Category Archives: Myth and Story

Grandpop’s Story Time

Winter                                                                               Cold Moon

At lunch on Friday Allison reminded me of a long ago passion:  theatre.  I got started with the role of the Stage Manager in Our Town, a high school production.  After that I acted and danced (yes, really!) through college and seminary.   I’ve not done anything with it since then because theatre work demands so much time.

But.  Allison suggested spoken word performance.  I’d not thought of it in years.  Still, as the idea turned over and over, I hit on something I would enjoy.  And here’s the first one.

Living in Season

Winter                                                               Cold Moon

Winter is upon us.  Beginning to give more thought time to my Living in Season presentation for Groveland on the 27th.  The short version is this:  learning to adapt your life to the season, rather than the seasons to your life.  I mean this on at least two levels: the literal and the metaphorical.

(A seasonal round.  This is a new idea to me, but I like it a lot.)

The literal can include such things as caring for plants outside during the growing season.  Maybe in a container, a window box.  Maybe in a flower bed or a vegetable garden.  Could be an orchard or a woods.  Maybe a community garden.  Something to synch up at least part of your daily life with the emergence of plants from winter’s fallow time.

It can also include intentionally leaving time in your winter schedule for retreats, inside projects like crafts or writing or visiting friends.

Perhaps in all the seasons hiking might be part of your plan, a liturgical response similar in all seasons but changed by them in profound ways.  If you can’t hike, get someone to help you be outside some amount of time each week.  Yes, even in the dreaded middle weeks of January.

Metaphorical:  first, know which season of your life you are in.  Are you college age, in the still vigorous growth years?  Or, are you in the mature years, the years of the late growing season, the early harvest days?  Or, like me, are you in the days of the late harvest, headed toward the long, eternal fallow time?

Here, too, we can find analogical help from living in season.  When sun and rain and warm temperatures push a plant up, up, up, perhaps that time right around flowering, then it must attend as well to its roots, not forgetting the stabilizing and nutrient gathering powers of those underneath surface parts.  So, for example, when college and the world of work begins to beckon, as graduation nears and your own unique bloom begins to present itself to the universe at large, this may be a time to recall hometown, old friends, family.  Favorite hobbies and pets and places.  It may seem that these people and places hold you back, hold you down, are heavy anchors weighted to yesterday.  But, no.  Instead these are the anchors in the deep subsoil of your life that hold you up, feed those parts of you that remember the child you once were, remind you of the long strengths that balance the new, shiny ones obtained through education.

Anyhow, stuff like that.  More by the 27th.

The Old Ways

Winter                                                                     New (Cold) Moon

Ancientrails.  A name happened on by accident, now 8 years ago.  Still, it stuck and its meaning seems to grow.  Dug deeper into my psyche as those years have gone by.

Recently discovered a book, The Old Ways, by Robert Macfarlane.  Here’s a bit from a book review in the Guardian:

“…this is the story of many journeys. Fifteen of them are made by Macfarlane himself, along paths in the British Isles and, further afield, in Spain, Palestine and Tibet. He invokes, as he goes, hundreds of previous walkers, and hundreds of pathways – across silt, sand, granite, water, snow – each with its different rhythms and secrets. So the book is a tribute to the variety and complexity of the “old ways” that are often now forgotten as we go past in the car, but which were marked out by the footfall of generations. And it is an affirmation of their connectedness as part of a great network linking ways and wayfarers of every sort.”

In a word, yes.  Yes.  These are ancientrails.  In this case actual trails and paths, but ones that encompass in their reality the more archetypal meaning I have when I use the term here.  Just as there hundreds of pathways across all manner of surface there are even more pathways of the heart, the mind, the genetic paths, the orbits of planets and the movement of stars and galaxies.

Then, yesterday while at lunch with Allison she mentioned, again, Emily Johnson, one of the videoed artists whose life size figures graced the Thaw exhibit at the MIA a couple of years ago.  Allison had become a disciple of sorts, going to a three-day workshop, making a fish skin lantern and even dancing within one of Emily’s pieces last year.  Allison’s fish skin lantern is now on stage with Emily at the Baryshnikov Ballet.  Allison thought of ancientrails in relation to Emily’s work.

Here’s why from a recent NYT piece:

“Structurally Ms. Johnson sees her new “Niicugni” (nee-CHOOG-nee) as encompassing “The Thank-you Bar.” Within an installation of 51 handmade fish-skin lanterns, created by Ms. Johnson and participants from workshops held in conjunction with residencies around the country, the work explores ideas about how a place, including a body, can tie everything and everyone together. It focuses on the wholeness of land, rather than its territorial borders.

“I know what it feels like to walk on the land I grew up on,” she said. “It’s very spongy. The trees and the ground smell earthy and piney. I’m really interested in not forgetting that there’s ground underneath this floor, and that we are all connected, via land, via ground, even in the sense that the ground is made of the remains of all creatures that have ever existed, including our ancestors.”

In “Niicugni” Ms. Johnson performs intricate duets with the dancer Aretha Aoki; some of the choreography is rooted in improvisations that required them to imagine they were dancing on earth. Part of the inspiration for the piece came from a picture of a mountain. “You see a huge physical structure that seems so permanent and so still, but then you can see where there was maybe a rock slide,” Ms. Johnson said. “You can see the precariousness of it. The contradiction between presence and movement is a possibility at every moment.””

A Good Lay (sorry, couldn’t help it)

Winter                                                                       Moon of the Winter Solstice

The Lay of Thrym.  It recounts how Loki convinced Thor to visit jotunheim (home of the giants) in drag.  Thor woke up one day and his hammer, the famed mjollnir, had gone missing.  He complained to Loki and Loki agreed to set off on a quest to find it.

(detail from Marten Winge’s Thor’s Battle with the Giants)

Find it he did.  Thrym had it.  “Eight rasts below the surface of the midgard.”  A rast, according to one website, was a bit more than a mile.  Too far to dig, in other words.

Thrym offered Loki a deal.  He wanted Freyja, a goddess among the Aesir famed for her attractiveness to giants.

Loki agreed, returned to Asgard, told Thor and then went to see Freyja who rejected the idea.  A lot.

Loki had another idea.  He convinced Thor to wear Freyja’s bridal wear, including her famed Brisinga necklace.  Thrym was so taken with her appearance at jotunheim that he ordered mjollnir brought in and placed on her knees.

The lay then says, “Laughed Thor’s soul in his breast…”  And in the very next sentence:  “He first slew Thrym…and the jotun’s race all crushed…”

“So got Odin’s son his hammer back.”

 

The Eddas

Winter                                                        Moon of the Winter Solstice

Another day amongst the Eddas.  Reading.  Hearing.  Seeing.  Letting the world of the Nordic gods wash over me, immersing myself in its rhythms, its logic, its conflicts and wonders.

(Walhall by Emil Doepler)

Like the Celtic myths these suffer from an interpretation problem.  That is, they were recorded by Christians or by Romans.  In either case the translators and compilers of these myths had an ax to grind.  A fundamental conflict with the metaphysics, a desire to wipe out the pagan world motivated many Christian redactors of folk traditions.  Though, it must be said in fairness, not all.

In the Roman case there was a general willingness to let conquered people have their own religions, so in that sense there was not the same kind of problem.  Yet, there was a similar one in that Romans and pagans alike often compared folk deities to Roman deities.  But, more to the point, there was the assumption of cultural superiority on the part of Romans.  Since many of the conquered peoples were pre-literate, the first written evidence of their cultures comes in Latin.  That very act, transforming local stories into Latin entails translation, interpretation and assumptions, all from a single direction, the Roman, since the conquered peoples could not write.

Fortunately, for my purposes in this case, I don’t care.  Much.  It’s the spirit and the tenor and the names and the stories that I want, not scholarly accuracy.  At other points I’m very interested in the question of what was truly Celtic or Nordic and what an overlay from their interpreters.  Today, not so much, though I do look out for obvious interpolations of Christian or Roman assumptions.

The New Year? Says Who?

Winter                                                          Moon of the Winter Solstice

The new year.  An interesting idea, if you to stop to consider it.  In those parts of the world like ours, the temperate zone that runs in the middle latitudes between the poles (generally), we have more or less four seasons:  spring, summer, autumn and winter.  Even those distinctions are arbitrary, a fact proved by the concept of meteorological spring, summer, autumn and winter which divide the year in four parts by average temperature.  They do not coincide with customary dates like May, September, December, March.

Instead, even in the temperate zones, the earth’s position relative to the sun changes gradually, modulating the amount of solar energy any given square meter of surface receives and thereby modulating heat and cold.  This gradual change has its peaks and valleys and because plants have adapted their life cycles to this gradual change we celebrate, with plant life as a proxy for the astronomical, seasons.

The seasons relate to the status of the plant world.  Right now, plant life is in a fallow time, made necessary by limited sun light and rapidly varying temperatures very often below the freezing point of water.  So we turn away from the agricultural and the horticultural to our life inside our dens.  Later, as the solar energy available increases, the plants will begin to appear from their winter safety and we will engage them again.

When in this cycle does the new year begin?  Take your pick.  The Celts, somewhat counter-intuitively for us today, said the New Year began at the growing season’s final moment, Summer’s End or Samhain.  Many cultures, the Chinese still and European culture until the 18th century, saw the beginning of a new year in the quickening of the plant world or the signs that it would happen soon.

Whatever cues you take from the plant world, January 1st is an outlier.  It has no obvious astronomical or horticultural logic, no roots in culture other than, it appears, the Roman pantheon of Julius Caesar’s day.  He was, you might recall, the one who created the modern calender now in use globally.  The Gregorian modification to the Julian calendar made the calendar work with the slightly more than 365 day year we get from our journey around the sun.

But it was Caesar who decreed that January, named after the god Janus who famously looked backwards and forwards, was the logical time for the change of a year.  Logical only in Caesar’s mind, but even today the Roman dictator still has his way with the world.

As this article in Wikipedia shows, you can celebrate New Year’s at several points throughout the year, so, I guess, today’s as good any of those. Happy New Year!  For now.

After the Museum Closes

Winter                                                  Moon of the Winter Solstice

Holiday outing with Anne, Kate’s sister.  We went to the MIA, tickets for the 4:00 pm terra cotta warriors.  This is the last hour of the day, the museum closing at 5:00 pm.  There were crowds downstairs in the lobby, crowds on the 2nd floor wandering through the China and Africa galleries and crowds, many people, in the exhibit itself.

(who do you suppose the gladiator finds to fight?  One of the officers in Germanicus?)

This has been a big one, passing Rembrandt apparently already, though that’s hard for me to believe.  We meandered through, looked at the wonderful gold hilted dagger and the Bo bell, the beginnings of the Qin state back in that faraway time.  Homer’s time.  A time of marauding nomads in China.  770 B.C.

As we finished the announcement came that the museum closes in 5 minutes.  Doors were shut denying access to certain galleries.  All of us herded down the main corridor, the one with Doryphoros and out, the corridors becoming empty, going into the magical space that art takes on when the viewers leave.  What is art when no sees it?  Do the terra cotta warriors fan, sit on the benches before another tiring day of educating the masses?  Does Frank blink his eyes, no doubt dry from a day holding them open.  Perhaps Picasso’s baboon takes over the place, swinging from the Calder and the Chihully and maybe opening the door of the Tatris.

We’ll never know because all the art finds its way back to its stations before the next human returns.  I could sense them getting ready, perhaps willing us all out so they could get on with their night.  The Buddha wandering over to discuss divinity with Vishnu and Shiva and Parvati.  The old sages getting up from their poses beside waterfalls and on the balconies of secluded houses, perhaps dropping into the scholar’s room for a chat, some tea.

But then again, maybe everything stays the same, static and waiting.  Would be a shame if it did.

Considering the Massacre of the Innocents

Samhain                                                                Moon of the Winter Solstice

Since Christmas is a festival of the incarnation, a festival of a great God becoming human in the form of a baby, we can take this wonderful mythic idea and use it, especially now, as a filter for the news around us.

(Egon Schiele, Death and the Maiden)

Think of it.  Each baby born a potential or an actual god.  Each one.  How might we know?  Who’s to say?  A great God, an omnipotent God, could conceivably inhabit as many babies as ever are born.  So, it’s possible we might be wrong if we judge a child to be not a God.  We might even misjudge ourselves.

How would this perspective change your life?  Have you ever considered that you might be a god or a goddess?  How would you know?  Not sure.  The baby we’re talking about grew up to be a guy, a carpenter, then the ruling authorities arrested him as a troublemaker and executed him.  If that’s the profile, it might fit a good many of us, even those of us not fortunate to be so threatening to the status quo that we go through life with no fear of arrest or execution.

It seems we ought to err on the side of caution.  That is, each person born, each infant is not a child of god, but a god themselves.  We could then practice the Indian namaste, roughly, the god in me bows to the god in you.  How about that for a holiday ritual?

Looking for the gods and goddesses in your lives and acknowledging them with folded hands, a slight bow and namaste.  Might be good.

Then, of course, we have to parse out the killing of all the children.  How could we do that?

Stuff

Samhain                                                           Moon of the Winter Solstice

A chilly start here.  15 degrees.  We may have some more snow–or cold rain–tomorrow.  Rain?  The week before the Winter Solstice.  Insult.

Two more TCW tours today.  5th graders.

(Carvaggio.  see the Cindy Sherman version below.)

Out of the 50,000 who started the MOOC (massive open online course) on Greek and Roman Mythology, 2,500 of us finished all the requirements.  Of that number 2,200 received a certificate with distinction.  Not exactly a shiny new degree but anything with distinction feels nice.

Kate and I are well into the Hanukkah spirit, lighting the candles, reading the liturgy, having latkes and brisket.

 

Workin’

Samhain                                                                     Thanksgiving Moon

Went through several verses of Jason and Medea, brain began to ache.  Stopped.  I have time on Friday to discuss the parts I didn’t get.  Greg says the real way to advance in translating is to read, read, read.  Which means translate, translate, translate.  I can see it, but I have to pace it.  It’s fun, but it’s also hard.

I’ve trimmed back my schedule, only outside the house commitment I have now is the MIA.  And, of course, the Woollies.  Since I finished the Mythology course on Sunday, that means I have almost ten days with very few interruptions.  That means I can focus and work the way I find best, mornings hard at it and afternoons for clean up.

Kate’s sold more of her work to the store in Anoka; she plans to set up an Etsy site with my help and will apply tomorrow, too, to a consignment store situated next to the Red Stag.  She’s having fun.  Energized.  Retirement has been good for her.  I’m glad.