Zeus And The Strange Spiritual Awakening Thunder Brought Me

Note from Earl in the Unknown

“Zeus, who drives the storm cloud, holds the thunderbolt.”
— Homer

Zeus Sparks from the Screen

The night was supposed to disappear into the background—watching Percy Jackson and The Olympians: The Lightning Thief—just another film, just another evening. But as Zeus’s name thundered through the screen, it lingered long after the story ended, quietly reshaping what came next.

I didn’t give it much thought at first. Films usually blur together—characters come and go without leaving much behind. But this felt out of place. A detail that didn’t quite fit, even when everything else looked normal.

So I went back to it.

Not with a plan. Just curiosity.

Doubt and Discipline

I started reading about Zeus—properly this time. Not the film version, but the original Greek Mythology.

The more I read, the more grounded he seemed. Not calm or perfectly controlled—he reacted, made decisions that didn’t always hold up. He carried authority, but not without pressure.

That stood out.

It didn’t feel unfamiliar.

University wasn’t falling apart. I stayed on course. Handed the work in. Kept going. From the outside, everything looked fine.

But sitting with the work felt different.

I could read an essay question and understand every word—just not what it wanted from me. I’d start writing, stop halfway, read it back, and realise it didn’t land.

So I’d delete it and start again.

That cycle repeated more than I expected.

Time became part of the problem.

Reading took longer. Writing took longer. Thinking took longer. More space for doubt to settle in.

Nothing failed outright, but nothing felt solid either.

Myth as Refuge

During the second year, I kept returning to Greek mythology. Usually, when I get stuck.

When I couldn’t move forward with an essay, I’d close the document and switch to something easier. The myths were easier to sit with—shorter, clearer, no pressure to interpret them “correctly.”

Over time, they stopped feeling like a distraction.

They became a reference point.

At some point, the idea changed.

If these figures could be a focus, why not use them in a practical way?

Not as a belief.

As a structure.

Building a Personal Sanctuary

I ordered a statue of Zeus.

When it arrived, I placed it on the cabinet and paused. Not because it felt unusual—because it felt intentional.

Like I’d marked a point without needing to explain it.

After that, the room changed.

Not suddenly.

More like a series of decisions that stayed.

The walls went midnight blue, closer to the sky before a storm.

A brass candle holder sat next to the statue. Lighting became a way to begin, rather than hesitate.

Oak leaves, tied to Zeus in mythology, joined them.

A lapis stone followed—deep blue, catching the light.

An eagle carving was added—deliberate, not just decorative.

And then the horse: a large brass horse on the windowsill. It stood for discipline, endurance, and forward movement.

It stayed.

The Year That Tested Everything

No sudden breakthrough.

But my work shifted.

I could sit with tasks longer without restarting every few minutes. I finished more of what I began.

The hesitation eased.

Not gone—but quieter.

That made the difference.

The final year didn’t simplify anything.

If anything, it brought more weight.

And then I lost my mum.

Everything else continued.

Deadlines stayed. Work still needed to be done.

Grief didn’t interrupt any of it.

It ran alongside everything.

Some days I worked through it.

Some days I didn’t get much done.

But I kept returning to the same place—the same desk, the same setup.

Not because it solved everything.

Because it gave me a steady place to begin again.

When the results came through with a 2:1, it wasn’t just a number.

It was real relief—a quiet joy that I’d pulled through one of the hardest periods of my life.

Losing my mum before graduation brought a sadness and confusion I hadn’t faced before. It changed how everything felt for a while.

But I kept going.

And in the end, I earned the degree I had worked towards.

That mattered.

Not just for the result—but for the effort it took to reach it.

Through all of it, that presence remained.

Zeus, for me, became more than a figure from mythology. He stands for holding your ground when things feel uncertain and continuing anyway.

That stays with me as I move forward—not as a finished lesson, but as a way of working through what comes next.

Sometimes, all it takes is a steady hand on the desk, the glint of brass and blue stone beside me—a quiet reminder that even on the stormiest days, there’s a little bit of magic in holding your place.

And perhaps, like Alice, I’m simply learning how to stand my ground in worlds both familiar and strange.

— Earl in the Unknown

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If this reflection resonates with you, you may enjoy exploring the philosophy behind this journey in Earl in the Unknown

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