Cultural Mythology: Myth, culture, and consciousness

Saturday on Myth in the Mojave: Myth, Music, and Oya (She who Rides With the Wind)

2013-05-17T18:11:20-07:00

This week's show is inspired by the Joshua Tree Music Festival, a super-cool, totally delicious, annual event that is happening this weekend in my hometown--yahoo! I love this description on the JTMF website that describes the heart and vibe behind the event: "The festivals are produced by a family of friends and funsters convinced that music is the soul of life, and that art enriches and saves lives." Amen. Now you know why I was inspired to provide a little of the rich mythological context for music. Thank you to the Muses, the Hindu goddess Vac, and the Yoruban orisha Oya for their generous assistance.

Tune in to radiofree joshua tree 24/7 here: radiofreejt.com

And here is the complete Radiofree Joshua Tree Show Schedule

Sunday Evening Variety Show Sundays 5-7 pm, repeat 8-10 pm, repeat Mondays 12 noon-2pm
HD Underground Mondays 10-11 pm, repeat Saturdays 11pm-Midnight
Tiki Time Fridays 5-6 pm, repeat Sundays 3-4pm
Mojave Kitchen Dance Diaries Fridays 10-11 pm, repeat Sat Midnight-Sun 1AM, Wed 4PM
Kitten Time Fridays 11pm-12 m, repeat Saturdays 10-11pm
In the Pit Fridays Midnight - Saturdays 1am, repeat Sundays 11pm -Midnight
Other Desert Stories Saturdays 4-5pm, repeat Sundays 7-8pm
Roadside Rex Saturdays 5-6pm, repeat Sundays 4-5pm
New Wave Dave Saturdays 6-7pm, repeat Wednesdays 5-6pm
Down The Memory Hole Fridays 8-9pm, repeat Saturdays 12 noon-1pm, Tuesday 5-6pm
Indie Lion Fridays 9-10pm
Myth In The Mojave Saturdays 3-3:30pm
Sound Medicine Sundays 2-2:30pm
Sonido Cubano Sundays 2:30-3pm

Archived shows will be available at radiofreejt.com and here on Cultural Mythology. Thanks for listening!

(Image is Oya as Lady of the Storms.)

Book 5 (part 2 of 2): Shipwreck

2013-05-15T07:54:00-07:00

Poseidon was on his way home from Ethiopia when he happened to look down and saw Odysseus in his small craft. Blood boiling, the great god shook his head and said to himself “The other gods changed their minds about Odysseus while I was away and look, there he is near the Phaeacia’s shores where he’s fated to escape his noose of pain. But I can still give him great trouble!” And with that he rammed the clouds together and churned the waters into chaos with his great trident and suddenly the waves rose and roiled and the sky darkened and Odysseus was numb with fear.

“It’s just as the nymph foretold,” he thought, “I am not done with this cup of pain. Look at this monstrous storm. What a wretched death to drown here! How I wish that I had died a hero’s death with my comrades on the plains of Troy.” A massive wave came crashing down on his head. His mast was split, his raft smashed. Odysseus struggled to stay afloat in the heaving water. His clothing weighed him down as he gasped for breath and clung to a piece of the wreckage.

It was Cadmus’s daughter Ino, who had once been a mortal woman but was now an immortal being of the sea, who saw him and took pity. She came to Odysseus and what was left of his raft. “Poor man,” she said, “Why does the god of the sea hate you so? Ah, but as much as he wants to destroy you, he cannot. So do as I say. Take this scarf, wrap it around you, and swim for shore. Safety awaits you there. Leave the raft and swim, and when you get to the beach untie my scarf and toss it quickly, back into the wine-dark sea. Do not watch where or how it falls.” She handed him the scarf and dove back down beneath the waves.

Scarf in hand, Odysseus considered her advice. “I don’t know if I can trust yet another immortal,” he thought, “especially one who urges me to abandon my raft. The shore that I glimpsed is too far away. So I will hang on here a while longer and get closer if I can before I throw myself into this deadly sea.”

Just then Poseidon sent another huge crashing wave and brave Odysseus was left with nothing but a timber to ride. The time had come. Odysseus stripped off his sodden clothing, tied on the scarf, and stretched his arms for the shore. Poseidon whipped the winds one last time and grumbling went on to Olympus. But the goddess Athena smoothed the water and calmed all but the north wind, to aid Odysseus on his way.

Still he was afloat for two days and often thought that he would die. Finally, when Dawn with her rose-red fingers brought on the third day, Odysseus looked up to the land just ahead. Filled with joy he found the strength to swim, anxious to plant his feet on solid ground. But the island was well protected with sharp rocks and breakers and pounding surf. Odysseus imagined himself smashed against jagged reefs and his heart sank. He wondered if he would have the luck and stamina to swim along the coast to find a sheltered cove without being crushed against the rocks or carried back out to sea.

In this moment of fear a huge wave rolled in and he would indeed have been smashed if the goddess Athena had not inspired him to fight back, to grab hold of a reef although it tore his skin. When the swell rolled back and cast him back out into the open water she gave him courage and he swam away from the breakers, scanning the coast. At last he saw the mouth of a river and prayed to the river god to let him in. “Rescue me," he prayed, “even an immortal god will show a man respect, when a wanderer needs their help---pity me lord!” The river god stemmed his current and Odysseus swam into the mouth of the river and reached the bank. He crawled out onto the earth and kissed the ground. Then he loosed the goddess's scarf and sent it back out to the sea where Ino caught it in her hands.

“I must rest,” thought Odysseus, “but if I stay here on the bank it will grow cold and that will kill me. But if I go into the brush a wild beast may drag me off.” He decided that cover was the better choice and dragged himself into the woods, where he found a small grove and crawled beneath two olive bushes, sprung from the same root. There he would be shielded from wind and cold and rain and sun. He made himself a bed of leaves and buried himself in them. The goddess Athena sent him a deep, sweet sleep to shield him from his many pains.

Odysseus is on his way. or is he?

(The painting is Raft of Odysseus by N.C. Wyeth, 1929).

The Layers

2013-05-13T17:21:00-07:00

This poem by Stanley Kunitz feels appropriate to our current conversation about the painful wandering of Odysseus and life-as-odyssey.

The Layers

I have walked through many lives,
some of them my own,
and I am not who I was,
though some principle of being
abides, from which I struggle
not to stray.
When I look behind,
as I am compelled to look
before I can gather strength
to proceed on my journey,
I see the milestones dwindling
toward the horizon
and the slow fires trailing
from the abandoned camp-sites,
over which scavenger angels
wheel on heavy wings.
Oh, I have made myself a tribe
out of my true affections,
and my tribe is scattered!
How shall the heart be reconciled
to its feast of losses?
In a rising wind
the manic dust of my friends,
those who fell along the way,
bitterly stings my face,
Yet I turn, I turn,
exulting somewhat,
with my will intact to go
wherever I need to go,
and every stone on the road
precious to me.
In my darkest night,
when the moon was covered
and I roamed through wreckage,
a nimbus-clouded voice
directed me:
“Live in the layers,
not on the litter.”
Though I lack the art
to decipher it,
no doubt the next chapter
in my book of transformations
is already written.
I am not done with my changes.

---Stanley Kunitz,from The Collected Poems of Stanley Kunitz.

Book 5 (part 1 of 2): Odysseus---- The Nymph Calypso

2013-05-12T10:55:00-07:00

At last the action turns to Odysseus, and just like the Telemachy, this part of the poem opens with an assembly of the gods up on Mt Olympus.

Athena is back from her errands in Ithaca. She urges Zeus to take action to help Odysseus but he says, “Why daughter, you’ve got it all covered, and it is his destiny to see his family again. Of course, first he’ll have to make a raft and stop in Scheria, the land of the Phaeacians. His troubles aren't over yet. But they’ll load him up with riches, more than the Trojan plunder that he’s lost. So Hermes, go ahead to see Calypso and tell her that she must let Odysseus go and help him on his way.”

Hermes, messenger of the gods, puts on his winged sandals, takes up the wand that he uses to either put people to sleep, or wake them up, and swoops across the sea to the isle of Ogygia where Calypso, the nymph with the beautiful braids, lives in glorious seclusion. There he finds her in the spacious cave where she makes her home, sitting at her loom weaving and singing before a lovely fire of cedar wood. Her island is a beautiful place with four clear springs and meadows and trees, birds, flowers, and ripe grapes clustered on the vines. Hermes stops to take in the beauty, then steps inside.

Odysseus is not there. He is out on the headlands alone, crying for home. It’s true that he often slept with the lovely nymph at night---unwillingly, perhaps—or maybe her charms had just faded--who knows? But he spent his days alone longing for Ithaca.

Calypso recognizes Hermes at once and offers him a warm welcome, with ambrosia and nectar. “It’s been ages since your last visit Hermes,” she says, “Why have you come now? I will do whatever you request.” “Well,” says Hermes, “I know that he’s been good company, but Zeus says that you must let Odysseus go home now, and send him on his way.” “What! Not that” Calypos exclaimed. “Oh you jealous gods, you just can’t let us female divinities have a mortal lover can you—or husband—is that it? It’s fine for you to lust and philander with whoever you want but no, we have to play by different rules.” She fumes and Hermes listens until at last the nymph says, “Well, there is no way to say no to Zeus. I don’t have a ship to give Odysseus but I’ll help him as best I can.”

With a last swig of nectar, Hermes, is gone. Calypso goes out to the weeping Odysseus. “You can cease your weeping now,” she tells him, “as I’ve decided at last to let you go home. You’ll have to make a raft though. I’ll give you food and water, and gods willing, you’ll make it home.”

Odysseus doesn’t believe her. “A raft?” he says,” You’ve got to be kidding. That is far too dangerous, even for a mariner like me. Surely you’re up to something. I’m not getting on a raft until you swear me an oath that you’re not plotting something.”

“Oh my dear Odysseus,” Calypso says soothingly, “what a thing to imagine.” She strokes his arm, kisses his forehead. “I swear by the dark waters of the river Styx that I’ve no plot to harm you. I’d never hurt you—you should know that by now. I’m all compassion. And I’m telling you what I’d do if I were in your situation.”

Calm now, the two of them go back to the cave together to eat dinner, and when they are satisfied Calypso tries a new approach. “I wish you good luck on this journey Odysseus,” she says, “but it is going to be a very tough trip you know, full of heartache. And what does your wife have that I don’t? I am gorgeous and immortal. I will never age, and I can make you immortal too.”

“Ah, great goddess,” Odysseus replies, “doesn’t be angry with me. Penelope is not as beautiful as you and she is mortal, true. But nevertheless I pine for home and it doesn’t matter how much more I have to suffer. That’s the way it is for me, after all.” The sun sets on the peaceful cave. It grows dark and they make love.

When Dawn with her rose-red fingers shone once more, Odysseus got up and dressed for work. Calypso did too, in a filmy gown and scarf with a gold braid belt around her slim waist. She gave our hero a heavy ax and led him to a place where the trees grew tall—alders, black poplars, and firs. Then she went home and left Odysseus to fell and trim the trees. She returned with a drill and he expertly locked the logs together with pegs and together they fashioned a fine raft, using his skills and strength and her tools, even installing a mast with sail and rigging made of the nymph’s weaving.

On the fourth day the work was done. On the fifth day the goddess launched him from her island, freshly bathed and dressed in fine clothes. She gave him a skin full of dark wine and one with water, and choice meats to build his strength.

Spirits high, Odysseus spread the sail, and now the master mariner steered his craft, eyes on the horizon, following the stars just as Calypso had directed, never sleeping. For seventeen days he sailed smoothly and on the eighteenth shadowy mountains loomed ahead. It was Scheria, the Phaeacians island.

(The painting is Odysseus and Calypso by jan Brueghel the Elder circa 1616).