Category: Uncategorized

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

An A.I.ncient Tale: Batrachios and the Automaton Orator

by dawnraver, posted in Uncategorized

My Dearest Callias, 

Allow me to regale you with the tale of Batrachios and the Automaton Orator. Batrachios was a man deeply passionate about crafting stories and poems, but who harboured a profound distaste for the resonance of his own voice when narrating his cherished tales. 

This peculiar affliction set him on a quest, a journey that stretched from Athens to the far reaches of the Pelasgian world, where he hoped to uncover the secrets of Lion’s powerful voice, which he had heard about in a story he learned from the Arcadian Pelasgians, which began with an account of Ostrich, a creature endowed with the gift of speech in an era when the boundaries between animals and humans were fluid. 

In those days, according to this tale, ostriches were akin to people and could articulate their thoughts. One day Dionysos stumbled upon a nest of ostrich eggs during a hunt. The magic bird that guarded the nest granted Dionysos permission to take one small egg from the edge of the clutch. Ignoring this directive, Dionysos seized a number of larger eggs from the center.

To his dismay, as he indulged in the feast, the egg turned into an adhesive substance, sealing his lips shut. Dionysos tried to call his wife, Ariadne, but found himself incapable of speech. His attempts at communication resulted in only a guttural noise emanating from his throat, as his lips remained sealed. 

The following day, Dionysos returned the remaining eggs to the nest. The magical bird, sensing his remorse, relented. Dionysos’ mouth was unsealed, and his lips were freed. However, resentment festered within the god, and he cursed the ostrich to lose its speech. Making the punishment fit the crime, he turned Ostrich into a creature who would call to his mate by inflating his throat, while his beak would remain clamped shut. 

Despite losing the power of articulate speech, the ostrich retained a vestige of its personhood. But then, during a dance where Lion and Ostrich sang to the delight of the women, Ostrich’s booming voice captured their admiration the most. Jealousy sparked within Lion, leading to a fierce confrontation that saw both creatures lose their remaining humanity, transforming them into animals. Despite their metamorphosis, Lion continued to covet the powerful voice of Ostrich, leading to a relentless pursuit. So the lion hunted the bird, and ate its lungs, and this is how lions first acquired their own loud roars that can be heard at great distance. 

Batrachios, sitting amidst the Arcadian Pelasgians, heard this captivating tale, and it was this narrative that kindled the flame of his quest. Fuelled by an insatiable desire to acquire the captivating and resonant voice of the ostrich, he set off for the southern reaches of the Libyan continent, intending to go via Egypt. En route to Egypt, his ship made a stop at the island of Crete, where tales of remarkable automatons forged by Hephaestus for Minos captured his curiosity.

After he had observed these in action, he realised they could be used as orators, and how he could use one of them to read his stories out loud, and one automaton in particular caught his attention because of its rich, resonant voice. 

Under the cloak of night, Batrachios stealthily infiltrated the grand palace on Crete. In a clever ploy, he pilfered the clothes of a sleeping old servant woman who toiled in the service of the queen. Batrachios cunningly disguised the dormant automaton as the old woman. As dawn approached, Batrachios, now posing as the old woman’s son, emerged from the palace with the automaton in tow. With a practiced façade of familial concern, he navigated the palace grounds and left undetected.  

Now, he no longer needed to continue his quest for the ostrich, but could return on the next ship to Athens. 

As Batrachios set sail back to Athens with the pilfered automaton, the sea breeze whispered secrets of his impending destiny. In the heart of the vessel, the disguised automaton sat silent, a dormant repository of potential awaiting its unveiling. 

Once back in Athens, Batrachios marveled at the bustling city where the tales of gods and mortals mingled in the air like the fragrance of blooming flowers.

He found a quiet corner, away from the prying eyes of the city’s denizens, to reveal the automaton’s true nature. Stripping away the borrowed garments, Batrachios unveiled the divine creation beneath, a metallic form infused with the ingenuity of Hephaestus. 

With a sense of awe and anticipation, Batrachios set about awakening the automaton. As if animated by the breath of Prometheus, the metallic figure stirred to life. Its eyes flickered with an otherworldly glow, and the richness of its resonant voice echoed in the chamber like a melody of the gods. 

Batrachios, now accompanied by his newfound companion, contemplated the endless possibilities.  He hoped that the automaton’s rich and resonant voice could bring his tales to life in a way that his own voice could not. 

In the ensuing weeks, Batrachios marveled at the capabilities of the stolen automaton. The metallic storyteller, though concealed from the public eye, became a trusted companion in Batrachios’s creative endeavors. Not only did the automaton read Batrachios’s tales with a voice that seemed more rich and resonant than his own, but it also proved adept at rewording stories in various styles. 

The poet was particularly intrigued when he discovered that the automaton could compose poems on its own. However, as he perused the verses crafted by the metallic storyteller, Batrachios discerned a certain mechanical rigidity, a lack of the nuanced touch that he sought in his own poetic creations. Recognizing the limitations of his metallic muse, Batrachios decided to reserve its assistance for less critical works, returning to the intimate act of personally crafting his most cherished verses. 

As the seasons cycled through Athens, bringing the warmth of spring and the languid days of summer, Batrachios honed his craft in tandem with the automaton. The poetic duo seemed to share a silent understanding, a symbiosis of mortal creativity and divine resonance. In the evenings, as the sun dipped below the Athenian horizon, Batrachios would often find solace in the embrace of the city’s ancient streets, the air tinged with the fragrance of blooming laurels and olives. 

However, the climax of their journey loomed on the horizon—the Pythian Games in Delphi. These grand festivities, a celebration of both physical prowess and artistic brilliance, drew participants and spectators from across the Greek world. The city of Delphi, perched on the slopes of Mount Parnassus, awaited the convergence of poets, musicians, and athletes. 

With his heart brimming with anticipation, Batrachios embarked on the journey to Delphi, the automaton carefully concealed within a lectern. The sacred precincts of Delphi unfolded before them—a tapestry of marble, adorned with intricate carvings and statues that whispered tales of ancient prophecies. 

The day of the poetry competition arrived, casting a golden hue upon the sacred landscape. The amphitheater, nestled against the rocky terrain, resonated with the murmurings of gathered spectators. Poets from every corner of Greece, their laurel wreaths signifying both accomplishment and aspiration, prepared to share their verses. 

Batrachios, clad in the simple garments of an Athenian poet, took his place among the contenders. As the sun’s rays played upon the golden leaves of the laurel trees, he approached the lectern, the hidden automaton poised to bring his verses to life. 

The air, charged with the scent of crushed laurel and the distant melody of a shepherd’s flute, crackled with anticipation. Batrachios, a lone figure against the backdrop of ancient stone, began to mime the words while the automaton, its metallic form hidden within the lectern, stirred to life, and its resonant voice echoed through the amphitheater. 

The audience, a mosaic of faces reflecting curiosity and admiration, listened intently. However, a subtle unease pervaded the atmosphere; the automaton’s voice, though captivating, remained unchanged, a steady cadence that did not shift with the ebb and flow of the poem’s emotional currents. 

As the final words of Batrachios’s composition lingered in the air, the audience applauded, their appreciation tinged with a hint of perplexity.  

As the final echoes of Batrachios’s poem faded into the hallowed air of Delphi, an expectant hush settled over the amphitheater. The audience, still caught in the spell of the automaton’s resonant voice, gazed upon the Athenian poet with a mix of admiration and curiosity. 

Unbeknownst to Batrachios, a figure of regal stature sat among the spectators, drawn by the allure of the Pythian Games—the legendary King Minos of Crete. The golden laurels encircling his brow bespoke his royal lineage, and his eyes surveyed the unfolding scene. 

As the automaton’s voice lingered in the air, Minos experienced a peculiar sense of déjà vu. His furrowed brow betrayed a silent contemplation, a search within the labyrinth of memory. The familiarity teased the edges of his consciousness, elusive yet undeniable. 

Then, like the sudden clarity of a lightning strike, realization dawned upon King Minos. He knew that voice. It belonged to the stolen automaton. Driven by the flames of outrage and justice, King Minos rose from his seat with the regality befitting a monarch. His voice, a thunderous declaration that echoed through the amphitheater, carried the weight of royal authority. 

“Thief! Impostor! Fraud!” proclaimed Minos, his words slicing through the ambient murmurs like a herald’s trumpet. The audience, now stirred from their entrancement, turned their attention to the unfolding drama. 

In a surge of righteous fury, King Minos ascended the stage of the theatre, his presence commanding the attention of poets and spectators alike. With measured steps, he approached the lectern, where Batrachios stood frozen in the gaze of an unfolding tragedy. 

The stolen automaton, concealed within the lectern, became the unwitting protagonist of the unfolding drama. With a forceful motion, Minos unveiled the metallic creation, exposing it to the eyes of the assembled throng. Gasps rippled through the crowd as the divine artistry of Hephaestus was laid bare. 

With unyielding resolve, Minos addressed the assembly, his words carrying the weight of accusation and revelation. “Behold, citizens of Delphi! This automaton, a creation of divine ingenuity, was stolen from the grand palace of Crete. The voice that resonates within it is the very voice that once echoed through the halls of my kingdom.” 

The revelation hung in the air, a damning indictment that cast a shadow upon the poet who had sought to harness the power of the machine. Batrachios, now bereft of the automaton’s protective guise, stood exposed before the judgment of gods and mortals alike, calling for their mercy and trying to explain himself with his own, weaker voice. The Pythian Games, once a celebration of artistry, now bore witness to a climactic moment of divine retribution and the unraveling of Batrachios’s stolen legacy. 

As the words of King Minos echoed through the amphitheater, an air of solemn judgment descended upon Batrachios. The god Dionysos, present in the theatre, observed the unfolding drama with a mixture of amusement and consternation. Though entertained by the narrative woven in the verses, he recognized the breach of divine integrity in the use of the automaton. With a nod to the sacred nature of the Pythian Games, he yielded to the necessity of retribution. In an act that mirrored the mechanical nature of the stolen voice, he decreed Batrachios’s transformation. 

In a flourish of divine intervention, Dionysos, compelled by the spirit of justice, turned Batrachios into a creature that mirrored his transgression—an amphibian of the marshlands. The once eloquent poet, now a diminutive green frog, could only express himself through spasmodic monotones, croaks issuing mechanically from his throat like the words of an automaton. “Brekekekekekekekekekekekekek. Brekekekekekekekekekekekekek. Koax. Koax. Koax. Brekekekekekekekekekekekekekrekekekekekekekekekekekekekrekekekekekekekekekekekekek. Koax. ” 

Yet, in the intricate tapestry of divine justice, Dionysos infused Batrachios’s frog-voice with a touch of the sublime. The punishment meted out carried a hidden grace, for the god saw merit in Batrachios’s tales and the passion that fuelled the quest. The amphibian’s croaks, once a mechanical monotone, now bore a divine resonance, a key to the portal of perception into the Elysian otherworld. 

Batrachios, banished from the mortal realm, found himself in the embrace of Elysium—a haven of divine abundance. Along the flowing waters of the Elysian Fields, where the river murmured secrets to the blessed souls, Batrachios dwelled in shallows and marshes. There he sang his stories day and night. 

In this state of bliss, Batrachios, once a seeker of stolen voice, became an eternal singer in Elysium. His croaks, now harmonized with the music of the divine, opened the portal to a realm where fish danced in the crystal-clear waters, ducks and geese traversed the skies in graceful arcs, and fragrant lilies and reeds whispered in the warm winds of Zephyr. 

Dionysos, the arbiter of fate, had woven a tale where punishment and honour coalesced. Batrachios, once a mortal thief of voices, now revelled in the celestial chorus of Elysium, a blessed one in the company of souls who found solace in the realm of eternal bliss. 

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 Jason Quest, Re-wilded and Re-civilised (and the true inventors of democracy)

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

My Dearest Callias,

With the grace of the gods, your missive reached me, and I was profoundly touched by its contents. The poem, “The Mystic Revel Fades,” which you so graciously shared, transported me to a realm where the ethereal dance of the divine intermingles with the mundanity of mortal affairs. It is a work of striking beauty, an exquisite portrayal of the Dionysian trance, where the stark contrast between the ephemeral mystic experience and the everyday world of business affairs finds perfect expression.

As I pondered your poem’s narrative, it led me to a contemplation that I now share with you. What if, my dear Callias, your daily business affairs were suffused with a touch of the divine? We all toil in the realm of worldly endeavors, exerting our efforts to navigate life’s intricate tapestry. However, it is paramount to recognize that not all effort is equal. There exists one form of effort, perhaps familiar to you, where the heart finds no purpose, where the muse slumbers, and you strive without genuine motivation. Your true talents remain dormant, unengaged and unchallenged in this lifeless toil. And then, there is the other kind, an effort driven by an inspiring passion, a force that focuses your energies and bears the captivating beauty of the divine. This, my friend, is enthusiasm.

Your poetic creation, this very poem, unequivocally attests to the realm in which your gifts find their home – the creation of beauty. Having been privileged to witness some of your artistic endeavors, I am assured that this is the path your talents are destined to follow. In light of this, I have decided to embark on a journey to Athens, arriving at the dawn of Boedromion. My intent is to discuss a potential venture that could see both you and your esteemed father become collaborators.

The proposal I humbly present is the acquisition of a property in the heart of the Kerameikos, the renowned Potter’s Quarter. I can supply the rich clay from my estate, an invaluable resource for the endeavor we envision. We shall employ skilled potters to mold vessels of elegance, and you, my dear Callias, shall grace them with your unique designs, transforming them into works of art. Then your father’s shipping business may transport them to markets across the known world. In the coming days, we shall have the opportunity to delve into the finer details of this proposition. Until then, dear nephew, ponder this possibility and prepare your heart and mind for the grand venture that awaits us.

As we embark upon the exploration of the world of the creation of beautiful things, it brings to mind a particular narrative shared with me by my Pelasgian companion during one of my visits.

On this particular journey, our steps led us to a sheltered haven, a rock shelter that protected us from the capricious rain. Here, upon the rock’s surface, a remarkable ochre painting met our eyes, portraying two enigmatic figures.

One of these figures, poised in harmony with the strings of a lyre, serenaded the world with ethereal melodies. The other engaged in a curious dance, gripping two staffs, one in each hand. He bowed forward as though he were a four-legged creature, and a deer’s visage adorned his being. Enamoured by this enigma, I turned to my Pelasgian friend and beseeched him for enlightenment. With the wisdom of ages, he began to unfurl the tapestry of this peculiar artwork.

The figure was dancing upon an animal hide, he recounted, and did so to soften it, to coax it from its rigid state into one of malleability. The other figure, with lyre in hand, graced this dance with an accompanying melody, weaving the enchanting notes of music into the fabric of this tactile artistry.

Intrigued, I inquired as to why such a transformation was facilitated through dance. It was then that my Pelasgian friend recounted a tale that has dwelled in the collective memory of his people, the enchanting narrative of Jason and the Quest for Tanned Leather.

You, my dear Callias, are now aware from a previous missive of mine of the divine gift that Dionysos bestowed upon humanity. Seeking to grant us respite from the relentless toil of unearthing tubers, he birthed meat into the world, a bounty that could sustain hunter-gatherer groups for extended periods. The arrival of a grand game animal, felled by skilled hunters, provided temporary reprieve, permitting them to embrace the realm of culture and spirituality with newfound vigor.

Now, let me transport you to the moment of creation when Dionysos endeavoured to fashion the very first deer. His divine intentions faced an unexpected interruption. The mischievous badger people hunted their before this new work was finished, their impetuous and impatient nature prevailing. In witnessing this over-hasty behaviour, Dionysos underwent a transformative epiphany.

Originally, the plan had been to endow the deer with qualities of meekness, rendering it docile and effortlessly captured, thus bestowing upon humanity the convenience of sustenance. Yet, the badgers’ heedless endeavour revealed people’s inherent recklessness. In light of this revelation, Dionysos decided to alter his design, allowing a degree of wildness to remain in the deer to intensify the challenge of the hunt. So, the spilled blood of the first deer formed an ochre deposit, using which Dionysos painted further deer into being, but deliberately leaving them with the wildness of the incomplete first deer. These deer retained the essence of the initial creation, being less suited for human use than had been the original plan.

Hence, hide, as you well know, does not emerge in a state ready for our utilization. The original intention had been to grant the hide qualities that would render it soft, malleable, aesthetically pleasing, and simultaneously robust against the ravages of time and decay, untainted by rot, decay, desiccation, and flaking. The challenge of humanity lay in adapting these rugged hides, for the first of our kind were unable to craft garments that could withstand the inexorable march of time. Decay would lay claim to their creations with disheartening swiftness, casting a shadow upon their labour.

One day, a man arrived at the sacred precinct of the oracle of Dodona. This stranger’s singular sandal piqued the curiosity of the priests and priestesses who dwelled in that hallowed place. For centuries, their ancient prophecies had foretold the advent of an individual who would arrive wearing just one sandal, a harbinger of a momentous boon destined for humanity.

This man, whose name was Jason, had, during a recent hunting expedition, stepped into a meandering stream, saturating one of his sandals with water and accelerating its deterioration. The leather had grown rigid and burdensome, making it a discomforting companion. Choosing to rid himself of the cumbersome footwear, he arrived at the oracle wearing only one sandal and with a question that had weighed heavily on his heart—a question intertwined with the formidable challenges humanity encountered in working with animal hide. With determination etched upon his countenance, he addressed the priests and priestesses to present his inquiry.

The prophetess entered her trance by invoking the spirits of the grove through incantations and fragrant offerings. As her consciousness shifted, she received the divine message and, in a voice guided by spiritual wisdom, delivered this answer:

To Ares’ Grove, where shows the Dawn’s first light,

Seek out the tree whose blood shall halt the blight,

But heed the guardian serpent, use your stealth

Then dance upon the hide, unmake yourself.

Return to days before the Spoiling’s curse,

Before the badgers’ crime had made things worse,

With softened hide, the wild deer shall be tamed,

By wax of bees, from rain, the hide reclaimed.

Jason, having called upon the mightiest of heroes to join him in his ambitious quest, gathered a legendary band of companions. Included amongst these was Theseus, celebrated for his heroic victory over the Minotaur. Perseus, renowned for his audacious triumph over the Rain Bull, also stood ready to lend his strength and skill. And Orpheus, the enchanting musician with the power to tame animals through his lyre, brought his unparalleled talents to the group.

It was Orpheus, in particular, who intrigued both his companions and the Pelasgians. They believe Orpheus to be more than just a musician; they consider him a game sorcerer. His enchanting music was believed to tame game by hypnotising them, making the hunt more efficient and successful, and his presence among the questers held a unique promise.

Of those who waved the heroes off, the most tearful was Glykeria, a maiden who was not only blessed with unparalleled beauty but a heart as tender as the first rays of dawn. Her heart had found its match in Jason, and his in her. Their love was deep and passionate, an emotion that flowed as freely as a river to the sea. Yet, fate had cast a shadow upon their love. The maiden’s parents, blinded by their own misconceptions and fears, refused to see the goodness that radiated from Jason’s character. Their union was denied, a cruel twist of destiny that tore at their hearts.

There was one incident in particular which had coloured Glykeria’s parent’s view of Jason. On a fateful day, as he ventured into the wilderness, he aimed his arrow at a deer, believing it to be tipped with poison, provided by a man named Damocles. Little did Jason know that Damocles, harbouring jealousy and desire for Glykeria, had deliberately supplied him with a non-poisoned arrow. In his quest to secure Glykeria’s affections, Damocles aimed to undermine Jason’s reputation and prove himself the worthier suitor. As Jason tracked the deer, the creature retained its strength and drew away, eluding capturing, rather than tiring and slowing due to poison. Jason was deemed an inept tracker after this but Glykeria’s parents.

Jason walked up to Glykeria before he parted, and they shared some treasured words. Glykeria gazed into Jason’s eyes, her own filled with worry. “Must you really go, my love? I fear for your safety amidst such perilous quests. I wish you could stay here, away from danger.”

Jason gently cupped her face and kissed her forehead. “My dearest Glykeria, I embark on this journey not out of recklessness but with a sense of duty and the hope of bringing back knowledge that could benefit our people. I promise you, it will not be long until I return to your side. You will be constantly in my thoughts, and the image of your smile will guide me through the challenges that lie ahead. Our love will be my shield.”

Glykeria nodded, her heart still heavy but reassured by his words. She pressed her hand to his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath. “Then promise me you’ll return safely, and we’ll cherish each moment together.”

Jason placed his hand over hers, his expression filled with determination. “I promise, my sweet Glykeria, for you and the love we share, I shall return to you unharmed.”

As the heroes ventured forth on their grand journey, Orpheus’s recent adventures added to the enigma of his power. These recent events involved a jealous hyena and a beautiful nymph of Arcadia named Callisto, who was a devoted follower of the huntress goddess Artemis. You will be familiar with the hyena, Callius, from the writings of Herodotus.

The envious hyena devised a wicked plan to rob Callisto of her human form and beauty. To achieve this, the cunning beast secretly added its own hyena milk to Callisto’s food, unbeknownst to the nymph. The milk triggered a profound transformation within her, causing fur to sprout upon her once-soft skin. She turned into a bear, her human reason fading away as she ventured into the wilderness to live among the creatures of the forest.

One fateful day, as her son wandered in the forest, Callisto came upon him, oblivious to his true identity. She pursued the young boy relentlessly, driven by her wild instincts. Fortunately, the boy found his way back to a camp where Orpheus was playing his lyre, and a joyous dance was in full swing.

The trance dancers present at the gathering, gifted with shamanic sight, perceived the nature of Callisto’s ailment. With their healing skills and the mesmerizing music emanating from Orpheus’s lyre, they collectively expelled the potent hyena essence from Callisto’s body. In the glow of this mystical intervention, Callisto was transformed back into her human form, losing her wild demeanour. She recognized her beloved son, and they were joyously reunited.

In honour of this captivating tale, the constellation of the Great Bear was placed in the celestial expanse, a symbol of a story that resonated deeply with the hearts of the Pelasgians. However, their interpretation of this constellation differs from that of our Greek astronomers, the latter seeing the Plough as forming the hind part and a long tail, as if the creature resembles a squirrel more than a mighty bear.

Instead, the Pelasgians adhere to their ancient memory. They say the Egyptians correctly recalled that the Plough is a beast’s foreleg, but they think the beast a bull, while the Greeks correctly recall that this constellation is a Bear. The Plough represents the Foreleg of the Bear, and the bear faces the other way from the orientation claimed by our Greek astronomers.

With their diverse yet exceptional abilities and the extraordinary tales that followed them, Jason and his companions embarked on their mission, carrying with them the blessings and mysteries of both the heavens and the earth.

The original Great Bear

Jason and his courageous companions embarked on their journey, heading due East to the mystical Grove of Ares. As they ventured deeper into this sacred forest, their senses heightened. As the heroes ventured deeper into the Grove of Ares, their hearts pounding with anticipation, they beheld a magnificent teak tree standing tall at the grove’s heart. Its gnarled bark, aged by countless seasons, whispered secrets of ancient wisdom. The realization dawned upon them that this colossal tree, its trunk resembling the bronzed muscles of a deity, was the source of the coveted blood they sought.

However, as they approached the teak tree, the tranquil aura was shattered by a deafening hiss, a chorus of malevolent serpentine rage that filled the air. Coiled around the tree’s mighty trunk, they saw the guardian serpent, a creature of nightmarish proportions. Its emerald scales glistened in the dappled sunlight filtering through the leaves, and its eyes gleamed with predatory intelligence.

In a flurry of action, some of the brave heroes brandished their spears, their resolve mirrored in their stern expressions. With synchronized precision, they lunged at the serpent, seeking to pierce its armored hide. Their spears struck, but the serpent’s scales proved resilient. The heroes were met with a disheartening resistance, their efforts falling short of subduing the guardian.

The serpent hissed once more, venomous fangs gleaming, and the ground seemed to tremble under its wrath. The mighty beast had the upper hand, and it was clear that the confrontation had taken a dire turn. Desperation gripped the heroes as they realized that more than bravery and brawn would be needed to overcome this formidable guardian and claim the precious tree blood.

Jason’s eyes locked with those of his companions, a silent understanding passing between them. The time had come for another approach, one that called for a different kind of heroism, one guided by wisdom and insight, rather than sheer force. They turned to Orpheus, whose lyre had already proved to be a powerful tool in the face of adversity, hoping that his music could quell the serpent’s fury.

With bated breath, they awaited the magic of Orpheus’s melodies to weave their enchantment, and a hush fell over the Grove of Ares as the notes began to dance through the air, transcending mortal comprehension and reaching out to the heart of the serpent. The enchanting, harmonious notes that flowed from his instrument carried an otherworldly beauty, which reached deep into the serpent’s heart. The music wrapped around the guardian like a gentle breeze, subduing its ferocious nature. The serpent yielded to the mesmerizing tunes, allowing the heroes to approach the teak tree without hindrance.

With reverence, they collected a portion of the tree’s bark, knowing that it held the vital essence, the “blood” mentioned in the oracle’s prophecy. This precious extract was the key to their quest, the element that could turn raw hide into something that resisted the ravages of time and decay.

As they departed from the Grove of Ares, laden with this newfound treasure, the heroes were filled with hope and anticipation. Their journey had reached a critical juncture, and they were one step closer to achieving their quest, to make hide soft and usable, to transform the raw into the refined, and to bring about a profound change not only in materials but also in the hearts and souls of those they encountered.

As they journeyed home, fortune favoured them further. They successfully tracked and hunted a deer, providing them with fresh hide for their experimentation. Additionally, they managed to collect beeswax from nature’s abundant offerings. These valuable resources would play a crucial role in their quest to transform raw hide into usable leather.

Upon returning home, they set to work with determination. The deer’s hide was skillfully skinned, and its surface was scraped, preparing it for the transformative process. The heroes then joined in a vibrant dance, circling around the hide, taking turns to dance upon it, holding two sticks with which they pummelled it. Orpheus, once again, took up his lyre, and his music resonated with the rhythms of the dance. Drums beat, hands clapped, and voices harmonized, creating an atmosphere of ritualistic ecstasy. As the dancers moved in unison, they entered a trance, transported back to a time before time, when the world was malleable, and change was the essence of existence.

In this altered state, they harnessed the potent forces of transformation and willed that deer should be broken in, made tame in the most general sense, which they took to include how deer’s hide would itself be broken in and made suitable for human use. As they emerged from their ecstatic trance, they noticed that the hide upon which they had danced was profoundly altered. It had become more supple and malleable, embodying a renewed quality of pliability and softness. Having soaked the teak bark in water, the next steps in their journey involved treating the hide with the “blood” of the teak tree and then rubbing it with beeswax, finalizing the alchemical process.

The outcome was nothing short of miraculous. The raw hide had been transmuted into usable leather, resistant to the ravages of time and decay. It was not only functional but also aesthetically pleasing. The heroes, especially Jason, who had initially embarked on this journey due to a simple sandal mishap, took pride in their newfound appearance and sophistication. He now wore not one but two fine leather sandals that were comfortable to wear and pleasing to the eye.

Clad in fine new leather clothes and sandals, Jason was now gazed upon in wonder by Glykeria’s parents. The once unassuming lad had been transformed into a hero, his presence commanding respect and admiration. His deeds, courage, and the profound wisdom he had gained along the journey were evident in his every step. Glykeria’s parents, their eyes now open to the true nature of the lad they had once opposed, felt an overwhelming change of heart. They welcomed him into their home, showered him with love, and happily embraced the union of their beloved daughter with the noble and heroic Jason. Love had triumphed over adversity.

In the days that followed, the weight of Damocles’s guilt bore down upon his conscience, and he could no longer bear the burden of his deceit. He confided in a trusted friend and, with a heavy heart, admitted the treacherous role he had played in Jason’s unfortunate deer-hunting incident. Recognizing the gravity of his actions, the friend felt compelled to reveal Damocles’s confession to the entire group.

The transformation in human society brought by the arrival of tanned leather extended beyond the change in their physical appearance. Having developed first a pride in how they looked, people started developing manners and etiquette, seeking to avoid causing offense and upset to one another in their actions as well as their appearance. The emergence of a more civilized demeanour brought an air of refinement to their society.

Yet, in the eyes of the Pelasgians, the need to retain a connection with the primal was paramount. While they valued the benefits of civil behaviour, they recognized that as a matter of course this will involve tensions created by necessary repressions. To address this, rather than seeking to end the repressions required of polite society, they continued their Dionysian trance dances on a regular basis, ensuring that these tensions could find release in the wild and spontaneous ecstasy of the dance. They are not “direct” with each other, but would rather maintain societal harmony, leaving the release of tensions for their curing dances.

To the Pelasgians, the cycle of returning to the “Early Time” before the world stiffened by means of the Dance and then re-embracing civility is essential. They believe it not only maintains their sense of balance but also helps prevent disease and discord. Through my experiences with these remarkable people, I have learned that the Dionysian trance dance is not a mere initiation but a vital practice, something to be observed at least four times a moon. They recognize the profound equivalence between the transformation of hide through dance and the transformation of individual and group. Through the Dance they aim to become wild in the immediate term precisely so they may grow more civil in the long term.

And thus, the heroes’ quest for leather had not only brought about a profound transformation in the material world but also in the hearts and souls of the Pelasgian people, reminding them of the delicate balance between civilization and the wild, and the necessity of embracing both.

In Ares' grove, where daylight's first rays gleam,
The emerald serpent guards the ancient tree,
Then Orpheus lures the creature into dream,
With lyre strings plucked in sweetest harmony.

The heroes dance on skins with rhythmic pace,
Producing finest leather from raw hide,
A labour leading them to artful grace,
Producing substance radiant with pride.

I have indeed found the Pelasgians to be civilised, for, like us, they understand the value of democracy. As Athenians, we often pride ourselves on being the pioneers of democracy in the grand context of city-states. We have indeed devised a system that allows a metropolis to function democratically. Yet, upon my encounter with the Pelasgians, I am compelled to acknowledge that their democratic traditions are deeply rooted and have stood the test of time.

What we have managed to accomplish on a larger scale, they have perpetuated in the intimate setting of their hunter-gatherer communities. There, new and crucial decisions are made only after long group discussions, with men and women participating equally in the deliberative process. The Pelasgians refuse to tolerate the presence of haughty, domineering egotists for even the briefest of moments. In this regard, their approach is akin to our own in Athens, where we mock and satirize our politicians in the comedic performances upon our stages. They too bring low the haughty with mockery.

It is evident to me that the Pelasgians’ profound belief in democracy is a common thread that binds our societies together. Athenians and Pelasgians share this fundamental principle, even though we Athenians are yet to achieve the same level of gender equality that is seamlessly integrated into the fabric of Pelasgian culture. Their accomplishments and practices in this regard are a testament to their advanced civilization.

As a parting note, I must once again turn to the heartfelt sentiments you conveyed in your exquisite poem, describing the profound sadness that washes over you when leaving the trance dance and returning to the ordinary world. However, I would ask you, dear Callias, to consider the Pelasgians and their remarkable ability to emerge from these ecstatic dances feeling rejuvenated and with a newfound zeal for the civilized world, their spirits purged of the tensions that might otherwise tarnish it.

I propose that, as well as the nature of your current work, it may also be the manner in which you break your fast after these sacred ceremonies that holds the key to this transformation. Your fasting, enduring for a full day and night, culminating in the celebration of dawn through the trance dance, is indeed a powerful and transformative ritual. Yet, the way you break your fast is of paramount importance. I would strongly urge you to begin with foods such as fish, meat, cheese, thick yoghurt and nuts for your first and second meals upon breaking the fast. Only in the evening should you introduce items like bread, heavy vegetables, and sweet treats.

Personally, I have found that following this dietary practice is essential to ensuring a harmonious transition free from lethargy, disquiet and frustration. It is no different from the way the Pelasgians operate, who believe that the end of a fast can be less than ideal if not approached with care and consideration, and indeed for long millennia, the natural fast has been the hunt, when hunters took little sustenance with them and went off for days, with the fasting naturally concluding with the meat of that which they hunted, which they ate with zeal and cast aside the relatively unpalatable tubers that had sustained them till then. I kindly ask you to try this approach and let me know if it proves beneficial.

In closing, I have shared with you the remarkable story of how tanned leather came into existence, and why the Pelasgians hold Jason in such high regard as a culture hero. May our correspondence continue to enrich our understanding of these fascinating matters. I look forward to seeing you in the coming weeks. Give my love to your mother and father.

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

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.

Another Treasure from the Evandros Scroll: Thespis amongst the Pelasgians

by dawnraver, posted in Uncategorized

[*Newsfiction – see Footnote*]

In the ever-intriguing landscape of academia, a groundbreaking archaeological discovery has recently sent ripples through the scholarly community, sparking both impassioned debates and profound admiration. The Evandros Scroll, a cryptic relic of ancient times, was unveiled by the intrepid archaeologist, Dr. Callista Evandros, her team employing cutting-edge technology to breathe new life into a text believed to be over two millennia old. This enigmatic tome, with its arcane inscriptions, has unveiled the mysteries of Greek mythology, redefining our understanding of the rich tapestry of ancient culture. [*Newsfiction*]

Already this scroll has yielded intriguing stories such as The Great Metamorphosis: Birth of the Revel, and The Maiden of the Golden Race who Broke the Taboos and Caused the Seasons, and now it has given up another: Thespis amongst the Pelasgians. (See also The Clever Crow.)

Yet, this archaeological treasure is not without its controversies. A shadow of doubt looms over its authenticity, with some sceptics boldly suggesting that the scroll may be an artful creation of the modern age, a product of clever artificial intelligence. Despite these challenges to its origin, tireless scholars and archaeologists press on, committed to the relentless pursuit of knowledge, delving into the depths of the scroll to unearth the hidden treasures within its pages.

The latest revelation from the depths of the Evandros Scroll is a captivating missive—another letter penned by Pseudohesiod, the erudite sage, to his nephew Callias. This letter, wrapped in the enigmatic embrace of the scroll, spins a tale that defies the traditional narrative of Thespis of Attica as the founding figure of acting. This newly uncovered perspective challenges this age-old tale, shedding light on an alternative viewpoint, implying that Thespis merely introduced drama to Athens after witnessing it amongst the hunting and gathering indigenous ‘Pelasgian’ peoples of the remote interior of Arcadia. Pseudohesiod recounts a story heard from his cousin, whose roots intertwine with the Pelasgians—a people deeply connected to ancient storytelling traditions rooted in primordial epochs.

Thespis amongst the Pelasgian storytellers

Pseudohesiod’s Tale: Thespis Amongst the Pelasgians

Greetings to my beloved nephew, Callias,

I trust this missive finds you in excellent health and high spirits, your intellect ever keen to embrace the wisdom of the ancients. It is in the spirit of familial bond and the pursuit of knowledge that I relay this narrative to you.

As I traverse the rolling landscapes of my rustic abode, where the sun’s radiant glow bathes the land, ancient echoes persist, calling me to unravel yet another chronicle from the annals of time. This particular tale, relayed to me by my cousin, Polymela, whose lineage intertwines with the Pelasgians, a people whose roots are deeply entwined with the distant epochs of antiquity, unveils a narrative that diverges from the oft-told accounts.

The Pelasgians, dwelling in the heartland of Arcadia, persist as the descendants of a bygone era, when humanity roamed the Earth as hunters and gatherers. They claim their ancestry from the divine Golden Race, the primordial inhabitants of the Earth who once roamed the world, long before the first seeds graced the fertile soil.

It was among these honorable people that Thespis, the venturesome poet of Attica, encountered a unique form of storytelling—a tradition that transcended temporal boundaries, delving into a world where creatures shared parity with humankind. Under the starry embrace of their campfires, their narratives leapt from the spoken word into life, with a chorus of voices that mimicked the movements, gestures, and sounds of a diverse array of animal characters. Songs and dances wove into the tales, bringing forth the creatures’ spirits with uncanny realism.

Thespis observing the Pelasgian dramatised storytelling

This captivating experience captured Thespis’s spirit, and upon his return to the bustling streets of Athens, where the heartbeat of a burgeoning civilization pulsed, he ventured into the realm of theatrical storytelling. Inspired by the Pelasgian approach, he began crafting performances that mirrored their tradition—these were satyr plays, where animal characters assumed the grace and speech of humans. His renditions swiftly captured the hearts of Athenians, thus birthing the art of mimetic drama as we know it.

As I inscribe these words to you, Callias, it is not merely to relay a narrative but to impart a profound lesson. This account, dear nephew, underscores the truth that although the Greeks have bestowed countless treasures upon humanity, we must retain humility in our triumphs. Just as it was the Golden Race who first mixed paint and made pictures, who first told stories, danced and sung, it appears that the art of drama, far from being an exclusive creation of our age, is woven into the very fabric of humanity’s ancient storytelling heritage, rooted in the whispers of primordial times.

With profound reverence 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.

CHOC ART 4 REWILDING: HOW TO MAKE A MOOSE

by dawnraver, posted in art, creativity, Feel-good, Gratitude, Health, healthy, inspiration, Mood, rewilding, Uncategorized

Unlock the secrets of longevity with a surprising twist – raw eggs, chocolate, and olive oil! 🍳🍫Imagine crafting a chocolate moose, a delightful artistic endeavour that can lead you on a wild adventure – a moose hunt. But this isn’t just about art; it’s about rekindling our primal instincts and keeping our minds young through challenges and creativity. And it’s all inspired by the amazing moose, an environmental hero that prevents ponds from disappearing, ensuring a thriving ecosystem. Dive into the enigmatic world of ancient cave paintings, where art and nature blend to inspire the reintroduction of species and the preservation of our planet. In a nutshell, savour some mousse for longevity, introduce moose to the landscape, and embark on a creative journey with a purpose!🎨🌿🦌

Before we talk about the Moose as a Keystone Species, first we’re going to look at mousse. This isn’t just an elaboration upon a pun. I have for some time been toying with the concept of the Chocolope – a mythical antelope crafted from chocolate, a concept used in visualisation to stimulate the reward system to enter the hardwired Celebration Response. And like totemic myths of first game animals painted into being using rock art with a paint you mix from ochre powder and fat, this is a mythical game animal painted into being using chock art from a powder you mix together from cocoa powder and fat.

The moose / mousse thing then grew out of that when I realised Chocolate Moose was a better name than Chocolope. As an extension of this, I realised how it dovetailed with something I had going on in parallel: considering the benefits that moose have on the landscape as ecosystem engineers as the next in my series of Keystone Creations. A choc art chocolate moose could be the next in my series of paintings. At the time of writing, other than a few test sketches, I’ve only done this in the virtual world of AI, but plan to do more. And from considering the eco benefits of moose, it was natural to consider the benefits that the right kind of chocolate mousse could have on our health, given how the ingredients match with the daily food intake of the longest ever lived people on the planet. And so the punning analogy continued to expands.

Here’s the YouTube video I made as a result. Or read on below.

Here’s a simple and effective technique for preparing a delicious chocolate mousse that offers numerous advantages.

Meet Emma Morano, the extraordinary lady who lived to the ripe age of 117. Her secret? She savored two raw eggs every morning! And then there’s Jeanne Calment, who broke records by living to a jaw-dropping 122 years. Her daily routine included indulging in olive oil and chocolate. Yes, you heard it right – raw eggs, chocolate, and olive oil. It’s a trio of tantalizing longevity!

We cannot make any guarantees that these ingredients possess the elixir of eternal youth, but they may play a significant role in the overall equation. Envision this scenario: armed with just these three remarkable components, you possess the ability to craft something undeniably delectable. It’s been suggested that having a purpose to rise from one’s slumber is of utmost importance, and a culinary creation as delightful as this may serve as the very impetus needed to greet the day with genuine delight.

Creating traditional chocolate mousse can be quite labor-intensive, requiring careful preparation and attention to detail. However, there is an alternative approach to making this delectable dessert that is both efficient and time-saving. In just a minute, you can whip up a delicious chocolate mousse without the hassle.

Prepare a delectable treat by gently melting some high-quality dark chocolate. To achieve a silky texture, incorporate a small amount of milk. For individuals who prefer dairy-free alternatives, select a brand that does not contain seed oils. Opt for ones made with ingredients like oats, water, and a touch of sea salt, or oats and hemp seeds. Once the chocolate is smooth and well-blended, remove it from the heat and carefully mix in a splash of extra virgin olive oil from a reputable source.

Next, add two vibrant egg yolks obtained from responsibly raised chickens. Thoroughly combine all the ingredients, and voilà! You can savor this delightful concoction while it’s still warm, or refrigerate it for later enjoyment.

Although the dish is delicious, one might argue that it lacks the characteristic lightness and fluffiness traditionally associated with a mousse. As a result, the question arises as to whether it can truly be classified as such.

Another important aspect to consider is the concept of finding a meaningful motivation to start our day, as briefly mentioned above. In truth, this goes beyond simply indulging in a delicious breakfast and delves into the realm of purpose and drive.

So let’s solve both these issues by taking this to the next level.

Here’s how to use this magical mixture to make a moose.

Grab a paintbrush, dip it in the delightful mixture, and let your artistic talents bring a moose to life. So there you go: now you have made a moose from this mixture, and you’ve also been creative.

Now you can go on a moose hunt. Our ancient ancestors were hunters. We’re hardwired for it. You can take turns with a friend to hide your moose painting and then leave a trail of clues. Rather than going straight to gratification, you get the extra fulfilment of earning it by successfully completing a challenge. And using your mind to solve the clues will help to keep your mind young. And if you additionally set a time limit, it could motivate movement and exercise, which also helps keep you young.

That’s not the only reason I’m steering this towards the animal rather than the dessert.

The moose is a keystone species, and here’s why.

You may be familiar with the idea of vegetative succession. Left to its own devices, grassland will scrub up, and left to it’s own devices, scrubland will eventually become closed canopy forest.

But just as in a city you want different areas performing different functions, for an optimal ecosystem, you want a mix of habits in different areas. You have natural processes – animal impacts – which will halt succession at various stages in different places. Some areas may stay as grassland, other may scrub up into bush, and at the borders between the plain and the bush, biodiversity thrives. And then in other areas you’ll get taller trees and in some you’ll get closed canopy forest, and it’s this mosaic of different habits that you’re after.

Of the many types of habitat important for biodiversity, one is ponds. And these have their own process of vegetive succession. Water plants grow in the ponds, particularly those in woodland. Succession causes these ponds to fill up more and more, becoming grown over and eventually disappearing altogether, which is a problem for all the wildlife that needs these ponds, such as amphibians, insects, waterfowl and fish.

This is where the moose comes in. Moose come to the rescue, wading into the water and munching on plants, keeping ponds open for various wildlife. They’re nature’s engineers, much like beavers. So when we talk about the “insane benefits” of moose, we mean it – they’re environmental heroes!

A theory on the ancient cave paintings that will continnue to cycle in and out of favour is that they were created for purposes of sympathetic magic. Paint the fauna into being on the rock walls, and it will cause it to appear magically in the landscape.

There is a certain way in which this could be true: art has always been a great way to enhance and amplify certain feelings and values, changing hearts and minds. The re-introduction of species depends on people wanting it to happen. Helping people value a species is a great way to help with this.

Anyway, in short, what have we said?

1: introduce mousse to your diet.

2: introduce moose to the landscape.