My fourth graders are trying their hand at writing their own folktales at the moment, and several of them have chosen to follow the structure and elements of myths. (Folktales aren’t a singular literary entity, but rather an umbrella under which sit several different types of stories – fairy tales, tall tales, fables, myths, and legends – which have commonalities but also certain nuanced distinctions. I’ll spare you all the fuller, fascinating lecture on this, unless of course you’re in my class, ha!) Anyway, maybe that’s influencing how I’m thinking about a current challenge I’m facing, but, the Greek myth of Pandora is at the forefront of my mind this week.

There have been some variations over time, but the myth of Pandora and her infamous box is generally understood like so:

Prometheus, a Titan who’s allied with the gods of Olympus, gives fire to man on Earth. This pisses off Zeus (head honcho Greek god guy), who feels that fire should only be for the gods. As punishment to the humans for accepting this inappropriate gift (in addition to what happens to Prometheus directly, poor dude – he gets chained to a mountain and an eagle eats at his liver for all eternity), Zeus and other gods and goddesses create Pandora, first woman on Earth. Prometheus’ brother, Epimetheus, ignores Prometheus’ warnings not to accept gifts from the gods, and when Hermes goes down to Earth and brings him Pandora, Epimetheus is so enamored with her that he takes her as his wife right away. As a wedding present, Pandora had been given a box that she was told contained gifts from the gods, but she should never open the box. Unable to tame her curiosity, Pandora ends up opening the box, and the many evils that were put in the box escape and infiltrate the world.

It’s a myth that historically has been used to explain the many misfortunes our world faces. The phrase “Pandora’s box” alone conjures up the idea of a matter that is best left alone, for fear of what problems might come out of it. I’ve always thought of it as a way to describe something that, once touched, cannot be untouched. Once the box is open, it can’t be closed again, or at least, what comes out won’t go back in.

This week, I learned that Pandora’s box can be less a vessel and more a violently explosive landmine.

I prodded at some feelings I hadn’t realized were quite so incendiary, and before I knew it, my world was rent apart. On Monday last week, the latch on my box was popped open. On Monday this week, I allowed the lid to creak ajar a bit, and emotionally concussed myself from the sonic boom of unleashed memories that I had kept locked away for many years.

Miseries like Envy, Greed, Hunger, Hatred, Disease, Poverty, and Death were among what had escaped from Pandora’s box. In some versions of the myth, Pandora was able to slam the lid back down on the box before Hope could escape. It is said that this is meant to signify that humans could hold onto hope in order to cope with all the misfortunes and distresses that had been let out. I don’t know if I still have Hope in my box, or even if there is still a box at all that I can keep things inside of anymore.

I’m still too shellshocked to be able to take stock of all the debris.