Myth – Page 13 – Feminism and Religion

And Then There Was Sita by Vibha Shetiya

Viba We have been hearing a lot about Kali and Durga lately, manifestations of the great goddess (“Kali Ma,” by Jassy Watson, July 3; “What Would Durga Do?” by Barbara Ardinger, August 2). Nancy Vedder-Shults’ three-part series on Kali (August-October, 2014) too helped shed light on an often misunderstood deity. Both Kali and Durga personify the power or shakti within women, a force that can be empowering and terrifying at once. Kali represents uncontrolled female energy, whereas Durga is portrayed as one in control of her abundant power. These images, especially the one of Kali are double-edged; they can prove problematic for women insofar as – from the male perspective – they confirm the fact that women possess an alarming energy, especially a sexual one, which in turn justifies the need for men to subdue them.

Sita's abduction by Ravana. Artist: Raja Ravi Verma — Sita’s abduction by Ravana. Artist: Raja Ravi Verma

Within this context, I would like to talk about Sita, who, one could argue, is the antithesis of the two. Sita is the gentle wife of Lord Rama, hero of the Ramayana, a two-thousand year old Sanskrit epic. In the Ramayana, Rama, the crown-prince of Ayodhya, is exiled to the forest for fourteen years. His loyal and faithful wife, the princess and goddess Sita, insists on accompanying him to the wilderness. There, the demon king, Ravana kidnaps her leading to a battle between Rama and Ravana. Almost a year and thousands of casualties later, Rama succeeds in slaying Ravana and reclaiming Sita.

But alas, Rama rejects his wife in the presence of the hundreds of onlookers, eagerly awaiting the reunion of the couple, on the grounds that her chastity was suspect; after all, says Rama, surely Ravana couldn’t have resisted her ravishing beauty? If she is to be worthy of Rama, Sita has to undergo a trial by fire to prove that she had indeed remained chaste throughout her captivity. Although she passes with flying colors, Rama eventually gives in to gossip and banishes her to the wilderness a few years later – while she is pregnant with his twins – where she is left to die (she, however, does not). Continue reading “And Then There Was Sita by Vibha Shetiya”

A Fairy Tale Starring Real Fairies (with apologies to W.S. Gilbert) by Barbara Ardinger

Iolanthe Once upon a time very close to right now and in a realm way too much like our world there lived the Sisterhood of Faeries. We remember their names. There’s the Faerie Queen, Belphoebe, who spent much of her time composing epic poetry, which her sister Gloriana wrote down for her. Other fairies were Titania (who ran the orphan asylum for abandoned children), Carabosse (whose job it was occasionally to Speak Firmly to children, both fey and human, who were behaving badly), Fata (an astrologist), Morgan le Fay (no one was ever quite sure what she did), and Tinkerbell (who especially loved to play with well-behaved children). Most of the fairies worked as fairy goodmothers and guided their special human charges through their complicated human lives. A few of the younger fairies collected teeth. It was a rule in the Realm of Faerie that fairies were forbidden to marry human men, though they could (and did) of course flirt and dally with them.

One of Belphoebe’s favorite daughters was the adventurous Iolanthe, who traveled much in the consensual reality where the humans lived. Iolanthe had, in fact, gone among men so often that she had married the Chief Justice of the human realm. For her crime passionel, she was banished from the Faerieland. She took up residence in a stream, where she cast dreams and the occasional nightmare upon the Chief Justice, who had no idea where she’d gone. She also took up good works. Among other things, she pushed drowning children out of the water (though she occasionally arrived too late, as we know from young Ophelia’s sad demise). She spent most of her time reading great books, especially history and law. What no one had known when Iolanthe was banished was that she was pregnant. Her son, Strephon, was born and raised in an underwater castle. Because his mother was so busy with her books and works, the lad was nursed by a kindly female wolf and educated by scholars and sorcerers, and he finally found minimum-wage work as a shepherd. But the lad had ambitions! He abandoned his flock, found suitable clothing, and managed to enroll himself in a large university, where, inspired by his mother, he studied political science, law, history, music, and literature. When he confessed all this to his mother, she immediately blessed him and gave him more great books to study. Continue reading “A Fairy Tale Starring Real Fairies (with apologies to W.S. Gilbert) by Barbara Ardinger”

Daphne’s Salvation? by Natalie Weaver

Natalie Weaver edited

The Cleveland Symphony Orchestra last week put on a two-night production of Richard Strauss’s Daphne: A Bucolic Tragedy in One Act. It was an outstanding collaboration between conductor, singers, instruments, and the stage and costume production and design team. Included in the show was a lone Dancer who represented the emotional content of the music (as opposed to representing a single voice or persona in opera). She nimbly wove about the stage painting a sort of visual poem of tones and feelings rather than articulated concepts.

I went to the show, expecting something really beautiful as I always find Strauss somehow soft on the ears. And, it was a masterpiece to be sure. Franz Wesler-Most, the symphony’s Music Director and the opera’s conductor, commented on the production in the program notes, observing that this opera is rarely performed because it is so difficult to sing, especially the role of Apollo. This team made it look effortless, and it was as a result a tremendously satisfying, rich, and edifying night out. Continue reading “Daphne’s Salvation? by Natalie Weaver”

The Grimm Brothers’ “The White Snake”: A Feminist’s “Adam & Eve”? by Jeri Studebaker

Me, 2013 I was trying not to fidget as I sat on the hard, unforgiving walnut pew. It was a gorgeous summer day out, and I was locked inside breathing stale air and with nothing to look at but the dreary speaker, and, behind him, a life-sized, picture of a sweet-looking man about to be hung from nails driven through his hands. I was visiting my parents, who love to take me to church, and I just wasn’t able to say no.

As I sat I daydreamed about our indigenous European ancestors. They did “church” outdoors, in fragrant, airy forests with wild bluebells, warbling birds, and gentle breezes caressing their skin, ears and eyes. Instead of doing hard time on walnut benches, they got to dance, chant, hold hands and jump through fires.

Continue reading “The Grimm Brothers’ “The White Snake”: A Feminist’s “Adam & Eve”? by Jeri Studebaker”

Demeter – Mother of Creative Potential

This short paper was part of a series of assessment pieces for university where we had to imagine ourselves as people living in a number of ancient cultures. It addresses a very direct question: “Imagine you are in Ancient Greece sometime during the 5^th century BCE and a family member is preparing to be initiated into the Mystery Rites at Eleusis. You have come to support them and join in the festival. Briefly describe your experience?”

It is the month of Boedromion (Late September/Early October) and the sixth day of the Eleusinian festivities held annually in the great city of Athens. I travelled some distance to take part in the nine-day festival held in honour of the ‘Greater Mysteries’ for which my niece prepared as an initiate. The city is alive with women, men and children from near and far. Many have come to take part and fulfil the countless functionary roles associated with the festival, along with the great crowd of initiates who have spent the past three days fasting and ritually preparing. Continue reading “Demeter – Mother of Creative Potential”

Holy Well and Sacred Thread by Nancy Vedder-Shults

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I usually share this myth as a storyteller and singer. After introducing each of the goddesses, I sing a verse pertaining to that goddess from Starhawk’s chant, “No End to the Circle.” When I’ve finished the tale, I sing the chorus one more time: “There is no end to the circle, no end. There is no end to life, there is no end.”

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Before the very beginning were the Norns. Older than the oldest gods, they sat from the very beginning of time and even before at the root of the World Tree Yggdrasill. There they spun the web of life and watered the World Tree from their holy spring, the Urdarbrunnr.

This story, like all good stories, has a beginning, a middle and an end. But unlike most stories, the ending is not the end of the story, but a new beginning. The beginning, of course, is Urth, the first Norn, She who started the spindle turning and who spins the thread of life to this very day. You might guess from the sound of Her name that Urth was the Earth Mother. As the Earth Mother, She knew no temperance. She was a creator, so She created. She spun the thread of life, and spun and spun and spun some more. Soon there was thread everywhere. As far as the eye could see thread curled and tangled, twisted and twined, criss-crossed and matted itself into little balls. Thread coiled around Her feet, becoming knotted and dirty, then wound around the tree Yggdrasill, looping through its branches and getting caught in its leaves and on its tiniest twigs. Finally the thread began to clog the Urdarbrunnr, the holy well at the foot of the ash tree. Continue reading “Holy Well and Sacred Thread by Nancy Vedder-Shults”

Fragment. From Delphi. Part Two by Barbara Ardinger

Read Part One of this story here.

The two men nodded in mutual respect, and the priest pointed at the old woman, who was now sitting on a three-legged stool. “Your Grace, the Pythoness herself is in attendance today. The Eldest One. Because of your … ah … great generosity to the holy precinct of the College of Lord God Apollo, we—I, myself, I went down … down in the darkness … went down to fetch her. Under the command of the Lord God Himself. All has been explained to you?” As the general nodded, the priest hurried on. “You understand, then, that Lord God Apollo has received your inquiry? The Pythoness will reply. That is, she will convey the Lord God’s words, which I myself will translate. You understand that old women often speak gibberish that common men—that … ah … august personages such as yourself—do not … er … comprehend.” The general frowned. “It’s part of the mystery! It is as Lord God Apollo permits.” The general nodded again. “If Your Grace will kindly excuse me, I must prepare myself. Ordinarily, the younger priests carry out these duties … for the questions of common men … that is to say—”

“Get on with it, man. I’m waiting. My army is waiting. The enemy is waiting.”

The high priest bowed. “Yes. Of course. Waiting.” He bowed again, backed away, and walked with fussy dignity to his station, a pavilion just outside the shed where the veiled woman sat waiting. The pavilion had been especially constructed for this occasion. Gold and white cloths were draped across ebony poles to shade a wide ivory chair for the head priest and a low table for the stenographer, a skinny brown man who emerged from one of the marble outbuildings and stumbled down the slope.

Continue reading “Fragment. From Delphi. Part Two by Barbara Ardinger”

Fragment. From Delphi. Part One by Barbara Ardinger

The United States has not won a war by the surrender of its enemies since 1945, yet we keep going to war. Young men are committing acts of war to terrorize us at home. Our civilian police forces are becoming increasingly militarized. Who can remember what it was like when the warrior-priests of the mouse-god, Apollo Smintheus, took over Gaia’s ancient shrine?

Long before they came down, she could see the three men in their imitation women’s robes. Because she had no place to hide, she continued to sit calmly on her little stool. She stroked the serpent, which tended to become excitable when the priests were present. It coiled more snugly around her shoulders.

The oldest of the three men, the one right behind the warrior with the torch and the sword, was wheezing heavily as he explained the situation to the boy, whose first trip into the darkness this was. “She’s always back there,” he said, mopping his forehead. “Like a damn snake in a hole.” He paused to catch his breath, and the other two paused with him. “So we always have to run her to ground, so to speak.” He laughed. “Sometimes we have to bind her to bring her out. She’s old. Used to be quite dangerous—” Continue reading “Fragment. From Delphi. Part One by Barbara Ardinger”

Research and the Dissertation: Getting Back to Basics by Michele Stopera Freyhauf

History is written by the victors – this is something that we all know, or at least should know. I apologize in advance for being elementary in my discussion, but I think one thing that scholars tend to do too often is assume our readers or audience has a firm grasp on what we are talking about. With this topic, I am not assuming.

When studying artifacts from past civilizations, an interesting phenomenon of using spolia as a demonstration of conquest is commonplace. If a conquered country’s deity is placed on the bottom of a column, or even turned a different direction, the significance usually means that deity is demoted or inferior – this is found in the Hagia Sophia (especially under the structure). If spolia is found whereby a country adds their deity (even if that deity is their ruler) to another country’s monument, then there is a coexistence or combining of empires with the conquesting ruler in prominent view, even substituting past rulers. This is best demonstrated on the Arch of Constantinople whereby Christian symbols and the likeness of Constantine was incorporated into an arch that once displayed the victories of Marcus Aurelius and Domitian. If you are interested in this topic, please see my article “Hagia Sophia: Political Symbolism in Stones and Spolia” in Popular Archaeology magazine.

Continue reading “Research and the Dissertation: Getting Back to Basics by Michele Stopera Freyhauf”

Tiamat’s Tale by Nancy Vedder-Shults

nancymug_3 About 15 years ago, I was writing a book entitled Embracing the Dragon: A Myth for our Times. In it I critiqued the so-called heroic myth, which I call the dragon-slaying myth. My research led to the discovery of many Western dragon tales, which I retold from the dragon’s perspective. “Tiamat’s Tale,” transcribed below, was one that I offered orally – as a storyteller.

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“The ocean is the beginning of the earth. All life comes from the sea.” And at the outset Her name was Tiamat. Tiamat, the watery womb where all is amorphous and malleable. Tiamat, the primeval cauldron where one thing shapeshifts into another in the eternal whirlpool of creation. Tiamat, the unfathomable abyss. Before Her there was nothing. Without Her there is nothing. And after Her there will truly be nothing.

Those who learn to trust Her, discover Tiamat’s bliss, the creative ebb and flow of Her salt flood. Foremost among these was Apsu, Tiamat’s husband and lover, for he was the first to issue from Her tidal wave. His sweet waters mingled with Her salty brine, and together they brought forth gods and goddesses as silt precipitates from a stream or sand washes up on a shore. Tiamat’s undulations and Apsu’s wet dreams stirred the ardor of their children in turn, and soon there were many generations of gods and goddesses. Continue reading “Tiamat’s Tale by Nancy Vedder-Shults”