Folk Tales of the Cosmos

INTRODUCTION

Humans love stories – whether they are in the land, sea, sky or about people in these settings. Born with curiosity (a gift granted to us from Eve) our brains are programmed to find connections between things – a basis for survival. The easiest way to make and remember a connection is to make a story. Whether it’s the Australian aboriginal who learns the landscape by endowing it with story, or the night sky full of stars to identify the ones that give you direction or tell you the time of year, there is a story. Or the cave dwellers with their paintings of the hunt – stories to be told, with the sharing of tactics that did or did not work. The observations that at certain times of the year a cluster of stars would be in alignment with the silhouette of a mountain, and soon after the rivers would flood. Or that when another cluster of stars rose above the horizon to spend time in the night sky, that foretold the season when the winds would be so great that nothing could leave the harbour. Over time these little associations became bigger and more essential to survival on a day-to-day basis.

The star clusters themselves became a calendar device where rhythms of nature were observed and facilitated the efforts of hunter-gatherers. The sun rose every day and the moon completed a monthly cycle. The Pleiades, a small, easily identifiable cluster of stars, moved above and below the horizon just before the equinoxes, becoming a seasonal marker. Hours to the dawn or sunset could be measured by the position of the moon and sun relative to the landscape. Some stars rose at the time the bison would start to migrate, or the disappearance of a cluster would lead to a period of intense cold, so preparations needed to be made for a long, hard, cold winter.

But even as you look at the night sky, it depends on where in the world you are looking from. The earliest tale-spinners were from Mesopotamia and Babylon, but they only saw the stars according to their position. To them, the night sky had part of the northern sky including the north polar star, and some of the southern hemisphere sky. From our position in England, we would have more of the northern hemisphere and perhaps a flicker of the northern lights, which the Greek had no notion of. Or in the south, the Māori would have only the stars of the southern hemisphere with no knowledge of the northern skies. Each community saw and interpreted the night sky according to their community, and what the story meant for the locality.

By the early twentieth century, the sky was full of overlapping ‘recognised’ constellations. In 1923, the International Astronomical Union officially recognised eighty-eight constellations. A map of the night sky was then drawn so that a star’s coordinates were uniquely identified in a part of space named for the closest constellation. Thus, the night sky is a patchwork of oddly shaped ‘pieces’ anchored around a constellation.

The majority were the forty-eight named constellations from Ptolemy. These included many that came from the earlier civilisations of Mesopotamia and Babylon (and others), incorporated into the Greek systems, and then added to by the Greeks’ own observations of the stars. The characters of the Greek myths were woven around the stars so that the sky becomes a story book. As you recount the stories, you learn the constellations and their position in the sky. As you learn the constellations, you are better able to assess their movement in the sky relative to the landscape (or specific manmade constructions like temples, standing stones) so that they are more use as a seasonal calendar or navigation tool.

I was inspired to write this book when I realised that the night sky was full of the Greek myths – that the constellations linked through story, and sometimes over two different parts of the sky. Then, as I researched them, I realised the eighty-eight were very Eurocentric in origin. I felt it was important to demonstrate that there were star stories from other cultures, but there were so many I could easily have filled ten volumes. However, many of the stories come from indigenous communities for whom the stories have a spiritual meaning. Then, balance of respect and cultural appropriation needs to be considered. Essentially, cultural appropriation is the use of sensitive cultural materials out of cultural context, and inappropriately for the purpose for which they were originally intended. In some cases, there also is the issue of monetary gain made by use of the material that does not return to the community.

There are many layers to a story. One is the ‘top’ story, the narrative that describes the basic story actions and consequences. Then there are further layers that relate to the description of the landscape the story takes place in, the emotional landscape between the main characters, the societal relationship, the mores and rules of behaviour, and not least the spiritual element of the relationship of the teller with the landscape. If you are part of the community, you recognise the references in the gaps between the words; but if you are not part of the community, the references go over your head and become meaningless. Many cultures do not want to share their original deep stories but may allow an outline action-only retelling – the outer edges of the top story. But changing or adding in one element of the top story through ignorance of the culture may cause offence. For example, in the Christian story of Easter, if a teller missed out the crucifixion and resurrection because ‘it did not fit with their experience or beliefs’, this would mean missing out a key component of the faith (i.e., that Christ died to save them from their sins and rose again).

I wanted to show that the Eurocentric naming of constellations and stars was not the only way to look at the night sky, and that because one cultural group saw a warrior and his sword, this did not automatically mean it was obvious to other cultures. Some tradition-bearers I consulted said, ‘Don’t do it.’ Some other tradition-bearers said, ‘A lot of it is out there already – do it but be respectful in what you do.’

At the same time Equity, the performing arts and entertainment union (www.equity.org.uk), was drafting its Guidelines on Storytelling and Cultural Appropriation. I consulted with several members of the group doing the work. The key principles of the guidance are available online, and this is my short version:

•    Respect the culture.

•    Research to understand the culture including symbols, language, images, or landscapes.

•    Learn from the culture.

As part of this process, it is important to understand the transition stories have been through from a native teller to the resources that you are working with. Ursula McConnel, in Myths of the Munkan (1957, based on field work in 1927 and 1934), says:

The stories are consistent with their environment and the social order which binds this environment to the storytellers. This blending of natural and social factors, so strange to us, cannot be understood in terms of external values … To appreciate the inner logic of the stories one must be familiar with their background … It must be realised that these stories are for oral transmission and the more active parts for dramatization. It is not easy to do justice to their style in the verbose form of written English, nor to convey the telling pauses, the pregnant silences. The impressive reiteration and the innuendos of the speaker’s voice, who, as he relates the story experiences and visualises the acts and scenes embodied in his short dramatic sentences … I have adhered as closely as possible to their way of telling.

Some storytellers will tell you the work that goes into telling a story starts with identifying the bones of an action line. It is then rehydrated with description of both characters and landscape, the emotional journey of the characters, the physical gestures that add to the story, the tone of the voice and the intentions of the storyteller. All affect choice of words and the delivery of the story.

However, in a written collecting situation you have the teller, the person who translates the story to the collector, the transcription into written words initially in note form, then in expanded form, and finally edited for publication. From first to last the emotion, intentionality and physicality are unlikely to be conveyed in the manner the storyteller intended. Furthermore, the listener may relate a part of the story to their personal experience and then carry that image forward when they retell the story themselves. An example of this is Devil’s Tower in Wyoming. Originally known as ‘Bear Lodge’ by native peoples, in the nineteenth century it was first described in English as ‘Bear Lodge Tower’. It may have been transformed phonetically into ‘Bad God’s Tower’ and thus into ‘Devil’s Tower’, which has a completely different meaning, has Christian connotations, and is offensive to the local community. At the time of writing (2023) there are attempts to get the name changed to reflect the original, which has more meaning to the local people.

There is also the influence of European colonisation and missionary work spreading their faith through stories. Once a story has been told and then retold, the links with the original storyteller and the context of their telling get lost. In retelling the story, the teller draws on aspects of language, concepts and landscape that they are familiar with. The listener/collector has no idea if this is a story from within this culture, if it has been influenced in the near or distant past, or just simply made up by a skilled storyteller in front of the listener using existing motifs and landscapes. Several nineteenth-century collectors, across the world, cited stories of the seven stars (aka Pleiades) where maidens run from a great hunter in different culture as evidence of a worldwide ancient origin myth – whereas it only takes one person retelling the Greek myth of Orion and the Pleiades for the story to be embedded in the culture.

For example, A.W. Reed (1999, p.298) retells the Australian Aboriginal story where first man and first woman are told by the creator to use everything they need in the garden, but not to touch anything of the tree that has the bee swarm and honey. The woman collects some wood and realises that she has picked up some fallen branches of the forbidden tree. Nothing happens to her. She is then emboldened to try the honey, at which point a giant bat, placed by the creator to guard the tree, emerges. Death has now entered the world ‘by the evil the woman has done’. This has some elements of the Adam and Eve story, as well as the tale of the golden apples placed by the Greek goddess Hera in a garden and protected by the dragon. Is this an origin story of the forbidden fruit in paradise – or a story influenced by a more recent local retelling of either the Biblical or Greek version? As a storyteller, I might let my personal perspective influence the stories I tell depending on my intention of the set. As a collector and reteller of traditional stories, I would be as neutral as possible – avoiding any influence of my own culture, values and prejudices.

In making this selection and retelling them, I have given myself the following ground rule.

I would try to determine the potential source of the story and how far it is from the original spoken source. If the story source was close to the root story, then my retelling would reflect the same language without any emotion, morals or values, landscapes or spiritual reference that was not in the original story. If it was a source that had clearly undertaken many retellings, and I could not find a root source, then I felt free to introduce emotion, personal values and intentionality.

Stories from the Greek myths were based on local variations and old myths from the Egyptians and Mesopotamians. Over the past 2,000 years they have been retold and reinterpreted, and I felt that gave me licence to retell the stories in my own way. The versions of the Greek myths of the night sky are the ones from my research of the many variants of the myths that I prepared for my storytelling performances entitled ‘Lust and Revenge: Tales of Passion in the Night Sky’. There are, of course, other Greek myths that are not represented in the night sky. Some stories from European and Chinese roots also had many variants, with none claiming to be the original. I chose to draw on the variants and craft my own.

Finally – this is a collection of folktales and myths of the night sky. It is not a comprehensive anthology of all the many and various tales – that would take several volumes. In the end, I could only skim the top layer of stories from each continent and give a taste of the wide variety of tales told and the richness of imagery beyond the Greek Eurocentric vision. However, I have included ‘Notes on the Stories’, which gives details of the sources I have used, and other books that I consulted to understand the context, which I hope readers will use as a springboard to do their own research.

If there are any errors or places where my writing is insensitive, I apologise now, and request that you contact me at [email protected] to advise me.

1

THE GREEK MYTHS OF THE STARS

The myths of the Greek gods have been handed down and became the role models by which subsequent generations and civilisations learned how to behave and how to be a leader.

Zeus was King of the Greek Gods, and with his two brothers, Hades and Poseidon, and sisters Hera, Demeter and Hestia, they were known as the Olympians. They had overthrown their father Cronus and his brothers and sisters, known collectively as the Titans. Thereafter, it was Zeus and the Olympians who held the praise and the loyalty of the people on earth. They forged their allegiances within the family – marrying each other, brother to sister – and having children born immortal and thus gods themselves.

However, some of the male gods, during the span of their immortal lives, sought their pleasures with more earthly women. Their Olympian wives either turned a blind eye or took out their vengeance on the earthly mothers and children. Never their husbands. A god does not contradict a god.

A child born of god and human had a chance of being born immortal, or not. There was no way of predicting which was likely. At birth, immortality was evident. The chosen ones would be feted, and when old enough to leave their mothers, they were taken to Olympus, home of the gods. But those who were mortal were left to make their own way in the world. Some of them became heroes, and some were souls blighted by their sense of loss, knowing that their birthright could have been so very different.

The Greeks populated their night skies with characters from their myths and legends. Chief among them are the stories of the mortal sons of gods, who raised themselves up from being abandoned sons to achieve reputations that made them immortal in memory.

THE GREEK MYTHS AND THE CONSTELLATIONS THAT APPEAR IN THE MYTHS

PERSEUS: HERO OF THE PEOPLE

Medusa, Perseus, Ladon (the dragon), Pegasus (the flying horse), Cassiopeia (the vain queen), Cepheus (her husband), Andromeda (their daughter and wife-to-be of Perseus), Cetus (the great sea monster).

Medusa’s Story

Along the coast of Greece there were temples dedicated to the Goddess Athena served by virgin handmaidens. There was one