Chiron: A lesson from the horse's mouth

I love mythology. I always have. 

I remember my high school summer reading list one year contained this huge book called “Mythology” by Edith Hamilton. I begrudgingly read every other book on that list, but my reward was reading Mythology. And not just reading it - dissecting it. I must have filled two binders with notes on that book for nobody but myself.

When I think about it, falling in love with mythology was the foreshadowing to my inevitable interest in astrology. The way I experience it, astrology places categorized labels on energetic archetypes and the timeless lessons they bring. 

As humans, we all tend to subscribe to exceptionalism - either subtly or overtly - and sometimes can get too wrapped up in our own “special” circumstances and feelings. In reality, the human race has #beentheredonethat, and throughout the centuries we have written countless stories telling future generations the importance of looking at how we show up to the world.

Astrology, like mythology, is one of these story-telling systems. And it’s through astrology, and then through mythology, that I learned about the story of Chiron.

A horse is a horse, of course. Of course!

Chiron was a centaur in greek mythology, but a little more god-like and a lot more immortal. 

Typical centaur energy is like a gaggle of drunk frat boys, but Chiron was more like Mister Rogers - sweet, calm, wise, and very intent on healing the masses. 

He should have been celebrated, but for much of his early life he was an outcast. His parents absolutely hated him.

In fact, his mother was so ashamed of her “weak” son, she threw him out. His uncle Zeus took him in, where Chiron started to live his best life - and everyone around him benefitted from it. 

As I mentioned, he was a healer - not just the medical kind, but also psychologically, spiritually, and energetically. Gods, demigods, and heroes all came to Chiron to be healed and learn how to be more woke. Talk about enormous impact - this guy had it.

Unfortunately, there was a big throw down one day with a bunch of centaurs and gods, and Chiron accidentally was hit by a poisoned arrow. Though he was this master healer who could heal anyone and anything - he could not heal himself. 

So, he traded his immortality for his friend Prometheus’ freedom, and ultimately died from his wound.

That’s sad. What’s the point?

The story of Chiron, from his birth to his death, is a giant lesson in the inextricable link between pain and healing.

We humans can have a tendency to see our own pain as a liability. I remember the day my therapist explained to me that “healed” was not a painless destination that I would reach once I purged myself of all past trauma. I was so angry! This pain thing was awful, and embarrassing, and I wanted it gone.

What I later learned, and what is taught through the story of Chiron, is that how we relate to our pain not only changes our ability to thrive, it transforms our ability to help the people around us as well. 

The thing is, when we see our own wounding as a liability, we become obsessed with “fixing” it before moving on with our lives. We become ashamed of it. So, to keep our pain a secret from the world, we shy away from the connection part of our humanity. We try to prove to ourselves and to others that we are fixed and whole and painless. 

And then, when we try to help others who are struggling with their pain and their wounding - we seem to fall short. So we blame our unhealed wounds. And grow even more shameful and closed off.

The story of Chiron reminds us that our deepest wounds are our greatest strengths. The centaurs totally rejected Chiron for the same qualities that allowed him to heal gods. 

Allowed. Him. To. Heal. GODS.

Chiron could have easily been like, “Who am I to help the gods? If only they knew what a reject I am. I need to act even more like a centaur to prove that I’m not some weirdo.” Absolutely, he could have gone down that road. But he didn’t. 

Instead, he saw and accepted his pain. Even though it hurt, he relaxed even more into who he was - insecurities and all. And as a result, they wrote stories about him.

Yes, this is all fiction. But…

Humans, our ancestors, wrote these stories for a reason. Stories help us talk about the hardest lessons to learn. And if there has ever been a year to talk about wounds, it’s 2020.

All of us have something to learn from Chiron. All of us have room to accept the wounds in our story a little bit more. All of us have the ability to be more vulnerable - first with ourselves and then with others.

Because behind your wounds are likely your wildest strengths. And if you refuse to acknowledge and own the pain in your story, we may never get to feel the impact that you have the capacity to create.