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Post by Shan on Jun 2, 2006 23:06:58 GMT
What are myths?
"Myths are generally narratives about divine or heroic beings, arranged in a coherent system, passed down traditionally, and linked to the spiritual or religious life of a community, endorsed by rulers or priests. Once this link to the spiritual leadership of society is broken, they lose their mythological qualities and evolve into folk or fairy tales [1]. Not every religious narrative is a myth however; unless it is deeply rooted in tradition, it may also be trivial pious anecdote or legend.
Myths are often intended to explain the universal and local beginnings, natural phenomena, inexplicable cultural conventions, and anything else for which no simple explanation presents itself.
In folkloristics, which is concerned with the study of both secular and sacred narratives, a myth also derives some of its power from being believed and deeply held as true. In the study of folklore, all sacred traditions have myths, and there is nothing pejorative or dismissive intended in the use of the term, as there often is in common usage.
This broader truth runs deeper than the advent of critical history which may, or may not, exist as in an authoritative written form which becomes "the story" (Preliterate oral traditions may vanish as the written word becomes "the story" and the literate become "the authority"). However, as Lucien Lévy-Bruhl puts it, "The primitive mentality is a condition of the human mind, and not a stage in its historical development." [2] Most often the term refers specifically to ancient tales from very old cultures, such as Greek mythology or Roman mythology. Some myths descended originally as part of an oral tradition and were only later written down, and many of them exist in multiple versions." - taken from Wikipedia
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Post by Shan on Jun 2, 2006 23:10:35 GMT
What are legends?
"A legend (Latin, legenda, "things to be read") is a narrative of human actions that are perceived both by teller and listeners to take place within human history and to possess certain qualities that give the tale verisimilitude. Legend, for its active and passive participants, includes no happenings that are outside the realm of "possibility", defined by a highly flexible set of parameters, which may include miracles that are perceived as actually having happened, within the specific tradition of indoctrination where the legend arises, and within which it may be transformed over time, in order to keep it fresh and vital, and realistic.
Before the invention of the printing press, stories were passed on via oral tradition. Storytellers learned their stock in trade: their stories, typically from an older storyteller, who might, though more likely not, have actually witnessed the "story" was "history". Legend is distinguished from the genre of chronicle by the fact that legends apply structures that reveal a moral definition to events, providing meaning that lifts them above the repetitions and constraints of average human lives and giving them a universality that makes them worth repeating through many generations." - taken from Wikipedia
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Post by Shan on Jun 2, 2006 23:39:56 GMT
Now it is time for some myths and legends.  If you there are some that you like, post them or provide a link to them. If you would like to add a comment or discuss the ones I post, do it. This thread is for all of us not just for me. This comes from some Native American legends I found on the net. It comes from the Blackfoot trible. Old Man and the Squirrels
One time as Old Man was walking along, he came to a place where many squirrels were playing in some very hot ashes. While some squirrels lay in the ashes, others would cover them with even more ashes. When the buried squirrels became so hot that they couldn't take the heat any more, they would call out to the others, who would take them out at once. After Old Man had watched them for a little while, he asked them if he could play with them, too.When the squirrels said okay, he asked, "May I be baked first?"
"Oh, no," replied the squirrels. "We are afraid that you don't know how to play and that you'd be burned. We'll be baked first to show you how."
Old man asked them again, but again they refused. At last Old Man agreed with them, on the condition that they'd let him cover all of them all at once. "There are so many of you," he said, "that it will save a lot of time to bury you all at once."
The squirrels agreed, and so he covered them all with hot ashes, with the exception of one who was about to become a mother. She begged him so pitifully not to be put in the ashes that Old Man said, "Well, go ahead. Run away, so that there may be other squirrels."
When all the other squirrels were covered with ashes, some of them became too warm and called out to Old Man to be taken out. Instead, he heaped more ashes over them and roasted them to death.
Then Old Man took some red willows and made a scaffold on which he laid his roasted squirrels. They made the willows greasy, which is why the red willow is greasy, even to this day. He ate as many of the squirrels as he could; in fact, he ate so many squirrels and became so full that he laid down beside a tree and went right to sleep.
While he was asleep, Lynx came along and ate all of the squirrels that were still on the scaffold. When Old Man woke up and found his roasted meat gone, he followed after the tracks, and finally came upon Lynx, who was fast asleep.
Old Man was so angry at Lynx that he grabbed Lynx by the ears and shortened his head by banging it into a stone. He pulled out the long tail and, after snapping it in half, stuck the brush part on Lynx's rear. He stretched the legs and the body of Lynx until they were long and skinny. Then Old Man threw him on the ground and said to him, "You bobcats will always have a bobtail. You will always be so short of breath that you will never run very far."
Old Man then realized that he'd been burnt by the hot ashes. So he called upon the wind to blow. Because the cool air made him feel better, he kept telling the wind to blow harder and harder. Soon, the wind was so wild that he was scooped up and blown far away. Every single tree he grabbed was pulled out of the ground, and he couldn't stop until he grabbed onto a birch tree. When the wind died down finally, he spoke angrily to the birch tree: "Why do you have so strong roots? Why can't I pull you up like all the other trees? I was having such a good time being blown all over, and then you stopped me."
He was so angry that he pulled out a knife and he slashed at the birch tree. This is why the birch tree has such beat-up looking bark now.
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Post by LaFille on Jun 3, 2006 1:38:11 GMT
Hehehe, Shan started hers too, nice! ;D I love Native American folklore... I know more the one of the peoples from the north though; this one I had never heard of. Janggut will be up to bring us some from his place when he's back... *the girl rubs her hands in expectation, grinning to have engaged the beard into putting life into the art forum  * |
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Post by riverman on Jun 3, 2006 1:46:37 GMT
This is a good idea . I hope to add ...soon
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Post by Shan on Jun 3, 2006 2:17:17 GMT
Would love for you to add some riverman whenever you get the chance. I look forward to reading them. |
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Post by Shan on Jun 3, 2006 2:41:29 GMT
This is an Arapaho legend
The Girl Who Climbed to the Sky
One morning several young women went out from their tepee village to gather firewood. Among them was Sapana, the most beautiful girl in the village, and it was she who first saw the porcupine sitting at the foot of a tall cottonwood tree. She called to the others: "Help me to catch this porcupine, and I will divide its quills among you."
The porcupine started climbing the cottonwood, but the tree's limbs were close to the ground and Sapana easily followed. "Hurry," she cried. "It is climbing up. We must have its quills to embroider our moccasins." She tried to strike the porcupine with a stick, but the animal climbed just out of her reach.
"I want those quills," Sapana said. "If necessary I will follow this porcupine to the top of the tree." But every time that the girl climbed up, the porcupine kept ahead of her.
"Sapana, you are too high up," one of her friends called from the ground. "You should come back down."
But the girl kept climbing, and it seemed to her that the tree kept extending itself toward the sky. When she neared the top of the cottonwood, she saw something above her, solid like a wall, but shining. It was the sky. Suddenly she found herself in the midst of a camp circle. The treetop had vanished, and the porcupine had transformed himself into an ugly old man.
Sapana did not like the looks of the porcupine-man, but he spoke kindly to her and led her to a tepee where his father and mother lived. "I have watched you from afar," he told her. "You are not only beautiful but industrious. We must work very hard here, and I want you to become my wife."
The porcupine-man put her to work that very day, scraping and stretching buffalo hides and making robes. When evening came, the girl went outside the tepee and sat by herself wondering how she was ever to get back home. Everything in the sky world was brown and grey, and she missed the green trees and green grass of earth.
Each day the porcupine-man went out to hunt, bringing back buffalo hides for Sapana to work on, and in the morning while he was away it was her duty to go and dig for wild turnips. "When you dig for roots," the porcupine-man warned her, "take care not to dig too deep."
One morning she found an unusually large turnip. With great difficulty she managed to pry it loose with her digging stick, and when she pulled it up she was surprised to find that it left a hole through which she could look down upon the green earth. Far below she saw rivers, mountains, circles of tepees, and people walking about.
Sapana knew now why the porcupine-man had warned her not to dig too deep. As she did not want him to know that she had found the hole in the sky, she carefully replaced the turnip. On the way back to the tepee she thought of a plan to get down to the earth again. Almost every day the porcupine-man brought buffalo hides for her to scrape and soften and make into robes. In making the robes there were always strips of sinew left over, and she kept these strips concealed beneath her bed.
At last Sapana believed that she had enough sinew strips to make a lariat long enough to reach the earth. One morning after the porcupine-man went out to hunt, she tied all the strips together and returned to the place where she had found the large turnip. She lifted it out and dug the hole wider so that her body would go through. She laid her digging stick across the opening and tied one end of the sinew rope to the middle of it. Then she tied the other end of the rope about herself under her arms. Slowly she began lowering herself by uncoiling the lariat. A long time passed before she was far enough down to be able to see the tops of the trees clearly, and then she came to the end of the lariat. She had not made it long enough to reach the ground. She did not know what to do.
She hung there for a long time, swinging back and forth above the trees. Faintly in the distance she could hear dogs barking and voices calling in her tepee village, but the people were too far away to see her. After a while she heard sounds from above. The lariat began to shake violently. A stone hurtled down from the sky, barely missing her, and then she heard the porcupine-man threatening to kill her if she did not climb back up the lariat. Another stone whizzed by her ear.
About this time Buzzard began circling around below her. "Come and help me," she called to Buzzard. The bird glided under her feet several times, and Sapana told him all that had happened to her. "Get on my back," Buzzard said, "and I will take you down to earth."
She stepped on to the bird's back. "Are you ready?" Buzzard asked.
"Yes," she replied.
"Let go of the lariat," Buzzard ordered. He began descending, but the girl was too heavy for him, and he began gliding earthward too fast. He saw Hawk flying below him. "Hawk," he called, "help me take this girl back to her people."
Hawk flew with Sapana on his back until she could see the tepee of her family clearly below. But then Hawk began to tire, and Buzzard had to take the girl on his back again. Buzzard flew on, dropping quickly through the trees and landing just outside the girl's village. Before she could thank him, Buzzard flew back into the sky.
Sapana rested for a while and then began walking very slowly to her parents' tepee. She was weak and exhausted. On the way she saw a girl coming toward her. "Sapana!" the girl cried. "We thought you were dead." The girl helped her walk on to the tepee. At first her mother did not believe that this was her own daughter returned from the sky. Then she threw her arms about her and wept.
The news of Sapana's return spread quickly through the village, and everyone came to welcome her home. She told them her story, especially of the kindness shown her by Buzzard and Hawk.
After that, whenever the people of her tribe went on a big hunt they always left one buffalo for Buzzard and Hawk to eat.
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Post by Shan on Jun 3, 2006 2:51:59 GMT
The tale of the maiden who lived behind Niagara Falls and the origin of the famous horseshoe falls.
Maid of the Mist
She lost her husband and her hope at a young age, and the beautiful girl could not find her way through the sorrow upon sorrow that was her lot in life. So she stepped one day into her canoe, singing a death song softly to herself, and paddle out into the current. Soon the canoe was caught by the rough waves and hurtled toward the falls. But as it pitched over and she fell, Heno, the god of thunder who lived in the falls, caught the maiden gently in his arms and carried her to his home beneath the thundering veil of water.Heno and his sons ministered to the grieving girl, and she stayed with them until her heart healed within her. Then the younger son spoke words of love to the maiden and they married, to the delight of the god of thunder. A young son was born to the couple, and he followed his grandfather everywhere, learning what it meant to be a god of thunder.
The only shadow on the happiness of the maiden in the mist was a continual longing to see her people one more time. Her chance came in an unexpected and unwelcome way. A great snake came down the mighty river and poisoned the waters of her people. They grew sick and were dying. Soon the snake would return to devour the dead until my people were all gone. It was Heno himself who gave her the news, and she begged that she might return for one hour to warn her people of the danger. The god himself lifted her through the falls and set her down among her people to give warning about the evil snake that was causing such pestilence among them. She advised them to move to a higher country until the danger was past, and they agreed. Then Heno came and took the maiden back to her husband and her home.
In a few days, the giant serpent returned to the village, seeking the bodies of those who had died from the poison it had spread. When the snake realized that the people had deserted the village, it hissed in rage and turned upstream to search for them. But Heno heard the voice of the serpent and rose up through the mist of the falls. He threw a great thunderbolt at the creature and killed it in one mighty blast. The giant body of the creature floated downstream and lodged just above the cataract, creating a large semi-circle that deflected huge amounts of water into the falls at the place just above the god's home. Horrified by this disastrous turn of events, Heno swept in through the falls and did his best to stop the massive influx of water, but it was too late.
Seeing that his home would soon be destroyed, Heno called for the maiden and his sons to come away with him. The younger son caught up his wife and child and followed Heno through the water of the falls and up into the sky, where the Thunderer made them a new home. From this place, they watch over the people of the earth, while Heno thunders in the clouds as he once thundered in the vapors of the great falls. To this day, an echo of the Heno's voice can be heard in the thunder of the mighty waters of Niagara Falls.
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Post by Gray Lensman on Jun 3, 2006 15:12:58 GMT
Some good stuff, Shan. I've always had an interest in mythology, ever since I was really young. I know a fair amount from other cultures, but my real passion is for Greek myth. A lot of the Native American stuff is new to me. Still interesting to see how ancient cultures tried to explain the world around them. Maybe, if I can dig up some of my old books, some day I might add a few things. We'll see, I guess. |
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Post by Shan on Jun 3, 2006 21:57:53 GMT
Well, get busy and find them, would you. I'm waiting. ;D
Fille and I both are. ;D
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Post by Shan on Jun 3, 2006 22:02:58 GMT
A Dutch Legend
The Most Precious Thing in the World
The old sea captain was not sure he had heard right. “What did you say, my Lady?”
The Lady stopped pacing about her parlor and looked at the captain in annoyance. Many were the merchants rich and proud in this great port city of Stavoren. But this woman, called by everyone “the Lady of Stavoren,” was richest and proudest of them all.
“I said I want to hire you and your ship to bring me the most precious thing in the world.”
“But what is the most precious thing?” asked the captain. “And where do I find it?”
“If I knew,” said the Lady coldly, “I would already have obtained it. I ask you to discover and bring it to me. I will make sure you have ample gold to buy it, whatever it turns out to be.”
“Forgive me, my Lady,” said the captain, “but I still don’t understand.”
The Lady sat facing him. “Look around you, Captain. Have you seen a more magnificent mansion?”
“Never, my Lady.”
“I spared no expense to build it, and I have filled it with the most costly items from all the ports visited by my ships. Yet whatever I do, my rival merchants find a way to copy me.
“I must show them once and for all that I am their better. That is why you must bring me the most precious thing in the world. I’ve chosen you for the job because it needs someone of your experience. Of course, I will pay you handsomely.”
“Thank you, my Lady. I will do my best.”
“You had better, dear Captain. If you fail, you and your ship will never find work in Stavoren again.”
The next day, the captain sailed from Stavoren, in search of the most precious thing in the world.
Months passed. Everyone in Stavoren knew of the captain’s quest. Wherever the Lady went, she heard people guessing what the most precious thing would be.
“A pearl as big as an egg,” said one.
“No, a magnificent gown,” said another.
“No, a marvelous statue,” said still another.
The Lady was delighted at the stir she was causing. “And how they will envy me,” she said to herself, “when they see what the captain brings!”
At long last, the captain’s ship was sighted entering the harbor. The people of Stavoren streamed to the dock. When the Lady arrived, dressed in her finest, they made way for her.
The captain’s ship was just docking. “My Lady,” he called, “I have brought what you desired! The most precious thing in the world!”
“What is it, Captain?” called back the Lady, barely able to hold in her excitement.
“I visited many ports in many lands,” said the captain. “I saw many wonderful things. None could I say was the most precious of all. But at last, in the city of Danzig, I came across it. Then I laughed at myself! I should have known it from the first!”
“But what is it?” said the Lady impatiently.
“Wheat!” cried the captain. “My ship is filled with wheat!”
“Wheat?” said the Lady. Her face grew white. Behind her, she heard murmurs from the crowd, and laughing. “Did you say wheat?”
“Yes, my Lady,” said the captain joyously. “What could be more precious, more valuable, than wheat? Without our daily bread, what good are all the treasures of the world?”
The Lady was silent for a moment, listening to the whispers and snickers of the crowd. “And this wheat is all mine, is it not? To do with as I like?”
“Of course, my Lady,” said the captain.
“Then,” said the Lady, “pour it into the harbor.”
“What?” said the captain. Now his own face was white.
“Pour it into the harbor! Every grain of it!”
Murmurs of horror and approval both rose up behind her.
“My Lady,” said the captain, “please consider what you say. There is wheat enough here to feed a city! If you have no use for it, then give it to the poor and hungry. After all, you too may someday be in need!”
“I?” shrieked the Lady. “In need?”
She plucked from her finger a ruby ring and held it high. “This ring will return to my hand before I am ever in need!”
With all her might, she flung it far into the harbor.
The captain stared at the Lady on the dock, her face red with rage. Then he called to his men.
“Cast off!”
When the ship reached the harbor mouth, the captain ordered his men to pour all the wheat overboard. Then he sailed from the harbor, never to return.
The next day, the Lady held a grand feast for all the richest merchants of Stavoren. She spared no expense, to show that she still had every cause for pride.
A huge roast fish was set before her for carving. As she was about to cut into it, the Lady noticed a glint from something in the fish’s mouth. She pulled out the object and held it up.
The diners gasped. The Lady turned pale.
It was the ruby ring.
A few weeks later, fishermen found that a sand bar was building beneath the water at the harbor’s mouth. The discarded wheat had sprouted and grown, and was catching the sand that before had drifted freely.
Soon, the tall ships could not enter. The harbor was ruined, and with it went the fortunes of the city. Many of the merchants lost everything.
Among them was the Lady of Stavoren.
Today, Stavoren is known mainly as a ferry landing. The sand bar that keeps tall ships from the harbor is still called “Lady’s Sand”—a reminder how the Lady of Stavoren scorned the most precious thing in the world.
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Post by Shan on Jun 3, 2006 22:06:19 GMT
A Swedish Legend
The Harvest That Never Came
My dearest Arild,
I promised to wait for you forever, but I fear I will not be allowed to. My father says you will never return, and he has chosen another man to be my husband. Though I pleaded with him, he has already set the marriage date.
I will love you always.
Your faithful Thale
Arild Ugerup, son of a noble Danish family, sat on his cot, reading the letter by the dim light of his prison cell. How cruel the tricks played by war, he thought, his eyes filling with tears.
Though Arild and his family were nobles of Denmark, they had long lived peaceably in Sweden. When King Erik of Sweden was crowned, Arild had been one of his honored guests. But then Denmark and Sweden declared war on each other, and Arild was drafted into the Danish navy. He was captured in battle and imprisoned by King Erik.
Arild’s childhood sweetheart, Thale Thott, had promised to marry him when he came back from the war. Now it seemed he would lose Thale as well as his freedom.
Arild sat thinking for many hours, the letter lying loose in his hand. At last he crossed to a small table. Dipping his pen in an inkwell, he began to write.
Your Royal Majesty,
Though I am now your prisoner, you once counted me as a friend. Grant me one favor. Let me go home to marry the woman I love. Then allow me to stay only long enough to plant a crop and harvest it.
On my word of honor, I will return to your prison as soon as the harvest is gathered.
Arild signed and sealed the letter, then called the jailer.
The reply came the next day. King Erik had agreed! Arild was free—at least until the harvest.
Arild returned home, where Thale met him joyfully. Her father was not happy to have his plans changed, but in the end the two were married.
Now it was spring, the time for planting. And, in only a few months, Arild would have to harvest his crop and return to King Erik’s prison.
Arild thought long and hard about what he would plant. At last he went to the fields and planted his seeds, placing each of them six paces from the rest.
Late that fall, a messenger arrived from King Erik. “The harvest season is past,” he said. “The King awaits your return.”
“But my crop is not harvested,” said Arild. “In fact, it has not yet sprouted!”
“Not sprouted?” said the messenger. “What did you plant?”
“Pine trees,” replied Arild.
When King Erik heard what Arild had done, he laughed and said, “A man like that does not deserve to be a prisoner.”
Arild was allowed to remain home with his beloved Thale. And a magnificent forest stands today as a testament to his love.
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Post by Shan on Jun 3, 2006 22:08:17 GMT
An Islamic Legend
The Stone in the Temple
“The sons of Makhzum should raise the Black Stone,” declared one of the men in the circle. “It is our right as foremost of the tribes.”
“Who gave you such a position?” demanded another man. “The sons of Jumah will raise it!”
“Not while the sons of Abdu Manaf stand here,” said another. “The honor should be ours.”
“Then you will have to fight for it,” cried another. “None but the sons of Abdul-Dar shall raise the stone!”
In the years before Muhammad’s holy mission, it happened that the tribes around Mecca decided to rebuild their temple, the Kaaba. In those days, the Kaaba was simply a yard enclosed by a wall. Their plan was to build a higher, thicker wall and add a roof.
Each tribe had chosen a section of the wall and started pulling down the stones. The sacred Black Stone, built into the east corner, had been removed carefully and set aside.
At last they had gotten down to the foundation laid by Abraham. They had begun to rebuild, and the wall had grown steadily higher. But when the time had come to raise the Black Stone back to its place, they could not agree on which tribe would have the honor.
The dispute grew fiercer and fiercer, till it seemed likely that blood would flow. But then Abu Amayya said, “Brothers, let us not fight among ourselves. I have an idea: Wait for the next man who comes through the gate, then give the decision to him.”
All agreed and settled down to wait. And it happened that the first man to enter the gate was Muhammad, he whom they called “The Trustworthy One.”
When Muhammad had listened to their claims, he considered for a moment. Then he said, “Bring me a cloak.”
They brought one, and Muhammad spread it on the ground. Then he took the Black Stone and placed it in the center.
“Each tribe will choose a man to hold the cloak by its edge. Then all will raise the stone together.”
This was done, and Muhammad himself set the stone in place. Then all the tribes were satisfied, and work went on with no further dispute.
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Post by Shan on Jun 3, 2006 22:14:44 GMT
A Miowak Legend
The Guardian of Yosemite
For many nights and many days, the guardian spirit of Tisayac watched over the beautiful valley of Yosemite. Often, the gentle spirit would drift invisibly among the good folk of the valley, and it was during one of these visits that she noticed a tall, proud man named Tutokanula. He was a strong leader who greatly enhanced the lot of his people, and Tisayac came more often to the valley so that she could watch him.
One day, Tutokanula was hunting near the place where Tisayac had laid down to rest. When she realized the proud leader was close by, the shy spirit peered out at him from among the trees. Seeing the beautiful woman with her golden hair and ethereal appearance, Tutokanula fell in love. Realizing it was the guardian of the valley, he reached out his hands to her, calling her by name. Confused by the rush of feelings inside her, Tisayac flew away, leaving a brokenhearted warrior behind. Tutokanula spent many days searching for Tisayac. Finally he left the valley and his people in despair. Without his wise guidance, the valley fell into ruin and most of the good folk left to find a new home.
When Tisayac returned again to her valley, she was horrified to find it barren and her people gone. When she learned that Tutokanula had forgotten his people, had left them to fend for themselves without the benefit of his great wisdom, and had spent many days and nights searching and longing for her, she cried out in despair. Kneeling upon a mighty dome of rock, Tisayac prayed with all her heart that the Great Spirit would undo this wrong and would restore to this land the virtue which had been lost.
Hearing her prayer, the Great Spirit took pity on the plight of her people. Stooping down from on high, he spread his hands over the valley. The green of new life poured forth over the land; trees blossomed, flowers bloomed, birds sang. Then he struck a mighty blow against the mountains and they broke apart, leaving a pathway for the melting snow to flow through. The water swirled and washed down upon the land, spilling over rocks, pooling into a lake and then wandering afar to spread life to other places. In the valley, the corn grew tall again, and the people came back to their home.
Then Tutokanula himself came to the valley when he heard that Tisayac had come home. Upon his return, he spent many hours carving his likeness into the stone so his people would remember him when he departed from this earth. When the carving was finished, Tutokanula sat down wearily at the foot of the beautiful Bridal Veil Falls the Great Spirit had created. Tisayac drifted into the spray of the falls, watching him. He was ready to depart from his people, from his valley. Would he go with her? She moved forward through the falling water and made herself visible. When Tutokanula saw Tisayac, he sprang to his feet with a cry of joy and she held out her arms to him. The brave warrior leapt into the falls and took his love into his arms at last. For a moment, there were two rainbows arching over the water. Then Tisayac drew him up and up into the clouds and away as the sun sank over Yosemite.
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Post by Shan on Jun 5, 2006 3:12:11 GMT
A Sioux legend
Story of the Lost Wife
A Dakota girl married a man who promised to treat her kindly, but he did not keep his word. He was unreasonable, fault-finding, and often beat her. Frantic with his cruelty, she ran away. The whole village turned out to search for her, but no trace of the missing wife was to be found.
Meanwhile, the fleeing woman had wandered about all that day and the next night. The next day she met a man, who asked her who she was. She did not know it, but he was not really a man, but the chief of the wolves.
"Come with me," he said, and he led her to a large village. She was amazed to see here many wolves -- gray and black, timber wolves and coyotes. It seemed as if all the wolves in the world were there.
The wolf chief led the young woman to a great tepee and invited her in. He asked her what she ate for food.
"Buffalo meat," she answered.
He called two coyotes and bade them bring what the young woman wanted. They bounded away and soon returned with the shoulder of a fresh-killed buffalo calf.
"How do you prepare it for eating?" asked the wolf chief.
"By boiling," answered the young woman.
Again he called the two coyotes. Away they bounded and soon brought into the tent a small bundle.
In it were punk, flint and steel -- stolen, it may be, from some camp of men.
"How do you make the meat ready?" asked the wolf chief.
"I cut it into slices," answered the young woman.
The coyotes were called and in a short time fetched in a knife in its sheath. The young woman cut up the calf's shoulder into slices and ate it.
Thus she lived for a year, all the wolves being very kind to her. At the end of that time the wolf chief said to her:
"Your people are going off on a buffalo hunt. Tomorrow at noon they will be here. You must then go out and meet them or they will fall on us and kill us."
The next day at about noon the young woman went to the top of a neighboring knoll. Coming toward her were some young men riding on their ponies. She stood up and held her hands so that they could see her. They wondered who she was, and when they were close by gazed at her closely.
"A year ago we lost a young woman; if you are she, where have you been," they asked.
"I have been in the wolves' village. Do not harm them," she answered.
"We will ride back and tell the people," they said. "Tomorrow again at noon, we shall meet you."
The young woman went back to the wolf village, and the next day went again to a neighboring knoll, though to a different one. Soon she saw the camp coming in a long line over the prairie. First were the warriors, then the women and tents.
The young woman's father and mother were overjoyed to see her. But when they came near her the young woman fainted, for she could not now bear the smell of human kind. When she came to herself she said:
"You must go on a buffalo hunt, my father and all the hunters. Tomorrow you must come again, bringing with you the tongues and choice pieces of the kill."
This he promised to do; and all the men of the camp mounted their ponies and they had a great hunt. The next day they returned with their ponies laden with the buffalo meat. The young woman bade them pile the meat in a great heap between two hills which she pointed out to them. There was so much meat that the tops of the two hills were bridged level between by the meat pile. In the center of the pile the young woman planted a pole with a red flag. She then began to howl like a wolf, loudly.
In a moment the earth seemed covered with wolves. They fell greedily on the meat pile and in a short time had eaten the last scrap.
The young woman then joined her own people.
Her husband wanted her to come and live with him again. For a long time she refused. However, at last they became reconciled.
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Post by Shan on Jun 5, 2006 3:20:38 GMT
A Sioux Legend
The Simpleton's Wisdom
There was a man and his wife who had one daughter. Mother and daughter were deeply attached to one another, and when the latter died the mother was disconsolate. She cut off her hair, cut gashes in her cheeks and sat before the corpse with her robe drawn over her head, mourning for her dead. Nor would she let them touch the body to take it to a burying scaffold. She had a knife in her hand, and if anyone offered to come near the body the mother would wail:
"I am weary of life. I do not care to live. I will stab myself with this knife and join my daughter in the land of spirits."
Her husband and relatives tried to get the knife from her, but could not. They feared to use force lest she kill herself. They came together to see what they could do.
"We must get the knife away from her," they said.
At last they called a boy, a kind of simpleton, yet with a good deal of natural shrewdness. He was an orphan and very poor. His moccasins were out at the sole and he was dressed in wei-zi (coarse buffalo skin, smoked).
"Go to the tepee of the mourning mother," they told the simpleton, "and in some way contrive to make her laugh and forget her grief. Then try to get the knife away from her."
The boy went to the tent and sat down at the door as if waiting to be given something. The corpse lay in the place of honor where the dead girl had slept in life. The body was wrapped in a rich robe and wrapped about with ropes. Friends had covered it with rich offerings out of respect to the dead.
As the mother sat on the ground with her head covered she did not at first see the boy, who sat silent. But when his reserve had worn away a little he began at first lightly, then more heavily, to drum on the floor with his hands. After a while he began to sing a comic song. Louder and louder he sang until carried away with his own singing he sprang up and began to dance, at the same time gesturing and making all manner of contortions with his body, still singing the comic song. As he approached the corpse he waved his hands over it in blessing. The mother put her head out of the blanket and when she saw the poor simpleton with his strange grimaces trying to do honor to the corpse by his solemn waving, and at the same time keeping up his comic song, she burst out laughing. Then she reached over and handed her knife to the simpleton.
"Take this knife," she said. "You have taught me to forget my grief. If while I mourn for the dead I can still be mirthful, there is no reason for me to despair. I no longer care to die. I will live for my husband."
The simpleton left the tepee and brought the knife to the astonished husband and relatives.
"How did you get it? Did you force it away from her, or did you steal it?" they said.
"She gave it to me. How could I force it from her or steal it when she held it in her hand, blade uppermost. I sang and danced for her and she burst out laughing. Then she gave it to me," he answered.
When the old men of the village heard the orphan's story they were very silent. It was a strange thing for a lad to dance in a tepee where there was mourning. It was stranger that a mother should laugh in a tepee before the corpse of her dead daughter. The old men gathered at last in a council. They sat a long time without saying anything, for they did not want to decide hastily. The pipe was filled and passed many times. At last an old man spoke.
"We have a hard question. A mother has laughed before the corpse of her daughter, and many think she has done foolishly, but I think the woman did wisely. The lad was simple and of no training, and we cannot expect him to know how to do as well as one with good home and parents to teach him. Besides, he did the best that he knew. He danced to make the mother forget her grief, and he tried to honor the corpse by waving over it his hands."
"The mother did right to laugh, for when one does try to do us good, even if what he does causes us discomfort, we should always remember rather the motive than the deed. And besides, the simpleton's dancing saved the woman's life, for she gave up her knife. In this, too, she did well, for it is always better to live for the living than to die for the dead."
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Post by LaFille on Jun 5, 2006 3:50:01 GMT
Yeah, go go GL & riverman! ;D Great finds, Shan. Love the Niagara origin myth. I'm searching for some from by here, will come back with that in short.  |
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Post by janggut on Jun 5, 2006 6:51:16 GMT
wow! now i really have to write down those stories i read. maybe i can start off with the tattoo story i told shan in chat sometime ago. |
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Post by Shan on Jun 6, 2006 3:01:54 GMT
Of course you can post that story, Jags.
But you gotta post more than just that one because I've already heard it. ;D
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Post by Shan on Jun 6, 2006 3:36:28 GMT
From Greece
The Story of Persephone
Persephone was a young goddess who lived in ancient Greece. Her mother, Demeter, made plants grow -- the grapes, the wheat, the trees -- all across the world.
One day, as Persephone played alone in a field of flowers, the ground opened with a rumble and out came a chariot drawn by dark horses. It was Hades, god of the Underworld.
He captured Persephone and took her to the Underworld to be his wife.
As the earth closed up behind them, Persephone's belt fell to the earth.
When she didn't come home Demeter searched everywhere for her. As the months passed, Demeter grew so sad she forgot to make things grow. The warm, green earth turned brown and cold. Earth's first winter had come.
One day a shepherd gave Demeter the belt he'd found in a meadow, near an opening to the Underworld.
Demeter guessed what had happened. She went to Zeus, King of the Gods, and told him that if he didn't tell Hades to let Persephone go, the earth would stay brown, cold and lifeless forever.
Zeus ordered Hades to free Persephone. Demeter went to fetch her, but quickly discovered something terrible had happened. Persephone had eaten a few pomegranate seeds while in the Underworld.
According to the law, if a person ate pomegranate seeds, she could not leave the Underworld. Demeter refused to make anything grow, and so the gods made a promise: for every seed Persephone had eaten, she must spend one month a year below ground with Hades.
Demeter agreed. Persephone returned to the earth with her mother and Demeter's happiness returned. The earth flowered and grew warm again. The gentle months of spring and summer passed.
But then, because of the pomegranate seeds, Persephone had to visit Hades. Demeter grew sad without her daughter. Leaves fell from the trees. Another winter returned, cold and lifeless.
So according to the old storytellers of Greece, winter melts away as Demeter and Persephone run together in the meadows each SPRING.
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