Category: ancient civilisations

The First Cultivarian Re-Wilder Idylls

by dawnraver, posted in ancient civilisations, mythology, rewilding, Uncategorized

LETTER FROM PSEUDOHESIOD TO CALLIAS

My Dearest Callias,

I hope this letter finds you well and thriving in all aspects of life. I have a request, but before delving into it, let me provide you with an update on the developments at my estate, which has undergone a transformation of considerable significance.

In times past, vast expanses of my estate were dedicated to the grazing of animals and the cultivation of traditional crops. However, the winds of change have swept through the fields, and a new era has dawned upon us. Inspired by the divine gifts of Dionysos, Demeter, and Pan, I have embraced a revolutionary method known as “precision fermentation.”

Just as the divine beings bestowed upon us the gifts of wine, bread, and yogurt respectively by fermenting the bounties of nature, so too can we now cultivate a myriad of essential substances through this precise alchemy. Fats and proteins, akin to those found in meats and milks, can be crafted in vats through the marvels of precision fermentation. This groundbreaking approach allows me to produce meats, cheeses, and even leather with unparalleled efficiency.

The true marvel lies in the conservation of resources and space. Whereas traditional methods consumed vast tracts of land for grazing and crop cultivation, precision fermentation requires only a fraction of these resources. The cultivated products match the quality and quantity of their predecessors but with a significantly reduced environmental footprint.

This shift towards sustainable practices has ushered in an era of harmony between Zeus, the mighty sky, and Gaia, the nurturing earth. No longer do they wage war; instead, a truce has been established. The vast lands once dominated by domestication are now liberated to return to their natural state, fostering biodiversity and the untamed beauty of wilderness.

This rewilding of spaces holds profound benefits for us, dear nephew. As creatures intimately connected to the natural world, these wild expanses are our ancestral home. The untamed landscapes inspire our spirits and serve as a soothing balm for our minds and emotions. The synergy between humanity and nature is restored, creating a haven of balance and coexistence.

While I have diversified into novel methods of food production through precision fermentation, there remains a portion of the land dedicated to the growth of plant-based sustenance. Here, I have embraced the principles of regenerative farming, a harmonious approach that seeks to mend the wounds inflicted upon the Earth by traditional agricultural practices. Among the foremost of these regenerative methods is the conscientious choice of perennial varieties over their annual counterparts.

The old ways, reliant on annual crops, resemble a battlefield where the plough is a weapon tearing into the soil each year. This perpetual disturbance disrupts the intricate life within the soil, diminishing its vitality. In contrast, perennial varieties offer a reprieve from this ceaseless struggle. By opting for plants with enduring root systems, the soil becomes a thriving ecosystem where life persists.

The roots of these perennial plants, undisturbed by the annual upheaval of ploughing, create a stable foundation for a flourishing soil community. Microorganisms, fungi, and a multitude of life forms find solace in this undisturbed haven, contributing to the fertility and resilience of the land. It is a testament to the ancient wisdom of Gaia, who designed her flora to endure and nurture the Earth’s tapestry.

This shift to perennial crops is a step towards balance and restoration, a return to the cyclical rhythms that sustain life. The land becomes a partner, not a battlefield, and the bounty reaped is a testament to the regenerative powers inherent in nature.

So, on my estate, a significant portion of the land has been allowed to return to its wild state. In this recalibration, the number of grazing animals has been carefully curated, just enough to harmonize with the growth of plant life and foster biodiversity.

The once-manicured meadows now surrender to nature’s reclamation. A mosaic of habitats emerges, with some areas evolving into vibrant meadows mixed with scrublands, others transforming into lush wetlands, and still others embracing the quiet majesty of a returning forest. This diverse landscape, curated by the rhythm of the wild, is now home to a rich tapestry of life.

Wandering amidst this symphony of habitats, a small herd of aurochs, wild boar, ponies untamed by human hands, deer, and elk traverse the land. The river, once a mere watercourse, is now inhabited by industrious beavers shaping their aquatic realm. This harmonious coexistence of flora and fauna brings about a resurgence of life, a resurgence that transcends the bounds of domestication.

Yet, in this return to the wild, the land remains a source of sustenance, albeit a different kind. No longer geared towards traditional agriculture or extensive grazing, it has found a new purpose. Nature, in all its untamed glory, has become an attraction for denizens of the city seeking respite. The rhythms of the wild draw them in, and the revenue generated from these nature enthusiasts sustains the estate, in addition to that gained from the cultivated foods.

Gone are the days of city folk yearning for a pastoral idyll as shepherds in Arcadian pastures. Instead, the desired ethos now aligns with the lives of hunter-gatherers, those who live in harmony with the untamed wild. Some seek the primal thrill of crafting and wielding the bow, while others immerse themselves in the ancient art of tracking.

For those yearning to reconnect with primal roots, grass huts provide shelter, and the nights are alive with the trance dance around the fire. The nocturnal reverie transcends time, echoing the ancient beats of existence. And yet, many simply come to walk, to breathe, to be enveloped in the embrace of the wild.

As I lay bare the transformative journey of my estate, I am reminded of the profound impact poets have had on shaping perceptions and visions. The idyllic imagery of shepherds tending their flocks, a staple in the poetic tapestry of old, has cast an enchanting aura around pastoral scenes. However, the changing tide necessitates a new vision, a poetic embrace of the evolving landscape.

In this age of vat-cultivated sustenance and regenerative farming combined with the re-wilding of large areas, there exists a faction resistant to change, unable to envision the healing touch these methods extend to the Earth. To them, a re-wilded expanse may appear as untidy, ruined, bereft of worth. Herein lies the crux of my request, dear Callias.

The world hungers for poets who can weave beauty around the untamed wilderness, crafting verses that celebrate the return of nature to its primal state. We need idylls that paint the arcadian hunter-gatherer as a custodian of harmony, georgics that extol the virtues of regenerative farming, and eclogues that sing the praises of cultivarian rewilders.

Might you, Callias, with your pen dipped in the ink of inspiration, conjure these poetic realms into existence? Your words, my dearest friend, have the power to spark a new understanding, to cast light on the beauty that emerges when the land is allowed to dance to its own untamed rhythm. A vision painted in your poetic hues could be the beacon guiding minds to embrace the wild as a realm of wonder and renewal.

The shift towards a new vision requires more than a mere deviation from established norms—it necessitates a delicate dance between innovation and tradition. As I ponder the prospects of cultivating a poetic realm that encapsulates the spirit of re-wilded landscapes, the echoes of past traditions resonate within me.

Tradition, as the timeless custodian of beauty, weaves the threads of the past into the fabric of the present. It is a celestial choir of voices that spans generations, creating an enchanting melody that transcends time. To break with this tradition would be to sever our connection with the very source of beauty. Thus, my dear Callias, I entreat you to embark on this poetic journey with the understanding that our verses must not only be a reflection of innovation but also a seamless continuation of the age-old traditions that have shaped our cultural tapestry.

In contemplating the challenge ahead, I find solace in the belief that your poetic prowess will navigate the delicate balance between the allure of the new and the embrace of tradition. The task is formidable, but I have faith in your ability to craft verses that resonate with the celestial choir of our ancestors, creating a harmonious symphony that bridges the ancient echoes with the melodies of a reimagined future, where the wild and the cultivated dance together in a timeless embrace. Your poetic quill, I believe, can weave a tapestry that honors tradition while embracing the transformative rhythms of the land’s renewal.

May the Muses guide your pen on this venture, my dear Callias.

Ever in anticipation,

Pseudohesiod

REPLY FROM CALLIAS:

My Dearest Pseudohesiod,

I hope this letter finds you in good spirits and health. Your missive, filled with the wisdom of your endeavours on the estate, has reached me, and I am heartened to hear of the positive transformations taking place. The harmonious union between nature and humanity, forged through regenerative farming and the return of land to its wild roots, enabled by new advances in food fermentation, is a vision that speaks to the soul and echoes the celestial order.

Your words have sparked a fire within me, urging me to contemplate the poetic threads that can weave this vision into the tapestry of our shared traditions. As you wisely noted, the resonance with tradition is the source of true beauty. It is within this framework that I took up the challenge you presented.

I eagerly await your thoughts on these first two humble attempts, and I am prepared to refine them further if needed. Your guidance and insight have been invaluable in shaping this poetic response. May the celestial choir of our ancestors chime in with these verses. I give you them both here below, starting with my first Hunter’s Idyll:

Within the ancient ilex shade,

Euphronios sat with bow half-made,

Beside him Kalon took a seat,

To watch his friend the bow complete,

“Dear friend,” Euphronios proclaimed,

“Sing me a song, worthy of fame,

And if I find your singing fair,

This bow, when made, with you I’ll share.”

So Kalon, with his eyes a-glow,

Begins a tune both sweet and slow:

“Between the oaks the wood nymphs dance,

So lightly trips the line along,

Come here ye Muses of the woods,

And sing the rustic woodland song.

In twilight’s gloam on oaken boughs,

The honey-throated nightbirds throng.

Come here, ye Muses of the woods,

And sing the rustic woodland song.

Of city crowds I’ve had my fill

In woodland pastures I belong

Come here, ye Muses of the woods,

And sing the rustic woodland song.

The centaurs thunder through the vales

Where Arcady’s old oaks stand strong,

Come here, ye Muses of the woods,

And sing the rustic woodland song.”

Euphronios, happy, nods his head,

“The bow is yours,” he warmly said.

“For showing nymphs to Fancy’s eyes,

Your well-made song deserves the prize.”

And now, dear uncle, I give you my first Cultivarian Rewilder’s Eclogue:

If you will sing the tale of Arcas, then you’ll get from me, 9th

In Arcady within the shade of ancient ilex trees,

The air is lulled by cricket song and hum of honey bees,

Cicadas scratch their mesmerising rythms ‘cross the land,

As Euphranor and Niketas, two hunters, with skilled hands,

Are tanning hides, lab-cultured but as good as those you’d find,

Upon the back of noble stag and agile, darting hind,

Now Euphranor to Niketas, a gleam within his eyes,

Says “Listen, friend, there is for you, the promise of a prize,

Would, when the hunt began, become the first nymph to advance.

A farm-free cheese, lab-cultured, but as toothsome as can be.”

So while the two continue at their work of tanning skins,

Distraction is provided as the ancient song begins:

“Within the mountain glades where pines and ilex trees stand tall,

Callisto, nymph of Artemis, paid heed to nature’s call,

Companion to the huntress goddess, She of silver bow,

Who chases through the woods of oak by light of lunar glow.

Oft’ there beneath the shadows of the sacred, ancient trees,

Within the realm of Artemis wherein the swift deer flees.

The nymph, agile and graceful in the sylvan mystery dance,

But now the gaze of Zeus beheld the verdant woodland glade,

He saw the sweet Callisto with her beauty all displayed.

A strong desire was kindled in the king of all the sky,

Enraptured by the nymph whose presence made the forest sigh.

Then so he could aproach unseen he used his magic art,

Disguised himself as Artemis and well he played the part.

Approached, seduced, entwined in secret one clandestine night,

The nymph consenting to the god with scarcely any fight.

Into the heart of Artemis a wrath divine did creep,

Her nymphs a vow of chastity had sworn to always keep.

The insight of the goddess saw into this woodland place,

And so she came to know about the pair’s secret embrace,

So Zeus, in lofty mercy or perhaps more cunning guile,

Now cloaked the nymph in fur, and fearsome snout replaced soft smile,

A bear’s form thus assumed, the young Callisto was disgiused,

To keep her safe from Artemis, who now the nymph despised.

In later years her son Arcas was hunting in a glade,

And then he met this bear beneath a lofty laurrel’s shade,

In self-defense, the both of them made ready for the fray,

Not knowing of the cruel trick the fates on them had played,

Again ’twas Zeus who used his arts, to make the son a bear,

Then lifted both, the son and mother, high into the air,

Now Usra Major next to Ursa Minor circles round,

By means of them within the dark the hunter’s way is found.”

The song is done, which does the listener Euphranor well-please

Inspiring him to sing these praises as he gives the cheese:

“As nightingale in sweet lament surpasses common bird,

So does your voice outshine the song of any I have heard,

Not Lykomedes swift of foot nor Kyros keen of sight,

Could raise the rustic songster’s art to such a lofty height,

For as the hunter’s arrow flies straight to the quarry’s heart,

Your singing flies into the hearts of all who hear your art.”

I eagerly await your thoughts on these first humble attempts, and I am prepared to refine them further if needed. Your guidance and insight have been invaluable in shaping this poetic response. May the celestial choir of our ancestors deign to chime in harmony with these verses.

With warm regards,

Callias

Why the Owl is Ashamed to Come Out in the Day – a tale from the Evandros Scroll

by dawnraver, posted in ancient civilisations, mythology, Uncategorized, Welsh mythology

My Dearest Callias,

I find myself once again compelled to share with you a narrative gathered during my sojourns among the Pelasgians. One night, as we were seated around the camp fire, an owl began to hoot somewhere off in the darkness, which inspired one of my Pelasgian friends to tell the story of why the Owl is a creature who, though beautiful, is ashamed to come out in the day, and why the other birds – the sparrows, robins, finches and such – shun her company at all costs, though the eagle is not afraid of her.

In the days of the Early Race, when the boundaries between humanity and the natural world were fluid and animals had not yet lost their personhood, a youth was born to a cruel woman. In the customs of their tribe, only the mother could name the child, provide him with hunting weapons, and grant consent to his marriage. This mother, however, withheld these privileges from her son. Unyielding to the entreaties of her kin, she refused to bestow a name upon the boy, depriving him of his rightful place in the tribe.

Undeterred, the boy’s uncle, a sorcerer of great cunning named Dendrogenes, devised a plan to circumvent the mother’s obstinacy. He disguised himself and the young boy as strangers and they then visited the cruel woman, awaiting the moment when she would inadvertently name the boy. Fate intervened during a passing hunt when the boy skilfully struck the quarry with a stone that he picked up and threw. The mother, in awe of his dexterity, exclaimed Kalokopos (“good shot”), unknowingly bestowing a name upon her son.

This cunning sorcerer continued his ruse, magically disguising himself and Kalakopos again to visit the cruel mother. This time, Dendrogenes sought by stealth to cause her to provide the boy with hunting weapons. During their encounter, he brought down an enchantment upon the camp, making it seem that it was being attacked by lions. The sorcerer offered to aid in the defence if the mother could supply them with spears. She did so, and the enchantment dissipated, revealing that she had unwittingly granted her son the coveted hunting weapons.

But Dendrogenes’s endeavours did not end there. He implored the cruel mother to allow Kalakopos, now grown to manhood, to take a wife, yet her heart remained unyielding. “He may marry no woman born of a man or woman,” she proclaimed. Undeterred, Dendrogenes, skilled in the arts of magic, fashioned a wife for the young man from beautiful, sweet-smelling flowers. Thus, beautiful Antholepra became the wife of the youth. But while Dendrogenes had included all the ingredients necessary to make her beautiful, he omitted to include those that would ensure her strength of character.

Antholepra’s loyalty proved fickle, as she succumbed to the temptations of an affair with another man, then, what was far worse, she plotted to kill Kalakopos. Seeking to uncover her husband’s vulnerability, she cunningly tricked him into revealing the one way he could be harmed. He revealed that his Achilles’ heel, as it were, was that he could only be hurt if he was attacked while standing with one foot on a tub and the other on a goat’s back by the river.

Surprised by the strange nature of this vulnerability, Antholepra expressed disbelief that such a condition would ever naturally come about, and that he could therefore rest assured of his invulnerability. However, she conspired to exploit this invulnerability along with her lover. She pretended not to understand, so as to convince him to demonstrate the peculiar stance. So Kalakops set up a tub by the river and brought a goat and then demonstrated the stance that would make him vulnerable.

Exploiting this vulnerability, the other man, hiding on the other side of the river, hurled a spear at him, causing a grievous wound. The wounded Kalakopos transformed into an eagle and ascended into the sky, escaping the pain below. Dendrogenes, with his mystical abilities, then restored the wounded eagle to human form. However, Antholepra’s fate was sealed. In retribution for her betrayal, the sorcerer transformed her into a bird. Feathers grew all over her, and though she retained her beauty, out of shame at what she had done she would from that moment on only emerge under the cover of night. Shunned by the other birds for her unfaithfulness, she moaned through the darkness, a haunting lament for the choices that had forever altered her destiny. And this is why owls still behave in this way to this day.

And so, Callias, I present to you this tale of love, betrayal, and transformation, a story whispered by the wind through the ancient trees of the Pelasgian lands. May it serve as a reminder of the intricate threads woven into the fabric of existence and the consequences that accompany the choices we make.

She stands beneath the Moon's soft gleam, 
A flower maid, a spectral dream. 
A wondrous sight, a face so fair, 
A fragrant bloom beyond compare. 

Yet through the night, her mournful cries, 
Still echo through the starlit skies. 
A tragic tale, now veiled in night, 
She goes in shame in feathered flight.

Until the next letter, my esteemed friend.

Warm regards,

Pseudohesiod

The Mystic Revel Fades: Newly Translated Evandros Scroll Reveals Epistolary Gem and Touching Poem from Callias [* Newsfiction *]

by dawnraver, posted in ancient civilisations, classical civilisations, classical culture, classical tradition, rewilding, Uncategorized

A sensational discovery in a remote cave within the heart of Lybia this year unearthed a hidden treasure: the ancient Evandros Scroll. Remarkably, this enigmatic artefact has offered a fresh glimpse into the mystical world of the Dionysian Mysteries and the profound experiences of Callias, as penned in a letter to his uncle, Pseudohesiod.

The most recently translated section of the scroll contains an intriguing letter from Callias, replying to his uncle, brimming with profound insights and spiritual revelations. It delves into his personal experiences of the Dionysian trance dance, where he has danced and fasted and felt himself to be in the sacred company of Terpsichore, the Muse of Dancing.

Callias’ letter also contains a poignant poem, “The Mystic Revel Fades,” which encapsulates the essence of his trance experiences, his fleeting connection with Terpsichore, and his longing for the next ecstatic rendezvous. Callias describes the union of fasting, dance, and the ecstatic trance, and his emotions upon returning to the mortal world, promising to revel in the sacred dance more soon. As a culmination, the poem concludes with a heartfelt farewell to Terpsichore, encapsulating the ethereal beauty of the dance and a deep yearning for its return.

The Evandros Scroll, already celebrated for its historical and mythological significance, takes on new importance as this section reveals the profoundly personal and spiritual dimension of the Dionysian Mysteries, leaving scholars and enthusiasts eager to explore its mystical revelations further.

The Letter and Poem of Callias

My Dearest Uncle Pseudohesiod,

I hope this letter finds you in the best of health and high spirits. I want to extend my deepest gratitude for the recent letters you’ve shared. Your revelations about the Pelasgian stories, the sacred Dionysian traditions, and the celestial connection with the stars have been a delight, and I have hungrily absorbed their wisdom.

You have so vividly described the Early Time when animals spoke and walked like humans while the first people bore animal-like features. I was moved by the narrative of the transgression that led these people-like animals to fully transform into animals, while the half-goat satyr people and the half-horse silen people, not having committed the same crime, were spared from this transformation but lost their animal attributes, and how they – or rather we – retained a sacred trance dance is truly captivating. This timeless dance connects us to the ancient spirits, bridging the gap between the Early Race and the current age.

Your astronomical insights into the Dionysian procession, the placement of celestial figures in the stars, and the deep symbolism of this I found particularly enlightening. You described the Dionysian procession, where Dionysos and Ariadne ride in a chariot drawn by lions with their retinue of followers behind them, and how this was placed in the stars. The lions pulling the chariot are Leo, you revealed, Dionsysos is Boötes,  Ariadne sits beneath her crown, which is the Corona Borealis, the serpent-bearing maenad is Ophiuchus, behind which is Silenus who is Sagittarius, behind which is Aegipan who is Capricorn, behind which is the bearer of the great mixing jar, who is Aquarius. Your letter also noted that here Ariadne represents the initiate, and the ascension into the timeless, fixed constellations represents how the state of consciousness of the initiate in the Dionysian trance dance rises out of the normal mundane perception of time.  It’s fascinating to consider the transcendence of ordinary time during the Dionysian trance dance, connecting initiates to the primal time before time—an exquisite revelation.

I heeded your counsel with great enthusiasm and seized the opportunity to partake in the Dionysian trance dance. My experiences have been nothing short of transformational. Fasting for a day and night, then dancing in the first light of dawn, I felt the ancient spirit of the Dionysian thiasos envelop me. It is as though Terpsichore, the Muse of Dance herself, guided me into her sacred realm. The challenge for me now, upon concluding these dances, lies in finding a gentle return to the mundane world, without yearning too longingly for the continued sweet embrace of the trance, the realm beyond time.

With your wisdom as my guide, I composed a poem that attempts to capture the essence of my newfound experiences. I’ve enclosed it within this letter below. I look forward to hearing your thoughts and hope to discuss it further when we meet.

The Mystic Revel Fades*


But Farewell sweet Terpsichore,
Our twilight hour has passed,
And I must end my dancing now,
And end my fast.

For matters of the day now call me,
Back across the sea,
But I will not forget the hour,
I danced with thee.

For one full day we kept the fast,
With fragrant herbal tea,
Thin soup of vegetables with spice,
Fresh greenery.

Well-slept, we woke and rose in bright,
Anticipating mood,
And then the rich, dark roasted bean,
in water brewed.

And so in pure and foodless joy,
We joined the maenads’ dance,
From out the eastern heaven came,
Ecstatic trance.

As Rose-Dawn flushed the marbles,
Of the three-fold goddess Grace,
(Giving, Getting, Giving Back, 
In one embrace).

We wove our steps around them,
On the flow’ry dancing floor,
Giving back by sending out,
Our grateful awe.

So farewell Fields Elysian.
How lightly we did tread.
In circles round the dance-ground.
Of the happy dead!

While fed on beauty only, 
How we circled hand in hand!
But I am called by business,
In the mortals’ land.

So farewell sweet Terpsichore,
Until some other day,
For I must loose my grip now,
Pull my hand away.
The echoes of the Revel fade,
To soft and softer strain,
‘Though I must sail away,
I will come back again.

So Farewell fair Persephone,
It won’t be long to wait,
Until I walk the Sacred Way,
And pass the gate.

Where opens up the holy view,
As mental curtains part,
And deep Soul-shocking Beauty,
Floods into the heart.

The time between is short,
Before this very week is past,
I once again will burn away
Dull sloth with fast.

And then, well-rested, rise and rave.
Dream-healed, in Twilight’s space.
By thy sweet lyre entranced,
Terpsichore, in grace.

So farewell sweet Terpsichore,
I can no longer stall,
For yonder stands the Ferry Man,
I hear him call.

This dawn dance is a treasure,
That’ll I cherish with the rest,
But I must leave the Islands,
Of the hazy West.

So farewell to the meadows,
Where our steps the wild thyme pressed,
And farewell to the grasses,
Which our shins caressed.

And farewell to those shorelines,
Kissed by Zephyr from the West,
For I must leave these islands now,
Where dwell the Bless’d.

So farewell sweet Terpsichore,
Our twilight hour has passed,
And I must end my dancing now,
And end my fast.

Matters of the day now call me,
Back across the sea,
But I will not forget the hour,
I danced with thee.

“The Ferry Man is Calling” – Callias with Terpsichore, the Muse of Dancing and Lyric Poetry

* AI not used at all in the composition of this poem. (AI has been used for the images, and to assist with giving the required stylistic feel to the rest of the letter, but not the poem.)

Breaking Discoveries from the Enigmatic Evandros Scroll: the Pelasgian version of the Hare and the Tortoise

by dawnraver, posted in ancient civilisations, classical civilisations, classical culture, classical tradition, Uncategorized

In the latest triumph of linguistic archaeology, a hitherto untranslated section of the enigmatic Evandros Scroll has been unveiled, opening a window into the mysteries of antiquity. This remarkable revelation comes as a result of painstaking efforts by scholars and researchers, further unravelling the secrets held within the ancient manuscript, and promising to reshape our understanding of the past. This translation is included here below.

The newly deciphered segment unravels a previously unknown version of the Tortoise and the Hare, a narrative with remarkable parallels to tales found among various hunter-gatherer societies. This story intertwines with myths involving the Moon and the Hare, highlighting the enigmatic symbolism of celestial bodies and the hare’s role in delivering messages that shape the course of events in the mortal realm. It challenges our understanding of ancient storytelling and its recurring motifs, inviting us to explore the mysteries of human existence through a fresh lens. [* Newsfiction *]

My dearest Callias,

I trust this letter finds you in good health and high spirits. Your recent epistle reached me in due time, and I was both delighted and touched by your kind invitation to join you in Athens for the upcoming Greater Dionysia festival. It is with great enthusiasm that I anticipate the opportunity to partake in such cultural celebrations. However, I must confess, the competitive nature of these festivals perplexes me. Are the performances themselves not sufficient to captivate the audience without the added tension of rivalry? Is the intrinsic beauty of the drama not worthy of appreciation in its own right, irrespective of the commendation or criticism of the masses? Yet, this curiosity brought to mind an enlightening story I had the privilege of hearing during my sojourn among the Pelasgians.

During a quiet evening, while sharing the warmth of a crackling fire with my Pelasgian friend Rhodokerne. My Pelasgian companions wove wonderful tales, and I was moved by an urge to reciprocate their stories. I chose to narrate Aesop’s fable of the Tortoise and the Hare. The Pelasgians, however, responded in a manner that both surprised and enlightened me. They remarked, “Oh, you Greeks! Always immersed in your competitions and athletic contests! You are mythological amnesiacs, for you have forgotten the true essence of this most ancient of stories.” My curiosity piqued, I inquired further, and it was then that Rhodokerne recounted a tale that has stayed with me, for it carries a profound lesson and an eternal reminder of the human spirit’s resilience.

According to the Pelasgians, the divine assembly of gods and goddesses once convened in their celestial camp to deliberate the nature of mortal existence. The Olympian deities, including Zeus, Athena, and Apollo, gathered to discuss the cyclical journey of the human soul and the moments of forgetfulness that occur during the transition from one life to the next. Some deities, like wise Athena, thought that mortals ought to possess knowledge of past lives and previous experiences. However, Apollo, the god of light and music, expressed concern that such recollection might foster longing for individuals from previous lives, thus hindering one’s ability to fully engage in their current existence. It was also feared that the continuity of memories from past lives might render mortals incapable of adapting to the diverse roles and experiences each new existence brought. So, he thought it essential that the dead continued to drink from the Spring of Forgetfulness before passing into their next life.

The gods and goddesses covened in their Olympian camp

Zeus then reminded the group of gods and goddesses how while he had been observing the realm of mortals closely he had seen how in one of the mortal villages, the denizens had begun to contemplate death and consider their own mortality. The idea that death might signify the final end for their souls had started to permeate their thoughts, creating a sense of desolation and futility. If souls were bound to extinguish like a fleeting spark, what purpose could be found in acquiring knowledge and evolving spiritually? This philosophical shift posed a grave risk; without the motivating prospect of learning life’s invaluable lessons that could shape their future lives, the villagers faced the peril of repeating the same errors across their reincarnations, an endless cycle of stagnation. This, said Zeus, would be a boring narrative to have to watch from the heavens. This mortal contemplation was a dangerous precipice, he said, and it was in response to this challenge that the deities reached a unanimous decision to resolve this quandary.

A subtle yet profound sign would be inscribed in the heavens, one that hinted at the eternal nature of the soul while allowing mortals to progress unburdened by the past. Thus, the celestial image of a hare – renowned for its crafty trickery, feigning death to escape danger – was etched upon the face of the Moon. So the hare symbolised death that is only apparent, but not real. The Moon itself also holds the essence of this symbolism, as it appears to decay away to nothing each month, only to resurge and grow anew. So the symbolism is double. This cosmic coincidence, where two symbols representing rebirth converged in the night sky in the image of the Moon, was intended as a powerful sign. The Hare’s presence on the Moon was a reminder to mortals that, despite the illusion of death, life would always return, and that their souls were eternal. It served as a celestial marker of hope and a cosmic reassurance that death was but a fleeting illusion in the grand tapestry of existence.

The villagers indeed witnessed the change in the Moon, but its meaning eluded them. Perplexed, they stood beneath the celestial sign, contemplating its significance. Meanwhile, as the people pondered the enigma of the Hare in the Moon, Tortoise, clad in his unhurried disposition, roamed the countryside collecting herbs. It was during this gentle stroll that an otherworldly presence descended from the heavens to manifest itself before him. The divine messenger, Hermes, having donned the guise of a mantis person, revealed to Tortoise the profound meaning of the lunar emblem. With whispered words of wisdom, the Mantis informed Tortoise of the eternal nature of souls and the celestial sign’s intent, a sign to reassure mortals that the passage of death was not an ultimate end, but rather a part of the cyclical rebirth and an everlasting continuum. Tortoise began his journey back to the village to bestow upon the people the enlightenment they so earnestly sought, unravelling the cosmic conundrum of the Hare in the Moon.

During his journey back to the village, Tortoise met Hare, to whom he eagerly shared the divine message he had received from the Mantis regarding the image of the hare on the Moon. As Tortoise explained its significance, a growing sense of trepidation filled Hare’s swift heart. He despised the notion of sharing the Mantis’s message, as it implied that hares, like himself, were known for playing the trick of pretending to be dead to escape danger. The revelation was unwelcome, for if he divulged this information, he would no longer have the advantage of employing this sly ruse when facing adversaries. As Hare pondered his dilemma, an alternative narrative began to take shape in his mind.

Arriving back at the village before Tortoise, Hare addressed the villagers with an air of self-importance. He proclaimed, “Dear villagers, I bring you a message of great import concerning the mysterious image that now graces the face of the Moon. The gods themselves have informed me that this celestial marvel is no mere coincidence; it is a tribute to my incredible swiftness and the numerous victories I have secured in various foot races. It is a symbol that shall immortalize my unmatched greatness for all eternity, so that future generations may look upon this emblem and know of my remarkable feats.”

Hare continued, “Although we shall be gone when we die, I take solace in knowing that my memory shall endure, forever etched in the visage of the Moon. As you gaze upon it, remember that my speed and unparalleled achievements have been acknowledged and preserved by the divine forces above, ensuring that the tale of my exceptional abilities will be shared with generations yet unborn.”

As Hare continued to bask in his self-proclaimed glory, in a voice filled with theatrical grandeur, he exclaimed, “Bring forth Pindar, the poet of poets! I, Hare, shall commission an ode so splendid, it will outshine the very stars in the heavens. My epic tale of unmatched swiftness and boundless victories deserves no less than the immortal verses of the finest wordsmith of our age. It will be, no doubt, something like:

“I sing of Hare, the fleet of foot,

Whose fame long lingers, resolute.

So now, above, he finds his place,

Upon the Moon’s eternal face.”

A melancholic mood descended upon the villagers, who retreated to their dwellings, disheartened by Hare’s version of events. But amidst the despondency, Field Cricket alone, in his wisdom, stayed out beneath the stars and the Moon, questioning the veracity of Hare’s account, seeing Hare to be the  boastful fool that he was. Beneath the expanse of a moonlit sky, Field Cricket found himself in solitary contemplation. The celestial bodies held their secrets, and he pondered the mysteries of the universe, knowing that hidden truths lay beyond.

In the quietude of that sacred moment, with the cosmos as his companion, Field Cricket sensed a peculiar disquiet within him. Deep down, he couldn’t shake the feeling that Hare’s explanation regarding the enigmatic transformation of the Moon was incomplete, perhaps even misleading.

As Field Cricket continued his celestial meditation, under the canopy of countless stars, a figure slowly emerged from the shadows. It was Tortoise, who had been gradually making his way back to the village all this time. Field Cricket turned his attention to the approaching Tortoise, an air of anticipation enveloping the night.

It was at this juncture, as the starlit heavens bore witness, that Tortoise recounted the tale revealed to him by the enigmatic Mantis during his quiet journey. It was then that Field Cricket understood that his intuition had served him well, and he marvelled at the divine coincidence imprinted upon the Moon’s face, a symbol of unity, eternal renewal, and the cosmic dance that transcended time itself.

To this day, Field Cricket serenades the night with his sonorous song, urging all who listen to gaze at the Moon, to perceive the Hare etched into its luminous face, and to understand its profound significance. Thus, the celestial tableau continues to inspire mortals to transcend the boundaries of their transient existence, reminding us all that, just as the Moon waxes and wanes, so too does the human soul persist, journeying through cycles of rebirth and renewal.

With these thoughts and memories, I eagerly anticipate the day when we may converse in person. Until then, my dearest nephew, continue your studies and embrace the mysteries of life, for they shall illuminate the path to enlightenment.

With affection and anticipation,

Pseudohesiod

Perseus, Andromeda and the Rain Bull: Newly Unveiled Scroll Section Offers a Hunter-Gatherer Twist on Greek Mythology (newsfiction)

by dawnraver, posted in ancient civilisations, classical civilisations, classical culture, classical tradition, rewilding

In a recent revelation sure to send ripples through the annals of history, a hitherto enigmatic section of the Evandros Scroll, discovered just last year, has been successfully translated. This newfound segment presents a unique take on Greek mythology, positioning the legendary figures of Perseus and Andromeda against the backdrop of a hunter-gatherer society, shedding new light on their timeless narrative. This revelation breathes fresh life into the age-old tale, challenging conventional perspectives on these iconic heroes.

The remote cave in Libya where the scroll was discovered also features a number of amazing rock art images. With several sections of the scroll now translated, it is becoming apparent that the images depict scenes from the narratives, and are now thought to have been made by whoever left the scroll here.

[*Newsfiction – see footnote* ]

Pseudohesiod’s Letter to Callias: An Enigmatic Rite and the Tale of Perseus and Andromeda

My Dearest Callias,

As I embark upon yet another letter to you, the ardor of our shared journey through the labyrinth of ancestral knowledge continues to burn as fervently as the undying flames of Etna. With bated breath, I unravel the mysteries of life and the legacies of our ancestors to illuminate the corridors of your understanding.

The noble Pelasgians, with whom I have immersed myself during my wandering sojourns, cherish the profound significance of transition rites. These are not mere ceremonial trifles but rather sacred rituals that mark the crossing of a threshold from adolescence to adulthood. It is in the forest of maidenhood’s emergence that the young ladies find their place. The maiden, untouched by the world’s sorrows, is isolated within a humble hut, her sanctuary, where she partakes only of specific foods, lovingly delivered by her mother. It is a time when her gaze, should it fall upon game animals, is believed to beset them with elusiveness, making their hunt more arduous. For any onlooker, the risk is great, as they may themselves transmute into creatures or solid stone.

Should the sacred bounds of her hut be breached, and the taboos broken by ingesting the forbidden morsels, the wrath of the water god awaits, his aqueous grasp poised to sweep her away into the embrace of an underwater afterlife. The Pelasgians, my dear nephew, have their own rendering of the tale of Actaeon, in which a careless glance cast by him upon a maiden who should have remained ensconced within her hut during the transitional rite results in his transformation into a stag.

Now, as the clouds of your curiosity unfurl, I shall venture into the heart of this missive, wherein the Pelasgians entwine their rich lore with the tapestry of another cherished myth. The tale of Perseus and Andromeda, reimagined by these people of the hunter-gatherer realm, unfolds as follows:

A youthful maiden named Andromeda, enmeshed in the delicate cocoon of her own transition rite, finds herself within the confines of seclusion. She stands at the precipice of womanhood, and the delicate balance of her existence teeters on the cusp of transformation. Yet, a tumultuous decision lays before her. The water god, shrouded in the form of the Rain Bull, casts his longing gaze upon Andromeda, and his call beckons her to his side. Her spirit, resolute and unbending, defies his entreaties. In response, the celestial canvas darkens, and a tempest gathers in the heavens.

Andromeda, sensing the peril of her actions upon her entire tribe, abandons the sanctuary of her hut to tread toward the waterhole. In her young heart, she hopes to assuage the impending calamity. Yet, salvation lies in the hands of a fledgling hero, Perseus. Swift as the coursing winds, he understands the secret that can subdue the Rain Bull—a certain aromatic herb, gifted by the Earth herself.

Without a moment’s hesitation, Perseus embarks upon a perilous journey through the labyrinthine wilderness, guided by the wisdom of the ancients. He retrieves the herb, cradling its fragrant essence in his hands. With determination etched upon his noble countenance, he hastens to the waterhole. The dangers that await him are not shrouded in darkness but rather cast into the piercing light of revelation. Perseus comprehends that even a fleeting glance into the eyes of Andromeda would result in his own petrification.

Upon reaching the waterhole, Perseus employs a cunning stratagem. He gazes not upon the maiden herself but upon her reflection in the serene pool, thereby shielding himself from the power that courses through her gaze. His voice, a symphony of pleas, echoes in the stillness of that fateful moment. He entreats Andromeda not to immerse herself in the watery abyss, for her sacrifice is not the key to salvation. With unflinching resolve, he takes the plunge, his sinewy form slicing through the crystalline depths.

In his grasp, the aromatic herb awaits its moment of triumph. It is through this humble offering that Perseus coaxes the Rain Bull from tempestuous rage to tranquil calm. The creature, now stilled, acquiesces to the allure of the herb, descending to the depths of the pool and laying to rest the raging storm that had threatened devastation.

And, my dear Callias, as the Pelasgians recount their lore, they hold in great reverence the celestial tableau that they believe is a testament to this very moment of bravery and sacrifice. They declare that the image of Perseus, descending with the aromatic herb to offer it to the Rain Bull, was immortalized in the heavens above. This scene, they say, now graces the firmament as the neighbouring constellations of Perseus, Andromeda, and Taurus, forever reminding us of the unwavering courage and love that can transcend both time and reality. It is a poignant reminder that our tales, whether inscribed in the scrolls of history or etched in the stars themselves, endure as an eternal testament to the indomitable spirit of humanity.

Andromeda returns to her sacred sanctuary, where she resumes her ritual of seclusion, and her passage into womanhood is thus complete. In time, the union of Perseus and Andromeda is consummated, and their love becomes an indomitable testament to the enduring spirit of humanity’s heroes. This, my dear Callias, is the Pelasgian rendition of the age-old tale, one that weaves the threads of transition, sacrifice, and love into the tapestry of existence.

May this revelation spark the fires of your curiosity, igniting your thirst for knowledge as you embark on your own heroic journey. With love and boundless affection,

Pseudohesiod

*Footnote

Of course, this is “newsfiction” – I have invented this story of the discovery of the scroll, and indeed I have invented the figure of Pseudiohesiod as well as his nephew, and furthermore the entire series of letters is my own creation, using AI to help with the stylistic aspects, to help create the veneer of authenticity. You might be wondering what inspired me to recast a series of Greek myths in a hunter gatherer context. I am still trying to put my finger on my own motivations, to understand my own muse as it were, but I think have some insight into why it fascinates me.

I have long been a fan of ancient Greek mythology, but in recent years have developed a great fascination with the stories of hunter gatherer peoples such as the “San” peoples of South Africa, as well as the indigenous Australians. Then I noticed opportunities to marry the traditions. To do so, is in fact not un-Greek – the Greek empire was just that – an Emporium – a place of trade, which included the trade of ideas just as much as goods. What I am doing is just a continuation of that process – stories from afar drifting into the Greek marketplace and being taken up and used.

Though we don’t know for certain what stories hunter gatherer people were telling back in the time of Ancient Greece, there is nothing in the tales that we do know that could not have formed part of stories that were being told by hunter gatherer peoples at that time. The Greeks had a method of dressing up their tales, using rhetorical motifs, the classical style, and this can be applied to the core plots of other stories. Imagine if the Greeks had come across the stories of hunter gatherers during their travels and then given them the Greek treatment. For all we know, some of the famous Greek tales could have had this type of non-agricultural origin.

Taking themes from hunter gatherer myths and fusing them with the classical tradition allows us to make stories that could have been created in ancient times, if only these groups of people had met and interacted at that time.

This gives fresh blood to the classical tradition. Without such fresh blood, a tradition can ossify. The same old stories, again and again. Pump the old classical tradition with new blood, and suddenly it comes back to life. It becomes a living tradition. I am fascinated with the idea of the classical tradition not as a dead museum piece, but as an ongoing living tradition. Why not?

Another reason I am attracted to this process is that it makes a point: there is a tendency to view the tales of classical mythology as artefacts of High Culture, and to view the mythologies of hunter gatherers as some how ‘primitive’ by comparison. But the actual stories, once you get beneath the classical rhetoric, are of a similar type. Once you get under the skin of the hunter gatherer narratives, understanding them ontologically, from the perspective of their own way of being in the world, you realise how they are no less engaging and sophisticated in their own way. My aim is to demonstrate this by giving them a Greek makeover.

More generally, I have a very strong dislike of the idea that civilisation began with agriculture. This is simply not true. Mythology, painting, dance, storytelling, song, decorative artefacts – these are although things that human hunter gatherers have invented time and again without any contact with agriculturalists.

These stories from the fictional “Evandros Scroll” are my own inventions, but they resonate, I hope, with a deeper truth: culture existed long before agriculture came on the scene. We cannot now return to pre-agricultural times, but we should move beyond the idea that dominating the natural world is a prerequisite of civilised living.

The Theseus Myth, Rewilded

by dawnraver, posted in ancient civilisations, classical civilisations, classical culture, classical tradition, inspiration, rewilding

[*Newsfiction* – see footnote*]

March 2023 marked a pivotal moment in recent archaeological research as Dr. Callista Evandros and her dedicated team unearthed a hidden treasure concealed within a remote Libyan cave. The enigmatic artefact, adorned with inscriptions that defied casual scrutiny, demanded the application of cutting-edge technology to unlock its long-guarded secrets.

The heart of this ancient manuscript primarily comprises a series of letters, penned by a mysterious figure named Pseudohesiod, addressed lovingly to his nephew, Callias. In these epistles, the sagacious uncle passionately implores his city-dwelling kinsman to temporarily escape the clutches of urban hustle and seek refuge in the tranquility of rustic surroundings. Pseudohesiod’s teachings, interwoven with the essence of ancestral wisdom, form a tapestry of profound insights into the enigmatic mysteries of life.

Amid this treasure trove of knowledge, certain sections unveil alternative renditions of iconic Greek myths, shunning the familiar agricultural backdrop for a hunter-gatherer setting. Pseudohesiod lays claim to his immersion within a tribe he identifies as the Pelasgians, from whom he allegedly gleaned these unconventional tales. Additionally, he attributes some narratives to direct inspiration from “the Pelasgian Muse.”

Intriguingly, a new segment has recently emerged from this ancient scroll. Academics have aptly dubbed it “The Theseus Myth, Rewilded” due to its innovative portrayal of the well-known legend, transplanted into the domain of hunter-gatherer societies. Below, we present a translation of this captivating narrative.



Dearest Callias,

May this epistle reach your venerable self in the best of health and high spirits. I pen these words with an eagerness that can no longer be contained, for I am compelled to recount a rendition of the myth of Theseus, one bestowed upon me during my recent sojourn amongst the Pelasgians, those intrepid souls who subsist through hunting and gathering. This tale, resplendent with valour, adventure, and the indomitable spirit of heroes, has descended through the annals of generations like a precious heirloom.

As I journeyed through the rugged landscapes, my wandering eyes fell upon a striking tableau etched in ochre hues upon a natural rock face. This masterpiece of rustic art depicted a figure kneeling, endeavouring to lift a great rock…

…while nearby was a human form with the visage of a bull.

Intrigued and desiring insight into the enigmatic composition, I sought out one of the locals, a guardian of the ancient lore, who alone possessed the knowledge to unlock the secrets of this artistry. It was this sage from the Pelasgian tribe who revealed to me the sacred story that I shall now endeavour to impart to you.

In primordial epochs, during the First Creation, or that which the ancients termed the Time Before Time, creatures bore an eerie semblance to humanity, walking upright and engaging in articulate discourse. The progenitors of humankind, meanwhile, displayed a curious fusion of human and bestial attributes, adorned with horns and hooves. In this bygone era, the Cow People of the Early Race stood as human as could be, and among them, a man, Bull by name, some call him Minotaur.


One fateful day, while endeavouring to gather sustenance, a party of intrepid souls found themselves ensnared within a labyrinthine woodland of paramount intrigue, christened ‘Labyrinthos.’ Rumor had it that within these arboreal depths resided fruits of unparalleled lusciousness. Yet, the tangled mazes and bewitching pathways concealed treacherous perils, ensnaring many a soul in their enigmatic grip, never to emerge henceforth.


Undeterred, they ventured forth into the heart of Labyrinthos. As the unwary wanderers ventured deeper into the emerald confines, Bull, cunning as he was menacing, beheld their approach and let forth a mellifluous melody of mischief to himself:

“Through yonder woods, they venture near,
A savory feast for me, I hear.
With footsteps light and hearts so gay,
The eating will be good today.”



As Bull beheld their eager strides drawing them ever closer, he sang once more, seeming to sing of the legendary fruits of the forest but really thinking of a fouler feast:

“Come hither, friends, do not dismay,
For there’s a banquet on display.
The sweetest fruits to take away,
The eating will be good today.”

Bull lured them in deeper to a place where his crime might not be seen then descended upon them, ruthlessly subduing and devouring the hapless wanderers.

On the morrow, another party embarked on a foraging sojourn into the same unfathomable forest. Seeing them, Bull once more sang:

“Through yonder woods, they venture near,
A savory feast for me, I hear.
With footsteps light and hearts so gay,
The eating will be good today.”

And as they drew near, again he sang:

“Come hither, friends, do not dismay,
For there’s a banquet on display.
The sweetest fruits to take away,
The eating will be good today.”

Then the fearsome Minotaur once more with the same dreadful appetite fell upon them.

Though this occurred in the depths of the forest, Dionysos, through divine inspiration granted in the realm of dreams, became aware of these events.

The divine Dionysos sought a mortal hero to undertake the harrowing quest that awaited. He devised a challenge to discern the one worthy of such an undertaking.

Upon a rocky precipice bathed in the soft glow of twilight, there was a colossal stone. He proclaimed to the heavens and the earth, “To find the hero, a feat of strength and character must be achieved. He who can lift this mighty rock shall be marked as the one destined to face the mysteries of Labyrinthos.”

In the midst of the sacred clearing where the colossal stone lay, Theseus stood, his spirit clouded by doubt. It was there that a wise curing shaman, perceptive to the dimmed light of Theseus’ soul, approached him.

Shaman: “Noble Theseus, I sense a shadow upon your heart. What ails you, brave one?”

Theseus: “Oh, venerable shaman, my spirit is besieged by a haunting self-doubt. I bear a wound, not of the body, but of the soul. When I was but a child, I wandered far from the tribe and became lost, venturing into the lands of the Cow People.”

Shaman: “Tell me, my son, what transpired among the Cow People that plagues your thoughts?”

Theseus: “They taunted me, mocked me, and jeered at my misfortune. They called me foolish for not knowing my way back, though I was but a child. Their cruel words were a veil for their own shame and inadequacy. I felt so foolish that I could not even shed tears, and so I buried that pain deep within.”

Shaman: “Ah, Theseus, you see, it is because you buried that pain rather than released it, that the wound to your self-image festers still. But I shall offer you the path to healing, my dear one. When the next curing dance is held by our tribe, you must seize it as an opportunity to dive deep into the pool of your feelings, to release what has long been held captive.”


Theseus: “But, wise shaman, how shall I do this?”

Shaman: “You must shake, you must stamp, you must quiver – releasing the feelings you’ve kept hidden. Dive deeper, and you shall encounter not just the painful, but the ecstatically joyful, feelings that you’ve shunned for their intensity. Embrace them, and you shall rediscover the lost treasures of character and self-image that will fuel your miraculous success.”

With a gentle hand on Theseus’ shoulder, the shaman continued, “In that dance, you will behold a crystal of light, a source of boundless power. Grasp it, Theseus, and place it within your heart. Let it shine with the brilliance of your truest self.”

Theseus, his spirit stirred by the words of the shaman, vowed to embark on this transformative journey, seeking not only the strength of body but the healing of his wounded soul.

A few days later, the dance took place. As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting the hunter-gatherer’s camp in the warm embrace of twilight, the tribe gathered in a sacred clearing. A massive bonfire roared to life, its flickering flames dancing like spirits conjured from the depths of the earth. The rhythmic beat of primitive drums and the haunting tones of wooden flutes filled the air, weaving an enchanting melody that beckoned the spirits of the forest to bear witness.

In the center of the clearing, Theseus, adorned with the sacred garb of the healing dance, stood, his heart a tumultuous sea of emotions. The shaman, draped in robes of the purest white, stepped forward, his eyes reflecting the ancient wisdom passed down through generations. The tribe watched in reverent silence, knowing that this dance was no mere performance but a sacred rite of transformation.

The shaman raised his arms, and with a voice that seemed to resonate with the very soul of the earth, he chanted incantations that called forth the dormant emotions locked within Theseus’ heart. As the dance began, the drumbeats grew ever more intense, matching the rhythm of Theseus’ heart.

Theseus moved with a grace that belied his inner turmoil, allowing the memories of his childhood among the Cow People to surface. With each step, he began to release the feelings that had been buried for so long. He stamped his feet, shaking off the shadows of doubt and humiliation. He quivered with intensity, and the gathered tribe felt the emotional storm swirling around him.

Deeper and deeper he dived into his own emotions, feeling the pain, the shame, and the anger. The tribe watched in awe as Theseus gave voice to his inner turmoil, the campfire casting flickering shadows across his form.

And then, as the dance reached its zenith, Theseus discovered the feelings he had long avoided – the ecstatically joyful ones, born from the realization that he was stronger than the pain, that he had found his true self. He moved in a frenzy of joy, dancing with abandon, his spirit shining like a radiant sun.

The shaman, eyes alight with ancient knowing, beckoned Theseus to the center of the clearing. As the drumbeats reached a fevered crescendo, Theseus saw it – the crystal of light, the source of boundless power. With trembling hands, he grasped it and placed it deep within his being.

The tribe erupted into cheers and applause, for they had witnessed the transformation of their hero. Theseus had embraced the full spectrum of his emotions, and in doing so, he had unearthed the lost treasures of his character and self-image. He stood as a testament to the power of the healing dance and the strength of the human spirit, ready to face his destiny with newfound purpose and resilience.

The rock, meanwhile, grand and imposing, seemed to mock those who approached it. Days went by. Many attempted to lift it, but their efforts proved in vain. It appeared that the stone was destined to remain unmoved, a challenge unmet. The hopeful and the valiant gave their all, but the rock’s weight remained a formidable barrier.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting its last golden rays upon the gathered assembly, a figure emerged from the shadows. It was Theseus, his resolve etched upon his countenance, determination burning within his eyes. He was young, but was at an age where he was ready to prove himself no longer a boy. With a primal strength welling from the depths of his being, he set his sinewy hands upon the monumental stone and, with a herculean effort, raised it from its ancient resting place.


To the astonishment of all who beheld the sight, beneath the stone lay a cache of hunting accoutrements – a bow, arrows, spears, running sandals, a quiver, and a meat bag. No-one could fathom the mystery of how these came to be there, beneath a rock that had not moved in living memory. Just as bewildering was the way that Theseus’s name, though he had it from birth, suddenly had the explanation of its meaning, for it means Tokens Deposited, and now he had found these deposited tokens denoting his heroic nature.The divine Dionysos, watching with a knowing smile, recognized the hero he had sought.

Theseus had met the challenge set by the god, and in his hands, he held the tools that would enable him to embark on the perilous journey into Labyrinthos, a journey that would forever etch his name into the annals of heroic legends.

Under the auspices of Dionysos, Theseus was dispatched to face the labyrinthine labyrinth of Labyrinthos, where, once more, Bull presented himself. However, Theseus displayed unwavering courage and outwitted the beast. He shot him with an arrow laced with a sleep drug then tracked him.

Deep within the labyrinthine depths of Labyrinthos, where the towering trees cast long shadows and the very air was thick with intrigue, Theseus ventured forth in pursuit of the sinister Bull. With every cautious step and vigilant gaze, he sought the beast that had eluded so many, vowing to overcome this relentless foe.

As he moved through the forest, weaving between gnarled tree trunks and stepping lightly over fallen leaves, he sung his own version of Bull’s song:

“Through this wood, I tread my way,
I follow Bull, a fearsome fray.
With courage steeled, do not dismay,
The eating will be good today.”

Eventually Bull was overcome by the drug and fell down on the forest floor. Theseus securely bound him with twine and dragged him out of the labyrinth, skilfully retracing his own footsteps to find the way that so many others had sought in vain.

Once he was out of the forest, Dionysos materialized and cast a dire curse upon Bull, who was slowly waking, consigning him to transmute into an unadulterated bovine, a four-legged creature denuded of its human speech and nature, reduced to a mere quarry for the hunter. Subsequently, as punishment for their misdeeds, all bovines were forevermore consigned to a diet of grass, their former standing as sentient beings forever extinguished.

In the heart of the hunter-gatherer’s camp, nestled amidst the ancient wilderness, a celebratory dance of primal ecstasy erupted to herald Theseus’ triumphant return from the depths of Labyrinthos with the captive Minotaur. The flickering flames of the communal fire cast a mesmerizing glow upon the participants, weaving a tapestry of wild and sublime revelry that mirrored the very essence of Dionysian exultation.


The rhythmic beat of handmade drums reverberated through the surrounding trees, and the aromatic smoke of the campfire mingled with the earthy scent of the forest. The celebrants, their bodies adorned with woven wreaths of leaves and feathers, moved in a frenzied dance that invoked the untamed spirit of the wild.

In the midst of the natural amphitheater created by towering trees, the dance was an embodiment of ancient rituals, as old as time itself. The participants swayed and leaped, their bare feet connecting with the earth in rhythmic communion.
The dance was a cathartic release, a visceral expression of the triumph over fear and adversity.



As the night deepened, the dance intensified. The drumbeats quickened, and the celebrants lost themselves in a trance-like ecstasy, caught in the throes of Dionysian revelry.

Underneath the star-studded canopy, with the nocturnal forest as their witness, the hunter-gatherers celebrated their hero Theseus and the capture of the Minotaur.

Since that time, in the ancient Pelasgian tradition, following in the footsteps of the legendary Theseus, who had emerged as the embodiment of Pelasgian heroism, all young boys have embarked on a rite of passage that includes a curing dance and a hunt by tracking. During the curing dance, the boy moves with grace and purpose, stepping into the sacred circle, and allowing the emotions within to surge to the surface. They release their fears, their doubts, and their insecurities, just as Theseus had done in his own healing dance.

Following the dance, they are anointed with the sacred symbols of manhood and initiated into the sacred knowledge that has been passed down through the ages. They are then ready for the next phase of their journey.

The hunt by tracking is the ultimate test of their newfound abilities. With guidance from seasoned hunters, the boys embark on a quest into the deep, untamed wilderness. Armed with the knowledge of their people and the skills honed in the curing dance, they set out to track the elusive prey that roams the ancient forests.

The hunt is not just a test of skill but a spiritual journey. The boys learn to read the signs of nature, to track the movements of animals. In the heart of the forest, they discover their own strengths, courage, and resilience. They feel the pulse of the earth beneath their feet and the breath of the wind in their hair.

As they return to the camp, triumphant and bearing the fruits of their hunt, they are celebrated as men, their boyhood left behind in the depths of the wilderness. They have completed the ancient rite of passage, mirroring the heroic journey of Theseus, and have emerged ready to face the challenges of the world with courage and honor.

Allow me, dear Callias, to extend a humble proposal to your esteemed self. I would be remiss not to invite you to join me on a sojourn to these remarkable lands. There, amidst the Pelasgians, you might embark on your own initiation into manhood, following their ancient customs and rites.

This wholesome counterbalance to the urban life shall surely bring you profound insights, invigorate your spirit, and fortify your character. As we venture forth, the mysteries of the Pelasgians and the rich heritage of our kindred ancestors shall unfold before us like the pages of a sacred manuscript, granting wisdom and vitality to our souls.

With the utmost sincerity,

Pseudohesiod

*Footnote

Of course, this is “newsfiction” – I have invented this story of the discovery of the scroll, and indeed I have invented the figure of Pseudiohesiod as well as his nephew, and furthermore the entire series of letters is my own creation, using AI to help with the stylistic aspects, to help create the veneer of authenticity. You might be wondering what inspired me to recast a series of Greek myths in a hunter gatherer context. I am still trying to put my finger on my own motivations, to understand my own muse as it were, but I think have some insight into why it fascinates me.

I have long been a fan of ancient Greek mythology, but in recent years have developed a great fascination with the stories of hunter gatherer peoples such as the “San” peoples of South Africa, as well as the indigenous Australians. Then I noticed opportunities to marry the traditions. To do so, is in fact not un-Greek – the Greek empire was just that – an Emporium – a place of trade, which included the trade of ideas just as much as goods. What I am doing is just a continuation of that process – stories from afar drifting into the Greek marketplace and being taken up and used.

Though we don’t know for certain what stories hunter gatherer people were telling back in the time of Ancient Greece, there is nothing in the tales that we do know that could not have formed part of stories that were being told by hunter gatherer peoples at that time. The Greeks had a method of dressing up their tales, using rhetorical motifs, the classical style, and this can be applied to the core plots of other stories. Imagine if the Greeks had come across the stories of hunter gatherers during their travels and then given them the Greek treatment. For all we know, some of the famous Greek tales could have had this type of non-agricultural origin.

Taking themes from hunter gatherer myths and fusing them with the classical tradition allows us to make stories that could have been created in ancient times, if only these groups of people had met and interacted at that time.

This gives fresh blood to the classical tradition. Without such fresh blood, a tradition can ossify. The same old stories, again and again. Pump the old classical tradition with new blood, and suddenly it comes back to life. It becomes a living tradition. I am fascinated with the idea of the classical tradition not as a dead museum piece, but as an ongoing living tradition. Why not?

Another reason I am attracted to this process is that it makes a point: there is a tendency to view the tales of classical mythology as artefacts of High Culture, and to view the mythologies of hunter gatherers as some how ‘primitive’ by comparison. But the actual stories, once you get beneath the classical rhetoric, are of a similar type. Once you get under the skin of the hunter gatherer narratives, understanding them ontologically, from the perspective of their own way of being in the world, you realise how they are no less engaging and sophisticated in their own way. My aim is to demonstrate this by giving them a Greek makeover.

More generally, I have a very strong dislike of the idea that civilisation began with agriculture. This is simply not true. Mythology, painting, dance, storytelling, song, decorative artefacts – these are although things that human hunter gatherers have invented time and again without any contact with agriculturalists.

These stories from the fictional “Evandros Scroll” are my own inventions, but they resonate, I hope, with a deeper truth: culture existed long before agriculture came on the scene. We cannot now return to pre-agricultural times, but we should move beyond the idea that dominating the natural world is a prerequisite of civilised living.

Evandros Scroll Unlocks Mysteries of Dionysian Rites: An Unprecedented Revelation

by dawnraver, posted in ancient civilisations, classical civilisations, classical culture, inspiration, mythology

[*Newsfiction* – see Footnote”]

In a remarkable breakthrough that will forever alter our understanding of ancient spiritual traditions, an enigmatic section of the Evandros Scroll has been successfully deciphered and translated. This section of the ancient manuscript, found recently in a remote cave in Libya, is now believed to reveal the closely guarded secrets of the Dionysian Mysteries, an initiation ceremony dedicated to Dionysus, the god of wine and ecstasy. Lead archaeologist Dr. Callista Evandros and her team’s tireless efforts have paved the way for this astounding revelation.

Hidden within the Evandros Scroll’s intricate script were insights into the mystical tradition of the Dionysian Mysteries. Pseudohesiod, an ancient mystic and philosopher, outlined in the text the core teachings and practices of this elusive cult. The revelations in the manuscript indicate that the Dionysian tradition aimed to transport initiates beyond the bounds of ordinary time, into a realm described as the “time before time,” or eternity. This discovery fundamentally changes our perception of the Dionysian Mysteries and highlights their significance in transcending mundane reality.

The deciphered text unveiled the pivotal role of ecstatic dance in achieving transcendence. Practitioners quieted the part of their minds responsible for narrating the passage of time, allowing them to experience an expanded sense of time. Pseudohesiod refered to the fixed patterns of stars as a symbol of this eternal realm that transcends mortal existence, shedding new light on the mystical significance of these celestial bodies in the Dionysian tradition. This remarkable revelation underscores the value of modern technology in uncovering ancient wisdom, and it leaves the door ajar for future explorations into the profound spiritual experiences of our ancestors.

A spoken audio version of the translated section can be heard in this video:

The Dionsysian Mysteries according to Pesudeohesiod

My dear Callias,

I trust this message finds you in good health. My invitation for you to visit my villa still stands, as it would delight me to host you amidst the rustic beauty of my estate. It is a place where the natural world thrives, and I have strived to create an environment that brings solace and serenity. However, I must express my deep sorrow as, this year, the box hedges surrounding my gardens have fallen victim to the relentless infestation of the box caterpillar. I lament the loss of their neat, green forms, but such is the way of nature.

Alas, it seems that the demands of your urban affairs in the city may not permit your presence in the countryside anytime soon. Regretfully, we have not had the opportunity to initiate you into the ancient mysteries through direct experience. Therefore, I find myself compelled to commence the preliminary stages of your initiation from a distance.

Enclosed herein, you shall find concealed the innermost secrets of the Dionysian mysteries, knowledge that has been passed down within the confines of our family for generations. I beseech you to read these words carefully, commit them to memory, and then, as tradition dictates, destroy this letter.

You, Callias, are well-acquainted with the story of Ariadne, wandering in melancholic solitude on a windswept beach of an island in the Aegean. Her heart weighed heavy with grief, she witnessed the quivering of the bushes on the island’s edge, from which emerged the divine figure of Dionysus. He rode in a chariot, drawn by majestic leopards. In his wake followed an extraordinary procession of beings, half-human and half-animal, including the serpent-wielding maenads, the horse-legged silens, and the goat-horned and goat-legged pans and satyrs, all brandishing cymbals and drums, lost in a wild ecstasy. In a transcendent moment, Dionysus wed Ariadne, placing a coronet of the Corona Borealis as her crown, and their chariot ascended to the heavens with Ariadne seated by Dionysus’s side, and the exuberant retinue of dancers continuing to cavort behind them.

This tale holds the key to the mystery of our Dionysian tradition. In this narrative, Ariadne symbolizes the new initiate, while the ecstatic dancers represent those who have previously undergone the rites, their peculiar morphologies representing the transformative power of the trance that leads them back into the primal time, the time before time, and the eternal realm that exists beyond the mortal realm.

As the great Socrates learned from the Arcadian priestess, our perception of time and the world is but an illusion, a fleeting shadow in the cave. Yet, in the patterns of the fixed stars, we find a timeless constancy that remains unchanged from generation to generation. These celestial configurations bear witness to a different realm, an eternal sanctuary that transcends the ephemeral flux of our mortal existence. The stars, like guides of old, light our way to the heart of eternity, revealing the profound interconnectedness of all creation and the boundless wisdom contained within the Dionysian mysteries. In this realization, we are invited to embark on a journey, to venture beyond the boundaries of time and space, and to partake in the timeless dance of the cosmos.

It is vital to grasp that our perception of mundane time is a construct of the human mind, a narrative woven by our consciousness. However, during the Dionysian dance, as you immerse yourself in the rhythmic music, becoming one with the spontaneous movements of your body, you can quiet the part of your mind responsible for narrating the passage of mundane time. This act of transcending the confines of time unveils a profound sense of expanded time.

Having fasted for a day and a night, you undertake the dance at dawn. During the Dionysian dance, you will sense the world around you change, as the air takes on a subtle but distinct alteration. In these moments, you may find that you have crossed the sacred Elysian gate, just as the initiated have throughout history. You will pass beyond the confines of the mortal world into the meadows of the blessed.

In the past, I have shared with you the account of the Great Metamorphosis: Birth of the Revel. I described how in the distant past, animals and humans coexisted, both bearing the capacity for speech and reason. Some people even had animal features, such as horns and hooves, reminiscent of antelopes, goats, or horses. Then came a metamorphosis, in which animal-people became animals, and those partaking of animal features were transformed into full humans. In this shift from the First Creation to the Second Creation, the animal-people beseeched Dionysus to retain the gift of the Dance. Through it, they could enter a trance, reconnecting with their half-animal ancestors of the First Creation.

The procession of ecstatic dancers following Dionysus represents this tradition, as they, too, ascend to the stars, departing from the boundaries of mundane time to return to the First Creation.

Herein lies a secret of great import. Consider how Ariadne rides alongside Dionysus in a chariot drawn by lions. Her coronet, the well-known Corona Borealis, is her hallmark, yet it is not widely acknowledged that the lions pulling their chariot are none other than the stars of Leo. If you place an astronomical globe or a star chart before you, you will see this celestial arrangement unfold. Bootes, a constellation, forms the head of Dionysus, with his long, pointed beard, seated beside Ariadne. So he is often shown in his ship or chariot wearing a robe emblazoned with stars.

As the celestial caravan proceeds, it is trailed by constellations mirroring the figures of Dionysus’s retinue, including Ophiuchus, the Serpent-Bearer, who represents the serpent-wielding Maenad; Sagittarius, half-human and half-horse or, in some sources, a two-legged figure, symbolizing Silenus, Dionysus’s mentor and leader of the silens, often shown not as a horse-legged figure but as a fat old ,man on a donkey; and Capricorn, half-goat, representing Aegipan, the leader of the pans and satyrs. Sometimes he is shown with human legs, but “shaggy in the underpinnings” – hairy legged, like a goat. Sometimes a further figure is included behind these, representing the next figure in the train of constellations. This figure carries a great jar on his back, for he is the Water Bearer constellation, Aquarius, who follows behind Sagittarius. In some artistic depictions one of the figures holds aloft an ox’s thigh high above the scene – this is the circumpolar Ox’s Thigh (the Big Dipper) and some also show, in its position below Leo, Krater, the mixing jar.)

Left to right: Aquarius, Capricorn (Pan), Sagittarius (Silenus), Ophiuchus (Serpent Bearer)

Krater and the Ox’s Thigh

Across a vast expanse of the night sky, this Dionysian procession dances, rejoicing in the time beyond time, within the realms of eternity. Understanding this celestial dance, the Dionysian Sky, is crucial for an initiate.

However, these insights serve merely as a foundation. To become an initiate, you must acquire the skill of entering the trance through dance, a craft only mastered through practice and experience. I ardently hope that, Callias, you shall seize any opportunity that comes your way to learn this most wondrous of arts.

With affection and wisdom,

Pseudohesiod

*Footnote

Of course, this is “newsfiction” – I have invented this story of the discovery of the scroll, and indeed I have invented the figure of Pseudiohesiod as well as his nephew, and furthermore the entire series of letters is my own creation, using AI to help with the stylistic aspects, to help create the veneer of authenticity. You might be wondering what inspired me to recast a series of Greek myths in a hunter gatherer context. I am still trying to put my finger on my own motivations, to understand my own muse as it were, but I think have some insight into why it fascinates me.

I have long been a fan of ancient Greek mythology, but in recent years have developed a great fascination with the stories of hunter gatherer peoples such as the “San” peoples of South Africa, as well as the indigenous Australians. Then I noticed opportunities to marry the traditions. To do so, is in fact not un-Greek – the Greek empire was just that – an Emporium – a place of trade, which included the trade of ideas just as much as goods. What I am doing is just a continuation of that process – stories from afar drifting into the Greek marketplace and being taken up and used.

Though we don’t know for certain what stories hunter gatherer people were telling back in the time of Ancient Greece, there is nothing in the tales that we do know that could not have formed part of stories that were being told by hunter gatherer peoples at that time. The Greeks had a method of dressing up their tales, using rhetorical motifs, the classical style, and this can be applied to the core plots of other stories. Imagine if the Greeks had come across the stories of hunter gatherers during their travels and then given them the Greek treatment. For all we know, some of the famous Greek tales could have had this type of non-agricultural origin.

Taking themes from hunter gatherer myths and fusing them with the classical tradition allows us to make stories that could have been created in ancient times, if only these groups of people had met and interacted at that time.

This gives fresh blood to the classical tradition. Without such fresh blood, a tradition can ossify. The same old stories, again and again. Pump the old classical tradition with new blood, and suddenly it comes back to life. It becomes a living tradition. I am fascinated with the idea of the classical tradition not as a dead museum piece, but as an ongoing living tradition. Why not?

Another reason I am attracted to this process is that it makes a point: there is a tendency to view the tales of classical mythology as artefacts of High Culture, and to view the mythologies of hunter gatherers as some how ‘primitive’ by comparison. But the actual stories, once you get beneath the classical rhetoric, are of a similar type. Once you get under the skin of the hunter gatherer narratives, understanding them ontologically, from the perspective of their own way of being in the world, you realise how they are no less engaging and sophisticated in their own way. My aim is to demonstrate this by giving them a Greek makeover.

More generally, I have a very strong dislike of the idea that civilisation began with agriculture. This is simply not true. Mythology, painting, dance, storytelling, song, decorative artefacts – these are although things that human hunter gatherers have invented time and again without any contact with agriculturalists.

These stories from the fictional “Evandros Scroll” are my own inventions, but they resonate, I hope, with a deeper truth: culture existed long before agriculture came on the scene. We cannot now return to pre-agricultural times, but we should move beyond the idea that dominating the natural world is a prerequisite of civilised living.

A Hidden Myth Emerges from the Controversial Evandros Scroll: Alternative version of the tale of the clever crow who dropped stones

by dawnraver, posted in ancient civilisations, classical civilisations, classical culture, classical tradition, Uncategorized

[*Newsfiction – see Footnote*]

In a development that stirs further contentious debate surrounding the authenticity of the enigmatic Evandros Scroll, a newly deciphered section has come to light. This ancient scroll, believed to be a treasure trove of classical Greek lore, has ignited fervent discussions and skepticism among scholars who question its provenance. Despite these persistent doubts, the latest translation offers a striking revelation—an uncharted myth previously lost to the annals of time. (This is in addition to other tales recently translated from the newly discovered scroll, namely The Great Metamorphosis: Birth of the Revel and The Maiden who Caused the Seasons by Breaking Taboos and Thespis amongst the Pelasgians.]

What makes this most recently translated narrative particularly fascinating is its exceptional linkage between the resourceful stone-dropping Crow and the constellation Corvus, adjacent to Crater, the celestial representation of a mixing bowl. This Crow, who, in this newly uncovered myth, raises water within a vessel by dropping stones, resonates strikingly with the famous fable of Aesop, wherein a thirsty Crow raises the water level in a pitcher using pebbles. However, the newly revealed myth serves as the only known instance where this ingenious bird is correlated with the Crow constellation that graces our night sky.

Surprisingly, though this connection seems intuitive, with the Crow and the vessel being found both in the story and the sky, it has not found its place in the writings of other classical authors. Pseudohesiod’s version remains a tantalizing singularity, making us ponder why this particular myth stood alone in making this celestial association, or rather, why none of the other classical sources took up this idea.

Moreover, this story holds another layer of intrigue, for it bears a striking resemblance to an Aboriginal Australian legend. In both narratives, the Crow seeks to acquire fire from women who, in a divine twist, are transformed into the Pleiades. Furthermore, in both accounts, the Crow inadvertently ignites a conflagration by dropping an ember. In both cases this fire is the cause of the black feathers of crows. This beckons us to consider the possibility that both narratives may stem from a common and exceedingly ancient origin.

A spoken audio version of the translated section can be heard in this video:

Pseudohesiod’s Letter to Callias: How the Crow got his black feathers

Salutations to my dear nephew Callias,

As the warm embrace of summer descends upon us, and the harsh sun compels us to seek refuge in the cool, refreshing waters, I extend to you a cordial invitation. Join our humble family on the sacred isle of Samothrace, where the Aegean’s shimmering blue unfolds in a tapestry of enchantment.

Here, the azure waves caress the sun-drenched shores, offering solace to weary travellers, and the air is redolent with the sweet fragrance of blossoms kissed by the summer breeze. The nymph-haunted Fonias pools, nestled amidst the craggy embrace of the island, beckon with their crystalline waters. We shall partake in the ancient tradition of bathing in these serene basins, wherein the coolness of the springs takes the edge off the season’s fiery ardour.

My dear nephew, it is in the spirit of this forthcoming family gathering and the soothing respite these pools offer that I find myself inspired to share a remarkable tale, one borne from the mythic annals of Samothrace.

In the days of yore, when the wondrous gift of fire was but a novelty to the world, a tale unfolded on the sacred isle of Samothrace, bathed in the Aegean’s shimmering blue. Here, a sisterhood of women, known for their enigmatic ways, tended to glowing embers that sparked the very essence of life’s warmth. These embers kindled their culinary fires and brought sustenance to their hearts.

One fateful day, as the golden sun cast its first rays upon the land, Crow, a magnificent bird adorned in feathers as white as freshly fallen snow, found his way to their humble abode. Temptation overcame him, and he stole a morsel of their delectable creations. Soon after, Seagull, with her pristine white plumage, tasted a morsel as well, and both found themselves entranced by the taste of cooked food.

Crow, with a heart full of ambition, longed to harness the power of fire for himself and boasted to Seagull of his intent. His desire for culinary mastery led him to steal one of the embers from the women’s hearth. Yet, before Crow could wield this newfound treasure, Seagull, equally eager, attempted to wrest it away from him.

In the ensuing scuffle, the stolen ember fell to the earth, igniting a blaze that ravaged the land. As the flames roared, Crow’s once-silvery feathers were scorched to the darkest ebony, leaving him forever marked by his ambition and folly.

The women, desperate to quell the inferno, beseeched the gods for salvation. Moved by their pleas, the divine beings transformed them into doves, the embers still clutched in their beaks. As they ascended to the heavens, these embers, once kindled by the earthly fires, became the brilliant stars known as the Pleiades. These stars, a cluster of lights that shimmer in the night sky, are a testament to the enduring embers of the women’s hearth, forever carried aloft in the celestial expanse.

Meanwhile, Crow, burdened by guilt and with his once-snowy plumage now as black as night, sought to extinguish the blaze he had ignited. At first, he attempted to fetch seawater in a humble shell, but the fire’s fury surpassed his efforts. Then, an idea arose in his clever mind as he remembered a colossal mixing bowl, left behind by a giant and filled with rainwater, perched high upon the mountainside.

Crow, unable to lift or move the colossal bowl, ingeniously devised a plan. First, he dropped stones into the giant mixing bowl, causing the water level to rise until it spilled over the brim. However, the water did not reach the fire directly but instead collected in a pool. Undeterred, Crow dropped stones into that pool to raise its level. The water, now elevated, once again spilled over the edge of this pool. Crow continued his resourceful efforts by dropping stones into each successive pool one after another. Each pool served as a conduit for the water, and the process repeated until, eventually, it reached the place of the conflagration. This remarkable process gave birth to a river, now known as Fonias. To this day, the series of pools created by Crow’s ingenious plan can be found along the course of the river, bearing witness to his determination and resourcefulness. These pools, known as vathres, are still filled with the stones that Crow dropped to raise the water level, a testament to his remarkable journey.

As the waters flowed and the flames were extinguished, a tranquil pool was formed in what is now called the Fonias Gorge. Witnessing Crow’s inventive spirit, Zeus, the mightiest of the gods, admired the crow’s determination. In recognition of Crow’s efforts and the celestial transformation of the women, Zeus immortalized the cunning bird in the night sky, forming the constellation Corvus, a reminder of the lesson in both ambition and ingenuity. Next to Corvus, he also placed the likeness of the giant mixing bowl, now known as Crater, serving as a testament to Crow’s unwavering resolve and the enduring legacy of this mythical tale.

*Footnote

Of course, this is “newsfiction” – I have invented this story of the discovery of the scroll, and indeed I have invented the figure of Pseudiohesiod as well as his nephew, and furthermore the entire series of letters is my own creation, using AI to help with the stylistic aspects, to help create the veneer of authenticity. You might be wondering what inspired me to recast a series of Greek myths in a hunter gatherer context. I am still trying to put my finger on my own motivations, to understand my own muse as it were, but I think have some insight into why it fascinates me.

I have long been a fan of ancient Greek mythology, but in recent years have developed a great fascination with the stories of hunter gatherer peoples such as the “San” peoples of South Africa, as well as the indigenous Australians. Then I noticed opportunities to marry the traditions. To do so, is in fact not un-Greek – the Greek empire was just that – an Emporium – a place of trade, which included the trade of ideas just as much as goods. What I am doing is just a continuation of that process – stories from afar drifting into the Greek marketplace and being taken up and used.

Though we don’t know for certain what stories hunter gatherer people were telling back in the time of Ancient Greece, there is nothing in the tales that we do know that could not have formed part of stories that were being told by hunter gatherer peoples at that time. The Greeks had a method of dressing up their tales, using rhetorical motifs, the classical style, and this can be applied to the core plots of other stories. Imagine if the Greeks had come across the stories of hunter gatherers during their travels and then given them the Greek treatment. For all we know, some of the famous Greek tales could have had this type of non-agricultural origin.

Taking themes from hunter gatherer myths and fusing them with the classical tradition allows us to make stories that could have been created in ancient times, if only these groups of people had met and interacted at that time.

This gives fresh blood to the classical tradition. Without such fresh blood, a tradition can ossify. The same old stories, again and again. Pump the old classical tradition with new blood, and suddenly it comes back to life. It becomes a living tradition. I am fascinated with the idea of the classical tradition not as a dead museum piece, but as an ongoing living tradition. Why not?

Another reason I am attracted to this process is that it makes a point: there is a tendency to view the tales of classical mythology as artefacts of High Culture, and to view the mythologies of hunter gatherers as some how ‘primitive’ by comparison. But the actual stories, once you get beneath the classical rhetoric, are of a similar type. Once you get under the skin of the hunter gatherer narratives, understanding them ontologically, from the perspective of their own way of being in the world, you realise how they are no less engaging and sophisticated in their own way. My aim is to demonstrate this by giving them a Greek makeover.

More generally, I have a very strong dislike of the idea that civilisation began with agriculture. This is simply not true. Mythology, painting, dance, storytelling, song, decorative artefacts – these are although things that human hunter gatherers have invented time and again without any contact with agriculturalists.

These stories from the fictional “Evandros Scroll” are my own inventions, but they resonate, I hope, with a deeper truth: culture existed long before agriculture came on the scene. We cannot now return to pre-agricultural times, but we should move beyond the idea that dominating the natural world is a prerequisite of civilised living.

Persephone: The Maiden of the Golden Age who broke the taboos and brought about the seasons (an alternative version from the disputed Evandros scroll)

by dawnraver, posted in ancient civilisations, classical culture, ecology, environment, inspiration, mythology

(*Newsfiction* – see footnote*)

In addition to the recently translated “The Great Metamorphosis: Birth of the Revel” (and see also “Thespis amongst the Pelasgians” and “The Clever Crow”) a new version of the myth of Persephone has now been translated from the same Evandros scroll. As recently reported, in a groundbreaking archaeological discovery that has sent shockwaves through the academic world, a team led by renowned archaeologist Dr. Callista Evandros has unveiled a once-illegible ancient scroll found hidden deep within a remote cave in Libya. (Others claim that this scroll is a forgery, created with the assistance or AI – see footnote*.)

The breakthrough came when Dr. Evandros and her team employed an innovative digital imaging process that unveiled the scroll’s faded script, previously deemed indecipherable. The scroll, believed to date back over two millennia, has already begun to revolutionize our understanding of ancient Greek mythology, shedding light on previously obscure aspects of this rich cultural tapestry.

This newly deciphered scroll not only adds to our comprehension of ancient Greek mythology but also underscores the invaluable role that modern technology plays in bridging the gap between the past and the present. The revelations contained within this scroll promise to rewrite chapters of history and ignite fresh scholarly debates among classicists and historians alike.

The Maiden of the Golden Age who broke the taboos and brought about the seasons

Greetings, noble Callias. As a caring uncle, I, Pseudohesiod, am compelled to share with you this narrative, for it is my fervent desire that you be well-educated in matters of mythology, thus imparting to you the timeless wisdom of ages gone by.

As the sun kisses the hills of my humble abode, I extend to you, dear nephew, a perpetual invitation to seek solace from the tumultuous city life amidst these rustic retreats. The essence of the pastoral hills, where the whispers of a bygone era linger, await your arrival.

In the midst of my sojourns in these idyllic heights, a meeting of profound import transpired. As I traversed the sacred precincts, I once again found myself in the presence of the Pelasgian muse, a daemon of virtuous repute, borne from the fabled Golden Age. Her countenance, radiant and wise, betokened an era where harmony between nature and mankind reigned supreme.

The Pelasgian muse, gracious and wise, deemed me a vessel through which to channel another tale, one that transcends epochs. This account, she didst declare, unfolded in a time when a girl of ethereal bearing, graced with the name of Persephone, dared to upend the hallowed tenets, tilting the balance of nature’s scales.

Recall, if you will, the ancient stratification of ages, where the Golden Age epitomized humanity’s zenith. The Earth, unbidden, showered her bounty, and the people were kin to the spirits dwelling beneath, emerging at their behest, summoned by rhythmic knocks with rocks upon the earth’s surface.

Persephone, the maiden of this saga, nurtured a spirit unrestrained. In defiance of elders’ teachings, she ventured to sow seeds, eschewing the counsel of leaving the soil untouched, and thus disturbing the sacred slumber of the earth. With pomegranate seeds and a steadfast digging stick, she broke the age-old taboos.

The spirits dwelling in the earth, perceiving the impending tumult her actions foretold, summoned their wrath, using the furrow she had dug as a portal to confront her directly. Emerging from this hole in the ground, they appeared before her. In anger, they ensnared her, drawing her into their subterranean dominion.

Demeter, Persephone’s mother, embarked on an ardent quest to reclaim her lost daughter. She followed he daughter’s footprints to the place where they disappeared, beside the fateful furrow. Days turned into nights, yet the maiden remained concealed from her mother’s searching gaze.

Cronos, the venerable patriarch of the gods, unmoved by the goddess’s woe, reasoned that the transgressions committed reaped their inexorable consequence. Zeus, his son, championed a novel course. He heralded the advent of agriculture, an innovation that would ultimately bestow humanity with unimagined technologies and marvels. A vote amongst the gods ensued, and Zeus’s oratory prevailed, granting Persephone’s eventual return.

But the maiden’s spirit, undaunted by her subterranean exile, proved resolute. During her maidenly rite, at which time was should have remained in her seclusion hut eat only the prescribed foods brought by her mother, an irresistible craving for the forbidden pomegranates drew her to indulge. Hades, the sovereign of the underworld, materialized with imperious authority and spirited her away.

Zeus, while striving to intercede, could not amend the gravity of her actions. It was henceforth decreed that Persephone would oscillate between realms. Demeter’s sorrow was so great each time she was taken from her that the very seasons responded, and it was this that caused the changing seasons that remain with us today.

* It is claimed by some that the Evandros scroll is a modern forgery, created with the assistance of AI. It is even claimed that the prompt that was used on a chatbot to create the story has been retrieved. It is included here below:

>For background, here is the basic idea for a story. In a later prompt i will ask you to write this in a particular way. For now, please just acknowledge that you understand the idea. The idea is to write a different version of the story of Persephone. It is told by an ancient author who calls himself Pseudohesiod. He opens by addressing his nephew Callias and saying the invitation is still open to him to visit his farm in the hills if ever Callias can can draw himself away from the city. Pseudohesiod then says he has had another meeting with the Pelasgian muse while walking in the hills. He says the Pelasgian muse is a good daemon, a spirit from the Golden Age. He says this muse has told him another story. The story he heard from the muse was that of a girl from the Golden Age who was carried off into the underworld because she upset the balance of nature and broke certain taboos. Pseudohesiod briefly reminds Callias about the different ages of man (as per Hesiod) and how in the Golden Age the Earth freely gave her gifts without tilling or planting. Sometimes the Golden Race (the people of that time) would knock on the ground with rocks to call the Earth spirits who dwelt under the ground to come to them so these spirits could give people assistance and guidance with various matters. The girl in this story has the name of Persephone. The story tells how one days she decided to break the taboos that the elders had taught her. Instead of leaving the soil untilled and gathering such food as it freely gave, she decided to plant seeds herself. She took some pomegranate seeds and took her digging stick, and created a furrow, and planted the seeds. The spirits in the Earth foresaw the great impact that such practises would have on the natural world, and were greatly angered. They used the furrow as a portal out of their underground world, appearing before Persephone, taking hold of her, and dragging her down into their realm. The girl’s mother, Demeter, sought her for many days in vain. Eventually Demeter called upon the gods to help. Cronos, the father of the gods, refused assistance to the distraught woman, saying that the taboos had been broken, and this was the result. His son Zeus, however, argued that it was time for agriculture to enter the world, tat this would ultimately allow the development of new technologies. In the trance dances, the people would not need some of the people to sit and clap and sing while others enjoyed the dance – music could be played by small bronze devises inserted into their ears, and these could make sounds never before heard. The gods took their vote, and Zeus’s speeches were so compelling, that his motion was passed. Persephone was from the Underworld. However, her rebellious spirit had not been quelled, and some time later, during her transition rite for becoming a new maiden – the one that took place when girls first started menstruating – she left the seclusion of the hut where she was supposed to stay and went off to eat foods that were forbidden during this rite, such as her beloved pomegranate. The god of the Underworld himself now appeared, and took her down once again. Again, Zeus tried to intervene, but this crime was too great, and he only managed to secure her release for certain seasons of the year. Do you understand?

>Yes, I understand the basic idea for your story. It’s a reimagining of the Persephone myth told by an ancient author named Pseudohesiod. In this version, Persephone is a girl from the Golden Age who upsets the balance of nature by planting seeds and breaking taboos. The Earth spirits from the underworld become angry and drag her down into their realm. Her mother, Demeter, seeks her in vain, and Zeus ultimately intervenes, allowing Persephone to spend only part of the year in the underworld. This myth introduces the concept of the introduction of agriculture and its connection to the development of new technologies in ancient times. If you have any specific questions or need further assistance with this story, feel free to ask.

>Please can you write this in the manner of a learned classical writer. Make it sound erudite and learned and use classical motifs. Introduce descriptive elements. Tell it in an eloquent way, waxing lyrical, with flowers of rhetoric.

*Footnote

Of course, this is “newsfiction” – I have invented this story of the discovery of the scroll, and indeed I have invented the figure of Pseudiohesiod as well as his nephew, and furthermore the entire series of letters is my own creation, using AI to help with the stylistic aspects, to help create the veneer of authenticity. You might be wondering what inspired me to recast a series of Greek myths in a hunter gatherer context. I am still trying to put my finger on my own motivations, to understand my own muse as it were, but I think have some insight into why it fascinates me.

I have long been a fan of ancient Greek mythology, but in recent years have developed a great fascination with the stories of hunter gatherer peoples such as the “San” peoples of South Africa, as well as the indigenous Australians. Then I noticed opportunities to marry the traditions. To do so, is in fact not un-Greek – the Greek empire was just that – an Emporium – a place of trade, which included the trade of ideas just as much as goods. What I am doing is just a continuation of that process – stories from afar drifting into the Greek marketplace and being taken up and used.

Though we don’t know for certain what stories hunter gatherer people were telling back in the time of Ancient Greece, there is nothing in the tales that we do know that could not have formed part of stories that were being told by hunter gatherer peoples at that time. The Greeks had a method of dressing up their tales, using rhetorical motifs, the classical style, and this can be applied to the core plots of other stories. Imagine if the Greeks had come across the stories of hunter gatherers during their travels and then given them the Greek treatment. For all we know, some of the famous Greek tales could have had this type of non-agricultural origin.

Taking themes from hunter gatherer myths and fusing them with the classical tradition allows us to make stories that could have been created in ancient times, if only these groups of people had met and interacted at that time.

This gives fresh blood to the classical tradition. Without such fresh blood, a tradition can ossify. The same old stories, again and again. Pump the old classical tradition with new blood, and suddenly it comes back to life. It becomes a living tradition. I am fascinated with the idea of the classical tradition not as a dead museum piece, but as an ongoing living tradition. Why not?

Another reason I am attracted to this process is that it makes a point: there is a tendency to view the tales of classical mythology as artefacts of High Culture, and to view the mythologies of hunter gatherers as some how ‘primitive’ by comparison. But the actual stories, once you get beneath the classical rhetoric, are of a similar type. Once you get under the skin of the hunter gatherer narratives, understanding them ontologically, from the perspective of their own way of being in the world, you realise how they are no less engaging and sophisticated in their own way. My aim is to demonstrate this by giving them a Greek makeover.

More generally, I have a very strong dislike of the idea that civilisation began with agriculture. This is simply not true. Mythology, painting, dance, storytelling, song, decorative artefacts – these are although things that human hunter gatherers have invented time and again without any contact with agriculturalists.

These stories from the fictional “Evandros Scroll” are my own inventions, but they resonate, I hope, with a deeper truth: culture existed long before agriculture came on the scene. We cannot now return to pre-agricultural times, but we should move beyond the idea that dominating the natural world is a prerequisite of civilised living.

An Ode to Ochre and a visit to Roussillon

by dawnraver, posted in ancient civilisations, art, classical civilisations, classical culture, classical tradition, earth pigments, mythology, Ode, Poetry, Uncategorized

I recently paid a visit to the Provencal village of Roussillon, that extraordinary location where great ochre deposits are visible in the cliffs upon which the town is perched. During the trip I learnt that the village has a legend to explain these colours, the tale of Lady Surmonde. The legend has similarities to many aboriginal myths in the way it explains the origin of the colourful red ochres as having been stained by the blood of a mythological figure.

I decided to write a poem about this, expanding the legend a little to make Surmonde a rock artist and trance dancer so the blood infused in the rock carries the essence of her passion.

It’s a curious fusion in some ways. The myth has some obvious similarities to those of the classical / Western / Greco-Roman tradition with its tragic heroine. I’ve drawn this out and expanded on it, making her the muse of rock art.

For me, this conflation of aboriginal Dreamtime and the realm of classical myth is not so odd. Part of how we can put the final nail in the coffin of the colonial mindset is by transforming Western culture itself into an indigenous one, and that means allowing it to stretch back to and embrace its own Dreamtime, the age of the European cave painters, so its roots are in the Earth and there is deep cultural richness at the heart of the culture rather than a gap that might seem to need to be filled by conquest and acquisition.

The Greek theatre of Golden Age Athens has been described as the greatest miracle in the history of culture, but all they really did was add polish, proportion, geometry, rhetotic to story telling traditions and modes that had been maintained for tens of millenia. The Greeks were jusy expert makeup artists of mythic matter.

Aboriginal cultures long told stories in dramatised ways, with different voices for different characters and making use of other arts such as song and dance. It’s too easy to fall into the trap of making biased comparisons between Greek mythology and these other mythologies that are skewed by the halo effect, mesmerised by attraction to the makeup that was applied to the core mythic matter. But that halo effect is in this case a valuable precious thing, so the answer is not to uglify the Greek myth; rather, the obvious course of action is to take other matter from elsewhere and apply the same makeup. To show that Trojan women are as beautiful as Helen and that Paris had no need to sail away with the Greek queen – hence that there is no need for another Tojan war.

One of the simplest ways to apply proportion and geometry to a story is to turn into metered verse.

In this case I haven’t done so with an actual aboriginal myth but rather with this French legend that has this strong similarity with such myths about ochre-blood, because as said part of my goal is to reveal Europe’s own Dreamtime – the Arcadian Dreamtime. Afterall, the motif of ochre as the blood of a mythic figure is a meta-myth: there are many versions from different places and it was obviously transported to new lanscapes and applied in new ways, so why not France, given that there is already such a tale, authentically old?

You can read the poem here below, but there’s also an audio version in the YouTube video above, complete with some images to help tell the tale, created with a bit of AI assistance. The irony of using AI to create images of the story of a muse of a rustic art form that is all about perfornance and process and working tangibly with materials from the ground is not lost on me, but these are merely intended to be illustrations of the story, not works of art themselves, and i like a bit of contradiction.

In the starting stages of writing the poem, I also used some AI assistance just to get the ball rolling. Having decided on the general thematic structure, I gave Chatgbt my instructions, and there was that initial surprise when it came back with something intelligible, but on reflection I realised it wasn’t saying what I wanted it to say nor in the way I wanted it to say it, but it served as a starting point to use for a rewrite. I think one, maybe two verses have remained from that AI version (the bit about love’s snare), but most of it has changed completely. Here is the final version:


An Ochre Ode

In Roussilon, the southern sunlight streams,
On ochre cliffs, lit sharp against the blue,
The rocky walls, banded with fiery seams,
Rise bold in brightest red and yellow hue.

High pinnacles remember what is past,
Strong colors sing of nature’s art profound,
With lofty grace, the ancient rocks hold fast,
The painter’s eye in awe forever bound.

Whence came such colour? How and when and why?
There lived a lady, Sermonde was her name,


With passion for the Earth and for the sky,
Her young and tender heart was all aflame.

With brush in hand, she captured what she saw,
From birds that soared upon the Summer breeze,
To noble beasts that roamed the forest floor,
In every stroke, she breathed life into these.

This lady loved the wild Bacchic dance,
Through which a mantic fire flowed through her heart,
And as she entered elevated trance,
A mystic potency enthused her art.

From here, her story takes a crueller twist,
Her lover to her husband is revealed,

Who to Sermonde serves up the foulest dish:
Her lover’s heart beneath the sauce concealed.

In grief and horror Sermonde climbs the hills,

Despairing, throws herself from their great height,

Then from her mortal wounds the red blood spills,
To stain the rock with colour, ever bright.

The cliffs, a testament to her despair,
Their hue a tribute to her anguished soul,
Each crimson drop, a symbol of love’s snare,
Her tragic tale, forever they extol.

But in her wake, her passion still remains,
Infused within the pigments we procure,
From rocks she fed, her ardor yet sustains,
The vibrant art, by love’s fair touch ensured.

So, when the brush upon the surface glides,
And ochre pigments bring the scenes to life,
It’s Lady Sermonde’s spirit that abides,
Her passion, fierce, dispelling all dull strife.

So blend the pigment, make the sacred mixture,
Take the brush and work in ancient style,
Use living paint to make a living picture,
Culture makes a window on the wild.

And so through many metamorphoses,
Into the beasts that walk the scrubland plain,
Once more she breathes and moves and feels and sees,
For when we paint, fair Sermonde lives again.

Above the clouds where Zeus’s temples shine,
The Muses circle round and round again,
And while some say the count of them is nine,
Others know in truth the number’s ten.

For Sermond’s spirit rose to her new home,
Within the gods’ great sacred company,
Zeus honoured her for painting beasts on stone,
And made her muse of rustic artistry.