Week 10 Story - The Dance of Bees

Once there was a boy from a family of giants. He wasn't like his five older brothers. Where they liked to run and fight and roughhouse, he liked to sit, to think, and write songs. His brothers teased him often, and he felt all alone. His brothers were wrestling one day, and he couldn't concentrate with the ground shaking and the trees trembling. He wandered away through a mountain pass and found a valley--peaceful and quiet. There were large purple roses covering the ground, and it was quiet except for the wind. He thought he could write music calmly here. He started to settle himself onto the ground, nestling himself amongst the flowers. He heard a small yelp, and hopped up in alarm. He unfolded some of the petals on the largest flower, and found a plump girl--not a giant--nestled within. 

"Watch it, mister!" she humphed at him. He blinked in confusion. 
"Don't you even know what you've done? You've crushed the flowers!" she said, getting to her feet and settling her hands on her hips. She was wrapped in an ochre and black dress flecked with gold, and barefooted.
The boy didn't know what to say, or what to do. He stared at her, searching himself for a defense, or perhaps--judging by the way she was glaring--an apology. 
Suddenly she softened and said, "You're a giant? Why aren't you trampling all my lovely flowers just for sport?" 
He shrugged. 
Finally, he saw the hint of a smile grace her face. "Fine," she said. "You'll come with me, maybe there's hope for you yet."

He followed the girl through the flowers, trying not to step on any lest she yell at him again. When they reached the mountain pass on the the other side of the valley, the girl began to pull herself up the cliffside. She didn't need any help, being much stronger than her size suggested. He followed her up to a spacious room in the side of cliff and only peeped inside because he couldn't fit. There were other pudgy members of her family, dressed in the same ochre-and-black garb, all working on one task or another. One woman, the only one wearing all gold, was at the center of the hive, tending to the children. The boy watched them work as they turned dust into sweet food, built storage containers, and cleared away debris. 
"Soon we have to go back out and dance," the girl said.
The boy looked at her in confusion.
"We have to dance, in the flowers. We work with the sun, the flowers, and each other. It's how we make sure that everyone lives good lives," the girl explained. Sure enough, many others in the cave started toward the opening. They were all impressed with how kind and gentle the giant was, and how he was careful not to trample any flowers as they made their way down the cliffside to the valley.

The boy watched the girl and her family whirl and dance through the flowers, gathering golden dust and throwing it in the air and all over their arms and legs. They laughed, they were joyous in it. And they were careful not to damage any of the flowers. The boy was delighted, and came back every day to watch them dance.

Every night, when the sun set, the boy started home to see his mother, his father, and his five brothers. Every night, the girl stood stubbornly in front of him, and he knelt to listen to her warning: "Do not teach your family of our flower dance. They are too big and too rough, they will break the flowers and we will all be devastated." He always nodded his assent and headed back through the mountain pass. 

One night, after he returned his brothers teased him about missing their horseplay. They demanded to know where he had gone. The boy didn't want to betray his friend's secret but he missed his brothers. He just wanted to share the Flower Dance with them, and maybe they would think it was as lovely as he did. So he told them about the valley full of purple roses on the other side of the mountain pass. 

The next day, his heart no longer weighed down with secrets, he happily headed to the mountain pass to see his friend. But as he walked the road between the peaks, he noticed that rocks trembled and fell into his path. He heard shouting and instantly recognized his brothers' voices. He ran to the valley, and saw his brothers throwing each other around the valley. They stomped and mocked each other, they jumped and spit, laughing and punching and kicking. To the boy's dismay, the flowers were destroyed. Bodies of purple roses were strew around the valley. Not one remained in tact. 

In a panic, he ran to the other side of the valley. He stepped up to the opening of the cavern, peering inside in the hopes that his friend or her family would be hidden safely inside. But it was too late.

His friend was gone. The Flower Dance had come to an end, and so had the Bees.  

"Solitary Bee" by Alvesgaspar
via Wikipedia

Author's Note:
This story is very very loosely based on "The Youth that Joined the Deer." In the original story, a young man finds a community of Deer people, who die to feed the community then are revived. I found that one of the main take-aways for me was "responsible consumption" and "respectful relationships with nature." I kept the theme but told the story in a different way: the deer of 2018 are the bees after all. They do so much to keep our entire human community alive and we aren't really trying to help them survive. I tried not to anthropomorphize my characters too much to keep with the Native American style, but I really am a one trick pony when it comes to writing--I can only do people. Anyway, save the bees!

Reading Notes - Native American Tales (Reading B)

For the second half of the Marriage Tales section in the Native American unit, I noticed only a few more distinctions. For one thing, none of the people are given names. Places and ceremonies have names, but none of the characters is given a proper name. In my Native American philosophy unit, we learned that oral history is really important in the Native American tradition, and that the stories are used to connect all generations to the values and homeland of the community. Stories are used to teach people about what's important to them and to their community. Maybe that's why many of the protagonists are nameless. 

I really liked the stories from the Nlakapamuk people. "The Youth that Joined the Deer" was really interesting in more ways than one. First, I knew off the bat that they were Deer-People. I don't know why the hunter took so long to figure it out, but in keeping with the casual-impossible-phenomena theme, I don't think it mattered too much to him to get to the bottom of things. Until he shared the secret with his people. This story also embodies some characteristics of Native philosophy: sacrifice and working for the good of the community. The deer people were willing to be killed and restored, over and over, to sustain their community. The hunter was sure to teach his people and his children about responsible consumption. We don't just take, we acknowledge that something or someone is missing out on something (including life, maybe) so that we can survive. It's all about balance, as Dr. K is fond of saying. 

I also liked the True Bride story, also from the Nlakapamuk tribe. It was longer, but there were so many weird twists and turns that I was entertained the whole time. I also thought it was interesting because it seemed to be have been told--or at least written--at a later date than some of the other stories in this unit. Where before, all the characters were (or could be assumed to be) Native Americans themselves, this story made sure to point out that some people in the story were white. It also mentioned the layout of the houses and a public hanging. And I'm no American History genius but maybe some details were added into an old story, or this was a relatively newer story. 

And speaking of the evolution of stories: "The Girl and the Turkeys" was basically a Cinderella story with the twist of no happy ending. And I though that this was really cool for a lot of reasons, least of which is: Why would you want to end a story without "And they lived happily ever after?" Oh right--because the primary purpose of stories for communities with strong emphasis on oral history is to teach. So that brings me to my second observation: that every culture in the world has some version of the Cinderella story. There's versions from Asia, Africa, Europe, and now even the first people of the Americas. Either Cinderella was the first story ever invented, or cultural exchange has been happening a lot longer than we thought. 

I don't really know what kind of story to write based on these stories. I'm having a lot more trouble taking the themes in these myths and running with them far enough to make them my own without just copying the original. The most important and prevailing theme in these stories is: disobedience = bad. Which, all in all, is not a bad lesson. But people who behave don't make good stories, as I'm sure we all know. 

"Female Wild Turkeys" via Wikimedia

Reading Notes - Native American Tales (Reading A)

For this week, I read the Marriage Tales from the Native American unit. I really liked these stories because the tone was so oddly casual. There were wild things happening in every story and it was all so wonderfully understated. In "The Piqued Buffalo-Wife," a man had a child with a buffalo and the child came looking for him, and there was no description of what he looked like until the end of the story. Was he more human? Or more buffalo? No one reacted to the fact that the man had had a child with a buffalo either--they just helped the buffalo-child look for is dad. 

Also, the Native American myths remind me of the African myths in a lot of ways. First, there is the trope of "You Had One Job." In a lot of these stories, there is a character who gets a really sweet deal, and all they have to do is not break one rule. In "The Piqued Buffalo-Woman," the man married the buffalo, both she and their child become fully human, and she tells him not to swing at her with fire. Seems pretty simple and easy to avoid, right? Wrong. Like all the "You Had One Job" stories, the person breaks the one rule over something stupid. The wife didn't want to cook food for the man and all his friends, so he swung at her with a log from the fire and she and the child both become real buffalo and run away...which leads to the man being trampled, through a series of unfortunate events. In "The Bear-Woman," an insane older sister who was once the wife of a bear (who was killed by her father and brothers) plays 'Bear' with her little sister and brother, but tells them not to touch her where her kidneys are. The younger sister forgets, touches the older sister in the kidneys, and the sister turns into a bear and kills a lot of people in the camp...which leads to the older sister being shot in the head by her siblings, through a series of unfortunate events. It is worth noting that both of these stories are from the Blackfoot tribe. 

"Hunting Buffalo" by Alfred Jacob Miller
via Wikimedia Commons

Another thing that I noticed about Native American myths, which a little reminiscent of African myths as well, was the incorporation of casual yet impossible phenomena to anthropomorphize the animal characters. In my Native American philosophy class, we learned that "Natural Democracy" is the equal consideration of all being on Earth, and it is a prominent feature in many Native tribes' philosophy. For example, in the "The Woman Stolen by Whale-Killers," the whales steal a man's wife and drag her underwater. Her husband follows, somehow neither of them drown, and the whales have a large fire going in their home. The Shark, who is helping the man to reclaim his wife, helps the fire to get out of hand, and then all the fish are bringing buckets of water to put out the fire...that's underwater. Animals, rocks, and plants can be helpers and/or villains in Native American stories, like in "Splinter-Foot Girl." This theme is keeping with the Native American tradition of Natural Democracy: nature doesn't just exist in a separate/lower level from humanity, but we are all coexisting--antagonizing each other and helping each other, like one big family. 

Extra Reading - Crash Course Mythology (Creation and Destruction)

In the first video for Crash Course Mythology: Creation and Destruction, the guy talks about the relationship between humans and animals with respect to Creation. Obviously, in the Judeo-Christian tradition, humans are placed above animals by God. This is really interesting because it affected and continues to affect the way that societies with majority-Christian populations relate to nature. For example, here in the U.S. we have a population that's mostly claims Christianity of some kind and we have more policies introduced by religious politicians that harm the environment for human gain. Is it because "God gave Man dominion over the earth?" And other traditions, such as Native American creation stories, animals are equals and help humans. In some stories they lead them from an inner world through various doorways until they got to this world; in others, a young woman falls from the sky and lands on the backs of duck, then a turtle takes over and carries her and his back becomes the Earth. These creation stories make animals and nature essential to human survival, and it's totally consistent with the long-standing philosophy of Natural Democracy within the Native American community.

In the second video, he talks about the apocalypse. I think it's so interesting that humans have a sort of hive-mind when it comes to the shame and failure of our species. How is that so many different traditions around the world think that humans are garbage and must be destroyed by some wrathful deity's hand? And what does it say about us that even in an apocalypse, there have to be winners and losers? Anyway, we all know the deal with the Judeo-Christian apocalypse: fire, brimstone, face-melting. Lots of civilizations in the Mediterranean have these similar stories, for example, the Persian apocalypse is similar to Judaism and Christianity. In the Islamic stories, there is more natural disasters and a loss of morality among the people. Also, keeping with the Abrahamic tradition, there is an anti-Messiah, intent on ruling before Jesus and a heavenly army free everyone, rule, and leaves--then everything is terrible and destroyed, and then everyone is resurrected and Mohammad will return to Earth and measure everyone's sins. What's interesting is that the Islamic tradition gives everyone much more time to fix their mistakes--which is really incongruent with the intensity with which this religion is associated. Maybe we just have a one-dimensional view of Islam. 

The third and final video talks about Ragnarok, which is the Norse apocalypse and is the one that I was most looking forward to learning about. First, there will be three long winters in a row, and all the people will be hungry and turn against each other. When civilization implodes, almost everyone is dead, adn the living are basically animals, two mythical wolves Hati and Skul (spelling is questionable) will eat the sun and the moon, and the world will plunge into darkness. Then, earthquakes will come and they will break the chains that hold Loki to the rock (spoiler alert, the chains are actually his dead son's intestines--punishment for tricking everyone into killing Baldr) and both he and his giant demonic-wolf son Fenrir will be free. Then three roosters will crow, and the giants, dead of Hel, and warriors of Valhalla will awaken. Loki's other son, a giant demonic-snake will slither through the seas. Loki will take all his monster babies and the minions of Hel and challenge the Asir( "good" gods) at Asgard, with the rainbow bridge collapsing behind them. Heimdal warns the Asir, and Odin leads them and 800 noble dead warriors from Valhalla into battle.

I like the Norse apocalypse because it isn't like it's anything that everyone deserves, but just the way the world will end, whether humans are intrinsically good or bad. It doesn't matter what you do--the world will end with all the gods killing each other, Fenrir's defeat by a magic indestructible shoe, and the giant-king killing the last of the Asir and plunging every realm into fire and the earth sinks into the sea. But since all the world is water, there is new hope--not all of the gods die, and from the water a new earth forms. And the gods who survive make sure that the stories and a few artifacts from the old Norse pantheon survive. It's like we can't know if the apocalypse has already happened, for all we know we could be on our third or fourth world. Creation, destruction, and rebirth. Honestly, who doesn't love an apocalypse with a happy ending?

"The Punishment of Loki" by Louis Huard

Week 9 Story - The Bamboo Bridge

There is a ton of junk in my house because of my grandmother. She insisted on bringing it with her when she moved in with me and my mom. She's getting old, she forgets things and people too, sometimes; my mom says she can't live on her own anymore. She has boxes and trunks full of old swords, books, brushes, and silks--things that have been passed down through the generations. Grandma's always saying that we're descended from powerful emperors, but ever since she's been diagnosed with Alzheimer's, who can tell if she knows what she's saying.

My mother sent me to pick up the last of her boxes, and to take Grandma to our house for good. So after school, I stopped by Grandmother's. She's too busy watching her soaps to pay attention to me, so I just sighed and headed to the garage to load the last of her boxes into my truck. 

She has a group of ancient looking bamboo sticks stacked in one corner--god only knows why. There are far heavier things to get onto the truck, so I gathered the bamboo, all the while shaking my head at my grandmother's pack-rat ways. I tossed the old stalks onto the grass in the yard. Before my eyes, the bamboo landed in the grass, anchored itself and stood at attention. They began to stretch and weave, growing taller and taller and casting a long vertical shadow against my grandmother's house in the light of the setting sun. I realized it was a bridge, leading straight up into the sky and out of view.

I tried to take the stalks down--after all, kids already referred my grandmother as "that weird old Chinese lady." The last thing she needed was all her neighbors coming out and gawking at her magic bamboo. But the stalks held fast, and something in me told me to climb it, to see where it led. 

Against my better instincts, I mounted the bridge and began my ascent. I thought it would take an age to reach the end of the bridge, and I found myself briefly wondering if I'd miss dinner. That was before I saw the sun from above the earth. It was a burning torch, and all the world was cast in light and shadow, spread out before me like an artists's rendering. From up here, I couldn't believe that I lived so far below. Nor could I believe that I had climbed so high in a matter of minutes, that I was breathing though with some difficulty, and felt almost no exhaustion. By the time the earth was a little blue rock far below me, the sun had set and was behind the world, casting a shadow on the Moon--which I was now sure was where this bridge would lead. 

Sure enough, I hopped off of the bridge and onto the surface of the moon. But instead of the barren wasteland that I was sure would be here, I found a splendid palace, silvery trees, and glass cages where animal shadows moved and swam like all the beasts of the earth and fish of the sea did. A pleasant smell wafted through the air, and I could tell it was the cassia flowers--my grandmother always wore that perfume. She swore it was a family tradition. I was starting to believe her. 

I turned to survey the rest of the moon, and found myself face to face with a beautiful woman. She had long flowing hair, a kind, round face, and a glowing rainbow gown with a white shawl. 

"I am glad you are here," she said, and her voice was clear and light as a bell. "The cassia tree has nearly overshadowed the radiance of my palace. Once your ancestors came upon this place, and knew that the cassia tree must be chopped down once every thousand years to maintain the glory of the moon. That time is almost upon us. Have you come to take up the task?" she asked.

I found  myself nodding, just going along with whatever this beautiful woman said. Some of what she said sounded familiar, and I remember before Grandma was sick, she told me stories of our ancestor and his sorcerers who visited the moon and brought back a musical gift. How was I to know it was true?

The Lady of the Moon handed me an ax, and before long the tree was felled. Instantly, the moon was brightened, and I could see her castle even more clearly in the distance. She thanked me again and again, and asked what gift I would like to bring back to earth as payment for my help. Only one thing came to mind.

"Please heal my grandmother's mind. She told me about you once, and I didn't believe her because she's sick. She still has so much to tell me."
The woman smiled, and for a moment, she looked my Grandma, when she was young and beautiful. "It is done. Go home to your grandmother."

The descent to earth took almost as little time as the climb to the moon did. And when my feet touched the ground, I looked up at the radiance of the moon--noticeably brighter. I turned to my grandmother's house, and saw her running toward me with tears in her eyes and arms outstretched.

Author's Note: So this story is based on the story of "The Lady of the Moon", in which an emperor and his sorcerers build a bamboo bridge to the moon. I thought it would cool to do a story about a descendant, because unlike some of the other myths that we've read, Chinese myths feature real people almost as often as they feature gods and deities. I know this story is really long but I'm just glad that I was able to put in everything that I wanted and still technically not go over 1000 words. Some of the original stories had unsatisfying endings, and I thought that since I put something so sad as Alzheimer's in the story, I should have a happy ending. 

"The Moon Goddess Chang E"
by unidentified artist via Wikimedia

Reading Notes - China Folktales (Reading A)

I haven't read many Chinese Folktales, but I really liked these stories. They were short and sweet, but still super entertaining. It had the same randomness of the African tales--with all the magical realism and the ability of mortals to interact with the divine. I noticed a few overarching themes in these stories, and even though they weren't exactly what I'm used to but I still found some new favorites.

The first two stories, "The Favorite Child of Fortune and the Child of Ill-Fate" and "The Cave of the Beasts," have semi-unsatisfying endings. In the first story, it seems like everything goes right for a while in the first story, wherein the unlucky wife and her lucky husband are separated for years and then reunited as emperor and empress--then the wife dies eighteen days later while the husband lives for years thereafter. In "The Cave of the Beasts," the father leaves his children to die in the woods, and when they use their cleverness and quick-action to live (and to luckily stumble upon a cave full of priceless jewels), the father feels remorse and goes back for them. Then profits off of the luck of the daughters that he wanted to kill. Did I mention that the reason that he wanted to kill them is because they ate some eggs that he found. Why didn't he get his comeuppance?

I like that different myths start out with there having been 10 suns in the sky and provide different reasons for there only being 1 now--from Yang Oerlang hunting them down in revenge for his mother to an emperor with many talents shooting them out of the sky until one remained. It's very cool to see the different origin stories, and it helps you remember that while "Chinese" refers to a large nation with a lot of people, there are different traditions existing within the country as a whole. There is also a prevailing sense of self-determinism, and you can kind of see this in the story "The God of War," where it's hinted at that Guan Yu was once a regular man, a regular warrior. But he was so brave and noble and faithful, even in death, that he became the Master of War. It's also hinted at that Confucius, who we know was a normal man--but an excellent scholar--became the Master of Wisdom. That means that if you excel at something and are pure in your intentions, you can reach a semi-deified status. 

I think that I would like to write a story based on the "King of Ants", which is about a scholar witnessing the hunt and politics of tiny people--before they taunt him and h destroys them in anger. Or maybe a story based on the "Lady of the Moon," wherein an emperor is able to find a way to get to the realm of the Moon, and is given gifts by the moon.

Guan Yu Seated (Chinese God of War)
by Hosukai via Wikimedia

Week 8 Progress

Overall, I think I'm most proud of the stories on my Project website--"The Making og Galatea," which is based on Ovid's Classical Mythology, and "Till Death Do Us Part," which is based on Egyptian mythology. I've only got two on my site so far, but I'm happy with them both for different reasons. Both of these mythological traditions are cool for different reasons, and I had long-standing interest in both since I was kid, which made it even cooler that I get to explore these myths in more detail for class.

'The Making of Galatea' was fun to write. I got the finished form in one draft, and then went back a few times to fix grammatical errors. As a Letters major, I get to read lots of philosophy and think about what it means to be alive, to relate to other people and to relate to the world around us. That made 'The Making of Galatea' that much more personally intriguing for me. 'Till Death Do Us Part' was harder to write. Not the prologue--'The Death of Osiris'--but the continuation. The 'Death of Osiris' was another one that I was able to knock out in one draft, but the 'Rebirth of Isis' was tricky. I went through several drafts before I decided it was good and finished. In fact, I'm proud of the fact that I kept rewriting and editing until it was all good--because I'm so used to being able to just write once and be satisfied, I'm glad that I've grown enough to keep trying and admit to myself when I haven't written my best.

I have mostly worked out a schedule for this class, but since I have a lot of other things going on, including another online class which is reading heavy, I don't always stick to the schedule. I try to do the bulk of my work on Tuesdays and Thursdays, but sometimes I get ahead, working on Mondays. I think it would be cool to be a few weeks ahead, but honestly, I'm just content to keep up and finish on time instead of early. 

symphony of love via Flickr

Week 8 Comments and Feedback

Most of the feedback that I have received has been nice. I get complements and questions mostly, which I guess is better than mostly receiving criticism--not that I think anyone in this class would comment just to be rude. I've gotten some constructive criticism, but it's not very prevalent. 

I don't know if I don't get more suggestions because people like my stories the way they are, or if it's because, like me, people are nervous to point out the things they didn't like about my stories. I try to only point something out if I was genuinely confused, or if I think that a person can improve one aspect of their story without changing the overall tone. It's hard to remember to give people positive critiques without stealing their voice or tone and making it more like yours. 

I do appreciate the feedback and comments that I get because I have such a weird relationship with the things I write/make. I want to be proud of them, but I'm never entirely sure that they're god until someone else tells me they like it. On the one hand, I know it's good to be secure in your own creations. On the other hand, you can never be fully objective about your own writing, so it's good to have someone else tell you what is good and what can be better, someone who isn't so close to it. 

I hope that the feedback I give other people is constructive. I can think of a few people's stories where I did more than just point out what I liked about their writing, and actually made suggestions for improvement. I hope that they didn't feel like I was trying to diminish their own personal writing style, or replace it with my own. I really want to make sure that any suggestions that I make are actually helpful. Of course, people don't have to do anything they way that I suggest to do it, but I just want them to pay attention to why I point something out so that they can find a way to improve it their own way. 

Max Pixel

Week 8 Reading and Writing

I'm pretty happy with the way my blog looks. I know it's not the showiest or flashiest but I think that it's simple and straightforward. Anyone who visits it can find anything they're looking for. If I knew how to make it showier and flashier, maybe I would. But I'd rather put more effort into my writing, and as long as my stories are easy to find and come across clearly on the page, I'm a happy camper. My project website is more aesthetically pleasing to me, but I found that making the Google sites was easier to customize and had more options. It's really user-friendly, and I feel like a tech genius for putting in my comment wall buttons and the links to the original stories. I'm very please with my website.

I think that the tone of my Reading Notes varies from subject to subject, but when I reread my notes, I can hear my own voice in each post. In some, I'm more serious and I use a sophisticated vocabulary to describe my reactions to the readings; in others, I've written my thoughts and opinions in a very casual way, almost like transcribing a conversation I'd have with a friend if I were telling them about this course. I don't really know which way is best, and it all depends on how I feel, the subject matter, the way in which the subject matter was presented to me. But I think that, overall, each Reading Notes post has information and personality, and they've helped me focus on what to write and how.

Which brings me to my Storytelling posts. I'm pretty proud of a lot of my stories, I hope that doesn't seem arrogant. I really liked writing The Making of Galatea, which was the story of Pygmalion's statue from her perspective. It was so fun thinking about all the things that make us alive, and all the sense with which we get to know the world around us. I love how it turned out. I'm also pretty proud of my Moon story, I liked that I alluded to vitiligo, that the girl is empowered and that the boy who loves her supports her rather than exerts power over her, and that it is an etiological myth--meaning that it explains the origins of a natural phenomenon. I also like my story about Isis and Osiris, and I really like how the continuation of that story played out on my project site. It was really difficult to narrow down the story, to fix her tone, and to describe the events with detail and emotion (since the original myth just kind of lists events). I went through about five different drafts, longer and shorter, more or less detail, and finally I am satisfied with teh result. 

Pxhere

This class has really been an exercise in personal examination, because I have to learn when to stop, when to change, when to start over. And I'm a really stubborn person, I want to believe that I've done everything right the first time. But when I've written something that isn't quite right, and I admit it to myself and fix it, it always turns out better. It's a good lesson to learn.

Extra Credit - Reading Crash Course Mythology (More Pantheons)

First off let me say that the Indian, Norse, and African pantheons are highly underrated. I got really different impressions from all three of them and I appreciated each one equally. 

The Indian pantheon is cool for a lot of reasons. First, it's still 'alive' today, unlike the Egyptian and Classical gods and goddesses. Secondly, there is a more palpable spiritual aspect to it. I think I just personally really dig the symbolism, and it's shared characteristics with lots of other traditions make it that much more interesting. There is Brahman, the soul of the world. It's separate and greater than any one person, but every person is connected to it. It's also represented by three personifications--Brahmin (creator), Vishnu (preserver), Shiva (destroyer). Sounds kind of like another Trinity. The goddesses are amazing too, specifically Kali, a warrior goddess who is unbeatable in battle and too busy being a badass to date. The story of her victory over the Buffalo God was literally amazing. I really want to look up more Hindu/Indian mythology stories after hearing just that one. 

"Shiva"
siobanhill via Pixabay

The Norse pantheon obviously has gotten more attention than the Indian and African pantheons because of the Thor comics/movies, but you really can't beat the original. I have never read Norse mythology, outside of what you can kind of pick up from Neil Gaiman's American Gods (great book, highly recommend it). But in the video, the descriptions taken from an old Scandinavian author named Snorely have a really distinct tone, and I'm into it. For example, Heimdal (Idris Elba's character in the movie, with the cool gold eyes) can "see far in the night and in the day," and "hear the grass growing and a wolf walking and everything that makes sound" or something...cool stuff. The Norse myths in general seem less symbolic and more relatable and simply entertaining. The video describes the theft of Thor's hammer by a giant, and his and Loki's harebrained scheme to dress Thor in a wedding dress to get it back. They get away with it thanks to Loki's lies, even though Thor eats all the food and it should have been incredibly obvious that he was not, in fact, a woman. Then he gets his hammer back, kills every giant, including the women and children, and the story ends: "and so Thor won his hammer back." You gotta love the Norse pantheon.

"Ah, what a lovely maid it is!"
Elmer Boyd Smith via Wikimedia

The African pantheon was also really cool, but I can kind of understand why it isn't as well-known as some other traditions. For one, Africa is really big, with hundreds of individual cultures, languages and ethnic traditions and stories. They're also really big on oral tradition, so it's harder to have a one uniform source, unlike Classical mythology which has poets like Ovid and Homer. Also, the Orishas, which the video highlights because the tradition is easier to track, are very different in nature to the gods we're more familiar with. In almost every culture, gods and goddesses are just born with their domains. They don't earn them, generally. But in the African tradition, the Orishas had to get their own powers from their leader Olorun or his son Orunmila. They asked for powers to help Orunmila, so that he wouldn't need to fix all their problems for them. But he valued them all equally, so he didn't know how to distribute them. After speaking with a wise chameleon, he decided to give all the Orishas notice and just rain down the powers on them. He gave each of them a fair chance, and gave them powers when he didn't have to. I think that says a lot of the culture. 

"Changó"
Paul K via Flickr

I really enjoyed the videos, I always do. I originally needed to catch up on some points to maintain my desired grade, but I think I could honestly just kick back and watch these Crash Course videos. 

Week 7 Story - The King of the Forest

There were once three brothers: Aye, Bie, and Cee. They were traveling west, to seek their fortunes. Aye was a blacksmith and a warrior. No one could match his craftsmanship or or his skill with a blade. Bie was a teacher and a scientist. He could make potions and medicines better than anyone, and people throughout the land sought his wisdom when they were ill. Cee was an artist. His songs moved kings to tears, his dancing made women swoon, and his paintings softened even the most iron hearts. 

Soon they had gone far indeed and were in need of a rest. As the brothers were traveling down a long narrow road, they passed what were once known as "skyscrapers," now overgrown with vines and weeds. They stopped and made camp. The structure was old and dirty, with no lights and no one around for miles. They had supped they settled down to bed, and each had dreams of finding prosperity.

The next morning they started on their way again. But no sooner had they figured out their course than a two-headed deer appeared before them in the path. 

"Hark," the deer said, in a deep but feminine voice.
"Who are you?" Aye demanded, drawing his sword.
"Why are you here?" Bie asked, furrowing his brow.
"How can we help you?" Cee inquired, fidgeting with his hands.
"I am the Prince of the Forest. My father is old, and he is on the brink of death. We need a new King, and he has sent me forth to find one," said the prince. "There will be a contest, and the winner shall be my husband, and become the new King of the Forest."

This sounded good to Aye, for he could practice his swordcraft and use his abilities to protect the spirits of the forest. It would surely be an easy contest for him to win, given all his skill in fighting. 
"I wish to participate in your contest for the throne," he said to the prince. "Very well," said the two-headed deer, and Aye vanished.
Bie also wanted to compete to become the King of the Forest. There were lots of plants, herbs, and minerals that he could use in his potions. He was sure to win, for he was certain that he was the most learned contestant.
"I wish to participate in your contest for the throne," he said to the prince. "Very well," said the two-headed deer, and Bie vanished.
Cee, too, wished to be the new King of the Forest. The forest was a beautiful place, where he could sing and his voice would echo through the trees; where he could paint beautiful scenes forever. He was, of course, quite talented, surely he would win.
"I wish to participate in your contest for the throne," he said to the prince. "Very well," said the two-headed deer, and Cee vanished. 

The brothers found themselves in a field, barren except for the grass and one enormous oak, gnarled and twisted but still reaching for the sun. The ground was flat and the sky was endless, stretching far beyond anything the Ancient Ones ever made.
There was a pile of stones, each perfectly smooth and round and all the same color. The deer walked around the giant oak in the center of the clearing. For a moment it disappeared from view, but out from the other side of the tree trunk walked a man. He had a deer pelt wrapped around his waist, covering his modesty, and eyes with neither pupils nor irises, just whites--except his whites were green, like the leaves of the forest. "Choose a stone with your left hand, and throw it to the middle of the field. What is revealed shall dictate the winner." the Prince of the Forest said. 

Aye was surprised, for he thought that it would be a test of skill and strength. But he chose a stone and threw it to the center of the field with all his might. The stone traveled far, and when it landed it cracked open like an egg, and a great flame sprung out. 
Bie, too, was surprised, for he thought that it would be a test of wisdom and knowledge. But he chose a stone and threw it, though it did not travel as far as his brother's. When it landed it cracked open as well, and a great spring flowed from the center.
Cee had thought the contest would be one of talent, and so he too was surprised. He shrugged and grabbed a stone and threw it, and it landed somewhere between Aye's magic fire and Bie's eternal spring. When it opened several flowers sprung from within, and continued to grow and grow until there were wildflowers covering the once-empty field. 

The Prince of the Forest turned to Cee and said, "You are the new King. From you life flows, not in its elemental form but finished, complex and sophisticated. You see beauty for what it is, and do not seek to change it or confront it, only to share it. And the Forest is beautiful." 

The Prince led all three brothers to the twisted oak, then stepped inside. The brothers followed and found themselves in the Heart of the Forest. Cee appointed Aye as the Captain of the Guard, and Bie the Royal Physician. The Prince and Cee were married, and ruled the Forest together for many years. 

"Deer" by John Bunting
Flickr

Author's Note:
After reading all the African Tales, many of which involved a great deal of magical realism, I really wanted to try to write my own magical realism story. This story isn't based on any one reading, but on the themes that I noticed are most common in magical realism myths. (1) Things just happen, and the characters don't react to the magic, only to the events that result from the magic. No one freaks out about the talking two-headed deer. (2) You don't have to explain things, especially not magic things. Why do the stones crack open? They just do. (3) There seems to be more emphasis on nature, ergo, a prince of the forest. Also, the scenery can change in, like, one sentence.

I tend to think way too hard about what to name my characters, so I just named them A, B, and C, but with some creative spelling. I also find that I always present some romantic element in my stories, and there's probably a psychological reason for that if I cared to get into it, but I don't. I did realize that I haven't really represented many same sex relationships in my stories, but I think that it's interesting to have it represented here. In a lot of old myths, people talk about marrying this random person they found on their travels like it's NBD. So, since women who are found in forests, or on the side of the road can marry the first guy that comes along and offers them something magical, why can't dudes?

Reading Notes - African Tales (Reading B)

I think that the main lesson that I've taken away from African Tales is to always finish reading the story before making notes. You might think that one thing was going to be really important and then it turns out to just be a side note, or you might think something is just detail or unimportant, but it turns out to be a major plot point. I also am more focused on magical realism. 

I think that magical realism is fun to read but difficult to write. American tradition doesn't support stories that feature casual magical beings and items. Magic has to have this air of gravitas, a seriousness that gets played off of by certain characters taking it lightly, but the reader is always in awe of the magic. We don't have any stories where magic is just incorporated into our every day lives, or at least, none that are very prevalent come to mind. 

I liked how in Hassebu, they heard that the ground was hollow and so they dug and found a pit full of honey. None of the wood cutters thought: "Wow, where is all that honey coming from?" They just thought they could sell it for a higher profit than wood. Hassebu got to the palace of the King of Snakes, and never even wondered how the hell a tiny hole in a pit full of honey led him to a palace with a golden door that belonged to snake--the King of Snakes. He didn't question how a snake-based monarchy was operated? He treated the talking royal snake who lived in a splendid house, which was accessible through a pit in the ground which was originally filled with honey (somehow), as if it were nothing. Just something that was happening and all he could do was react accordingly. 

I just like that no one has to explain themselves, even though I find myself still looking for explanations. It's frustrating because I think you miss some of the important themes when you'r distracted with questions like "How?" I try to remember not to worry about "How?" and focus more on "Why?" 

Another thing that I think Western tradition has made a difficult transition is the emphasis on logic over emotion. In the West, the brain is the most important part, we have to think things through rationally before we accept them. In other cultures and traditions, how you feel is just as valid or maybe even more so than what you think. When the monkey was telling the story of the Washerman's Donkey in the story "The Heart of a Monkey," I was entertained. But then, in the end, when he said that the hare said: "The donkey has no heart, because she came back even though the lion tried to eat her the first time." But I thought that the fact that she kept coming back meant she had no brain. I mean, I certainly wouldn't have kept going back if the lion tried to eat me the first time, Queen of the Jungle or not. 

I think for my story this week, I want to do a magical realism story where we don't need explicit rules or explanations to enjoy. I want to just have giants roaming the earth, like in Makoma, and people dealing with them in a casual way (even though Makoma was not casual about the giants, since he kept going around beating them up with his hammer). One story that sort of does this comes to mind: John Henry, from the old African-American tradition. "Born with a hammer in his hand," he plowed through a mountain and beat a steam engine so that all the other recently-freed slaves could keep their railroad jobs, but then he died because his heart couldn't take it. 

"Died Wid his Hammer in His Hand"
Palmer C. Hayden via Wikimedia

I don't know how I'm going to do it, or what it's going to be about, but I'm gonna try to come up with a magical realism story. 

Reading Notes - African Tales (Reading A)

I chose to read the African Tales myths, mostly because I was skimming through the options and came across the very first story in the Reading, Motikatika. 

In that story, which is heavy on the magical realism, a wife is sick. Her husband goes to try to find her honey, but she rejects it several times before she accepts. When she's feeling better, her husband decides that its his turn to be waited on hand and foot, and send her out for water. He rejects all the water she brings, until she goes to a special creek which has clear water. Here's where the story got weird.

"Portrait of African Woman Carrying a Pot on Her Head"
pxhere

This ogre pops up out of the river and he demands that she give him payment for taking his water. Then she (wildly) offers the ogre her baby in exchange for a pot of water. At this point, I'm thinking she's crazy. The ogre, though, thinks this is a great idea and somehow a baby's life is equal to a pot full of water, which he is sitting in and getting all ogre-y so it's not like this is the most sterile, delicious, stream of water on earth. But I digress.

So the mom says she'll shave her son's head, give him beads to wear and the ogre can just call his name to come and get him: "Motikatika." But!--y'all ready for this?--the baby is a magician. Who taught the baby magic? What constitutes a 'baby' in this story? Definitely not someone who does magic, right? Anyway, the magic baby has heard that his mom is gonna let an ogre eat him--somehow. And he decides to consult the bones and ask them what he should do.

So he plays a game of "I am Spartacus" with all the babies in the village. He shaves all their heads, gives them beads and tells them to call themselves Motikatika. This happens, the ogre is confused, but won't eat all the babies who call themselves Motikatika because they haven't wronged him. It should be noted that neither has Motikatika but it's cool with the ogre if he gets eaten because his mom didn't check the spring for ogres before she went to get water for her whiny husband.

Long story short, the baby keeps outsmarting the ogre and eventually the ogre gets pissed off because he hasn't gotten to eat any babies. He takes himself to the woman's house and demands that he get to eat Motikatika. The baby outsmarts them again, and this time, the husband gets eaten. The mother is devastated, but the baby makes a valid point: it was her whiny husband that sent her to the well because he was trying to get back at her for being sick, so he should have been eaten, not Motikatika.  

There's so much to unpack in this one tale. First, magical realism is honestly the best because I think that we live in a society where we have to have everything explained in a logical progression from cause to effect. But in a lot of Eastern traditions, including Africa, India, and Asia, (or really, just any culture that is not Euro-American in nature) there is no need to explain yourself. Magical things happen, and there are still rules that apply, they just aren't laid out for the reader. For example, the ogre wouldn't eat all the babies calling themselves Motikatika, beause they hadn't done him any harm, and try as he might, he was unable to eat Motikatika; but he was able to eat the husband, meaning that he was the one who had done the harm in the first place. This is a part of the magical realism tradition--accepting the circumstances that are given to you as the reader even though you will likely not get an explanation.

In Euro-American stories, what happens is dictated by a set of rules that were established before the story begins. When you're reading a story outside of the Euro-American tradition, especially one which has elements of magical realism, you learn to work backwards. Events in the story dictates what the rules are. In other words, what does happen is what can happen. I like that.