover’s muscled back!
Only by some sort of magic could these powerful wings have eluded the exploration of Psyche’s touch. And now the flickering light revealed something else. Resting against the wall, was a shining bow and quiver of golden arrows. This is the godly figure of Eros! Psyche realised. She was at once humbled that a god would desire to be her equal and horrified that she had come within inches of murdering him.
Psyche could not steady the lamp in her trembling hand and, as it wobbled, a drop of oil escaped. It descended like a boiling tear and landed with a splatter on the sleeping Eros' cheek.
The god leapt up like a startled beast. Out of reflex, his powerful wings flexed, knocking the hot lamp from Psyche’s hand, causing even more oil to spill. The searing liquid splashed across Eros’ body. With bodily burns and smoking wings, he snatched up his bow and arrows and leapt from the window into the night sky.
“Stop!” cried Psyche, but Eros was already in flight. Psyche made a desperate lunge, but all she managed to touch was the sharp tip of a golden arrow. She was instantly overcome by a rushing wave of passion for Eros, her love.
[I've heard it expressed this way: Psyche was in love with Love; in desire with Desire.]
With Eros departed, the enchanted castle began to crumble. Psyche found herself going down and down, as if falling in a dream, further and further through a bottomless, blurry realm, half-way between wakefulness and sleep. When she eventually returned to her senses, the castle was gone and Psyche found herself alone in a dark forest.
As her memory of the evening returned, Psyche felt wretched beyond repair. Shame and desperation and love sickness formed a poisonous brew inside of her. She contemplated throwing herself into a river to relieve the misery, but her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of snapping twigs.
A strange animal, half-man, half-goat, appeared through the trees in the distance. It was Pan, the god of wild and untamed places. He had followed the sound of Psyche's crying and now she glumly recounted the cause of her predicament to him.
“Seek what you desire," said Pan consolingly, "But you will not find it here in the forest. You must seek Eros out in the world.” And he led Psyche out of the forest.
[Despair is indeed a wild and untamed place, a dark forest. Yet, Pan materialises from the wilderness, modelling that the soul may feel lost, but is never alone. The soul remains always connected to Mother Earth, to Nature. The forest knows where you are, as the poem by David Wagoner reminds us.]
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Psyche’s first port of call was to visit each of her sisters, individually. Little did they know that Psyche was no longer gullible. By their own machinations, the older sisters had initiated Psyche into their game. Now, playing along, Psyche told them her husband had discovered the murderous plot and evicted her from the castle before she could enact it.
“He has sent me here to request your company,” said Psyche, pretending to sob.
"Me? Why me? It was your idea," said each sister, when it was their turn.
"He wants to divorce me and marry you!” Psyche cried.
Neither of the older two spared a solemn thought for Psyche, nor accepted an iota of culpability. In fact, they each regarded themself as a more-than-worthy replacement. And so Psyche, blinking back fake tears, appraised them of the transport arrangements.
“Go to the mountain,” she said to each sister, in turn. “Throw yourself from the topmost precipice, like a human sacrifice, and Zephyrus will catch you in his arms.”
The first sister eagerly scrambled up the mountain, not even pausing to say goodbye to her husband. When she leapt from the peak, Zephyrus was, of course, nowhere to be seen. Her body plunged through thin air and smashed onto the jagged rocks below. The other sister made an almost identical leap. Their descents were, perhaps, just long enough to realise that Psyche was no longer naïve.
[What does this episode mean? Does it symbolise revenge? Loss of innocence? An act of purification? I see it as Psyche ridding herself of polluting influences and returning to trust in her own instincts. Psyche rejects the ego-centric ambitions and material values represented by her sisters. We might also note that, in ancient Greek theology, the gods have little tolerance for disrespect. Balance is elevated above all else. Disharmonious elements must be pruned and punished.]
Meanwhile, Eros limped into his mother's palace, body burned and wings charred. Initially, Aphrodite coddled him, but when she discovered the cause of Eros' injuries, she slapped the back of his already aching head.
"You stupid boy!" hollered Aphrodite. "This is because you let your penis do all your thinking."
"It's different this time..." Eros muttered.
Aphrodite cut him off. She called her attendants to take Eros and lock him in a room where he could suffer his injuries in isolation.
[Ever felt bereft of passion? Desire-less? Not sure what you really want in life? Perhaps Eros has withdrawn. Call him back to the world, back to your soul. Create something, even something small, such as a pressed flower. Every creative act is infused with Eros-energy.]
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Having dealt with her sisters, Psyche began to search the world for Eros. She prayed to the gods for guidance at every temple she came to until providence led her to Aphrodite’s door. She understood the risks of the venture. Aphrodite would very likely reduce her to ashes.
“You dare to show your wretched face at my door!” bellowed Aphrodite when Psyche arrived.
Psyche was roughly dragged down to the dungeon where, in a cold, dark cell, she awaited her fate. Eventually, there came the grinding sound of a key in the lock. Aphrodite appeared in the doorway, as regal as ever, with an attendant carrying a heavy sack.
“I have a test for you,” said Aphrodite. “Your task is to sort this bag of seeds before dawn. Fail the test and you will be put to death.”
The scowling attendant produced a knife and sliced open the bag. Millions of seeds scattered—wheat, millet, barley, mustard, flax, and so on—too many varieties to account for. Psyche scooped up a handful of seeds and picked at them in the gloomy light. This was not a test, but a sentence. Psyche began to cry.
“We'll help you,” a small voice said.
“Who said that?” said Psyche, wiping her nose on her sleeve.
“Hey, watch out!” came the voice.
The voice came from—can it be?—an ant? The little creature crawled along the edge of Psyche’s sleeve and waved a tiny leg at her.
“Sorting is easy for us,” said the ant. “We know all the different seed varieties."
Soon there was an army of ants merrily at work, doing what ants do best.
When the door to Psyche's cell flung open at dawn, Aphrodite was ill-prepared for what she saw: neat rows of seeds and Psyche stretching awake as if she'd been sleeping peacefully all night. Surprise quickly turned to rage. Aphrodite's only consolation was that she could now design another torture.
Over the coming days, Aphrodite set for Psyche a series of increasingly dangerous trials and, much to Aphrodite’s flaming vexation, Psyche succeeded each time. In the second trial, a river nymph told Psyche the secret for gathering golden fleece from a flock of aggressive sheep. In the third trial, Zeus’ eagle fetched water for Psyche from the bottom of a plunging ravine that was guarded by serpents.
[We see in Psyche, not powers of intellect, but powers of intuition. With each trial, Psyche applies brain power to the problem, but to no avail. It is only when she surrenders from mental effort, that support appears via the natural world. The soul, it seems, already knows the answer, if only the mind would get out of the way. We can experience this ourselves. For example, sleeping on a problem can sometimes deliver a solution that can't be consciously arrived at. Likewise, unexpected occurrences can sometimes provide something needed or useful.]
When the fourth task came around, Aphrodite designed a plot so impossible that no mortal could survive it. She ordered Psyche to go to the Underworld, the home of the dead, the realm of Hades and his queen Persephone. Psyche’s task was to return with a jar of Persephone's beauty potion.
[Given that Persephone is the goddess of spring and renewal, we can assume that her night cream is worth going an extra mile for!]
Psyche accepted her fate with a heavy heart. No living mortal could enter the Underworld, let alone return alive. Instead of setting out on the mission, she climbed a high tower intending to throw herself from the top. However, the supernatural support for Psyche continued. It was as if the tower itself spoke to her. A disembodied voice gave Psyche instructions for where to find Charon, the ferryman of the dead, and how to prepare for the journey.
The voice told her to bring two coins and two barley cakes. The coins were to pay Charon for return passage across the River Styx, the river that carries the souls of the dead to Hades. The barley cakes were to distract Cerberus, the three-headed dog that guards the gates of hell. Psyche did exactly as the voice said and, when she entered the Underworld, found that Persephone was receptive.
“Here is a jar of my beauty potion that you may take to Aphrodite,” said Persephone. "But under no circumstances may you open the jar. Do you understand?”
Psyche, jittery with joy, accepted the terms and, with the beauty potion in her possession, retraced her steps to exit the realm of Hades.
Having arrived back in the land of the living, Psyche fingered the mysterious jar in her pocket. What does the beauty potion of Persephone contain? she wondered. Surely one little peek won’t hurt, she thought. Handling the vessel delicately, Psyche carefully removed the cork. There was indeed a potion inside, but not the one she bargained for. A powerful spell flooded Psyche’s eyes and plunged her into a deep, deep sleep.
[Humans are insatiably curious, aren't we? In term's of symbolic meaning, Persephone's jar of beauty cream is another 'forbidden knowledge' motif (think: Pandora's box). We have already seen this motif in Eros fleeing when Psyche learns his identity We are being shown something about the impulsiveness and fallibility of humanity. On the other hand, perhaps that is how Persephone's beauty operates. Perhaps a mini-death is the price you pay. Persephone is, after all, the goddess of spring, which relies on cycles of death and renewal. Persephone herself spends six months of the year wintering in the Underworld and six months re-growing (spring to harvest) upon the earth. Likewise, Psyche is not dead, but dormant, in the liminal state before rebirth. Soul is awaiting to be called into consciousness—by what? By her heart's desire. We are being shown important clues here about how to live a meaningful life—about waking your soul to its purpose or bringing your soul's love into being.]
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Eros finally emerged from the chamber at his mother’s castle. His feathers were regrown and flesh healed. Now, with his powers restored, Eros started to look for Psyche, spotted her lying unconscious near the River Styx, and flew to her. Using his divine powers, Eros was able to remove the potion from Psyche’s eyes and place it back into Persephone's jar.
As she came to, Psyche saw her lover’s face in the light of day for the first time. The two kissed and embraced.
"When I betrayed my instincts, I also betrayed your trust," began Psyche. "I let others convince me you were a monster.”
“I am a monster,” said Eros. “I abducted you, kept my identity secret, and then demanded you to lie for me. And I have a confession. That night I brought the pig to your room…”
Psyche’s brow furrowed. "That was you?"
“It was,” said Eros. ”I was supposed to make you fall in love with the pig, but when I saw your face, I knew that Fate had led me to you. I had never seen you before, but I recognised who you are. You are my counterpart, my perfect complement. Instead of returning my arrow to its quiver, I drew the tip across my own hand and became yours forever.
“But I didn’t know how to approach you,” continued Eros. “I wanted you to love me, not my godly image. I wanted you to be my equal, not serve me as a devotee. So I arranged for us to be together, but I had to keep you like a prisoner, a possession. That is how I fulfilled the oracle’s prophecy. I became the monster Apollo said you would marry.”
Eros hung his head in shame before speaking again.
“I believe there is a solution," he said. "Here, you must complete my mother’s task, while I go to speak with Zeus.”
[ have put these words in Eros' mouth with my motivation being to expose his motivations. The equal partnership that Eros perceives with Psyche, his perfect complement, comes out of Eros' pre-eminent purpose, which is to connect the soul with its true desires. I am proposing, therefore, that the affair of Eros and Psyche occurs within every soul. A meaningful human life relies on the creative principle working with spirit to bring things into being. Eros-energy (outward, active) draws Psyche (inward, receptive) out of the liminal state and into the physical world of action and reality.]
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The thought of Eros arriving at Mount Olympus usually terrified Zeus. For eons, Eros’ arrows had propelled Zeus on countless erotic misadventures and landed him in all sorts of trouble with his wife, the goddess Hera. But today, Zeus received Eros gladly. He knew why Eros had come and was pleased to help him.
Zeus called a meeting of the gods. Pan was the first to arrive, whistling a tune on his flute. Apollo arrived in a chariot and Aphrodite on the back of a swan. Dionysus danced his way to Olympus, swigging from a wineskin as he did—and so on, and so on, until all the gods, major and minor, were assembled.
“I have called this meeting today,” thundered Zeus, “So that you may all bear witness to this momentous occasion. As you are all aware, Eros has been missing these past months.”
The gods nodded and huffed in agreement. Eros’ withdrawal had been conspicuous. All of life on earth, as well as Olympus, had been duller and far less inspired (and randy!) for his absence.
“To our great benefit, Eros is returning to the world,” continued Zeus. “But with a new outlook. He has found his match, his perfect companion, in the human Psyche.”
Aphrodite started to interject, but Zeus waved a finger at her.
“My goodness, Aphrodite,” said Zeus, adopting a fatherly tone. “Your beauty is beyond reproach, so stop fretting. And you needn't worry about our family's reputation. I am going to ensure that the union of Psyche and Eros is an equal partnership. Psyche will join us in immortality.”
Aphrodite started to argue, but was drowned out by a chorus of cheering. The entire pantheon applauded as Hermes was sent to bring Psyche to Mount Olympus. When she arrived, Zeus presented a cup of ambrosia to her.
“Drink this nectar of the gods and you will be one of us,” he said.
Psyche took a sip and was immediately transformed from flesh and blood into eternal divinity. Zeus then officiated the marriage. Hand in hand, Psyche and Eros were received with joyous and affectionate cheers. A wedding feast materialised and the gods celebrated long into the night.
It was not long before Psyche and Eros produced a child, a daughter. She was a true delight—the perfect mix of her mother’s soulful spirit and her father’s lust for life. They named her Hedone, which in ancient Greek means ‘Pleasure.’
[The marriage of Eros and Psyche is the marriage of two powerful primal principles: life-force + procreation. Creation is pleasure, sexual or otherwise. Creation is play. Creators are who we are. It's as if the universe is saying "you are my hands, you are my senses."
Yet, as I see it, in modern times, we have traded creating for consuming. Work is a given—we must always work to survive—but where in the past we worked and played, today we work and consume. Is this why modern people are so prone to depression and cynicism? Instead of discovering our soul's unique creative yearning, we are busy desiring what society tells us is desirable, valuing what society says we should value. Have our souls drunk the sleeping potion and lost contact with Eros?
As an antidote to tedium, I have found that even small acts of creation connect me with Eros-energy. For me, embroidery is one such simple pleasure. When I feel a creative project calls for it, I'll even talk to Eros in my head. "Eros, I'm about to embark on a creative challenge," I say, "I really need you with me on this one. Bring fresh arrows!" Eros, being active and seeking, is generally never far.
The soul is another matter. It speaks in whispers and subtle clues and dreams and imagination. Discovering the soul's genuine voice is like Psyche sorting the seeds. It is a process of differentiation; discovering what is authentic and weeding out what is adopted. It takes courage to identify our own fakery and to quit desires that are not really our own. We must be willing to throw them to the wind.]
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