White Road
by Jason GodeskyBill Maxwell is a frequent reader and sometimes commenter here at Anthropik, and a personal friend and colleague of mine, and he has for a long time been involved in one of the most important parts of rewilding—developing the mythological foundation for a new relationship with the living earth. This epic poem is offered as a sort of creation myth for today’s primitivists, inspired by the Hopi story of Pahana, the Lost White Brother, and will no doubt hold a special resonance in that ecology. — Jason Godesky
I start this story in a traditional way, telling you whom I believe myself to be. I have been named William Two-Roads. I carry the blood of Osage, Cymry, Northmen and An-as within me. My ancestors’ bones back to four generations lie in the land of Tovangar, on the western coast of what some call Turtle Island. I am the first to grow up in southernmost edge of the Chumash lands. I am grandchild to Tukupar Itar—Sky Coyote—and I love him with all my heart.
I tell these stories as I found them. Some tell them differently.
They are stories my people tell of how things came to be.
0.
In the beginning was the Void,
And all was darkness.
And from that dark ocean came the Voice,
And from that Voice came the Chorus.
And from their Song unfolded all things.
Both high and low, through, and about,
Creation unfurled like a flower.
And when the Chorus saw what they had done,
They laughed.
From that laughter came jewels,
Dizzy stars dancing to the song of Night.
Red, orange, yellow, green, and blue
Bright and fiery and passionate.
As they danced, they spun off partners,
Beautiful marbles of swirling colors.
Planets and stars, spinning and whirling,
All dancing to the song of the Chorus.
When the time was right,
Life was birthed into the world,
And all life looked to the heavens.
And they saw the dance of the planets
And they saw the dance of the stars
And they heard the Voice of the Chorus
And they
Began
To sing.
1.
Here, in this place
That we call Home,
In the Dawn Time
When the world
Was hot and young,
The Earth danced
To the Song of Creation.
Then one day she scooped up some mud
And held it in her hands, like a bowl.
And she shook bits of Herself into it.
And she waited
For the seeds she’d planted
To grow.
There inside the clay
The seeds staid sleeping
Until the fingers of creation
Danced upon the surface of the world.
Then came the First Ones
Bursting into life
And with their first cry
They sent out the Breath Of Life
Across the world
And called down the Rain
Filling the oceans.
From that time to this,
From this time to that,
Our life comes from the Oceans
Called down by the First Ones
And to them, we return.
2.
Now this story, here.
This is an origin story, the story of our ancestors.
This is a story about where we come from.
This is a story about who we are.
Six million years ago, we came from the forest.
There, we learned to walk on two legs,
Reaching up to the treetops,
Striding across the ground.
Our way, one way among many,
No better or worse than the others.
But the world changed,
As the world always changes
The trees moved back,
Giving way to the plains.
Fields of grass, stretching from sky to sky
On two legs, we could see above the grass
And watch for the cats that hunted us.
We moved near the waters,
The rivers, lakes, seas
Protected us.
We learned to swim for our food,
To hunt fish and gather
That which lived in the water.
And the waters changed us.
And we changed with the waters.
We became human.
We ran with the wolves, the dogs, the packs
Learning their ways, making them human ways
Weaving the tribes of humanity.
Forging the friendships with the four-legged
That would last
Tens of thousands of years
And would never be forgotten.
The First Ones had skin as dark
As the rich, black earth.
They were the first to discover
The Song of Creation.
They told the first stories,
Of Anansi and Ellegua, Shango and !Xu.
They sang the first prayers and danced the first revels.
They searched out the first mysteries
And had the first adventures, traveling out
From the birthplace of man into a world
That had never seen them before.
This time, the world changed them,
As it changes all things.
The wayfarer’s skin became yellow as sand,
Brown as the forest soil,
Red as clay.
Some of them took the greatest journey of all,
Crossing the World Ocean,
Following the Sea Forest,
To arrive in Grey Whale’s land and Turtle Island
To discover new songs and stories
Unknown to the people.
3.
There are some who tell a story,
Those who are cousin to my blood
Whose name means “United,�
They tell this story
That the Creator gave to the races of men
Instructions on how to live.
Creator understood that as man moved out
From the center of all things,
They would explore creation
And so needed guidance.
So four grandfather spirits were created
To guard the four sacred spirit bundles
That held within them the stories
That would show each race their Road.
And the sacred bundles were given
One each to the races of man.
As these bundles went out,
Some who followed were lost along the way
And it caused much confusion.
But they knew that one day,
The bundles would return.
When the entire world had been explored.
When the four races of man had journeyed
To the end of their travels
They would return to the center
And as they did
The sacred bundles would scoop
Up the lost ones,
Bringing them, regardless of skin
Back to understanding,
Back to the Center.
The bundles were that powerful.
This, my cousins believed.
I believe we know the direction
Of those who followed the Red Bundle.
It is the direction of Life.
Those of the Red Road
Transformed entire continents
Gardening them into great homes for the People.
The White Bundle can also be known
For it can be seen in the steps
Of those who followed it.
It is the direction of Death.
Those of the White Road
Know where it leads.
Understand this:
We pray to six directions.
There is east, north, south, west.
There is the up, the home of Origin.
There is down, the earth, the Great Mother.
Death lies in the 7th direction.
Death lies in both the future and the past
Over the horizon and deep underground.
Death lies in the direction that
Cannot be pointed to, cannot be found.
And still, we traveled to it.
4.
Our skins were not always as pale as they are now.
The first lessons we learned about Death
Is that Death takes things apart.
It makes them smaller.
It cuts them open, claws at them.
Piece by piece taking them
Until they are all gone.
Some call this “logic.�
We followed the Northern Horizon
Watched as the lands changed
Kept our learning to ourselves
Kept to the path.
But then we came to a place so fearsome
Death consumed Spirit Itself
The Mountains of Ice,
The Devouring Cold
Killing but preserving
Eating through the Great Mother.
We knew fear, then.
Unchecked, this force could slay the world
And end all life.
So we resolved to challenge Death
For the world.
Two were sent out, Red Clay and Earth Woman
Whose names were also known as “Strong Willed� and “Sacred One�
Fearsome warriors they were and poets.
Married, husband and wife, united in spirit,
They took the task of defending the people
And were sent with weapons, gifts and words.
They marched into the Ice, scared they would
Never see their people again
But firm in their path.
For a long time they marched
Until they came to the edge of the world
In that desolate place, they saw a tree
Growing between the edge of fire and ice
Not far beyond the tree was a mountain
Its top hollowed like a bowl.
Filled with liquid fire
So hot it turned life to ash
In an instant.
The mirror to the cold around it.
Red Clay and Earth Woman knew
At this place, they could enter
The lands of the Dead.
For their people studied Death
And knew its ways.
They found a cave into
That solemn place.
Their weapons broke as
They fought their way past
Guardians that kept
The dead from the living.
Their gifts were lost to ancestors
Waiting just inside for a mere
Taste of Life.
Near naked, and alone, they entered
The deep realms of the Unliving
Armed only with words.
And there between
The flame and the chill
They found the Old Ones
Spirits of Fire and Stone
Great presences with ember eyes
And liquid rock lacing their limbs
Who remembered a time
Before the Great Mother
Spread her seed upon the land.
Who remembered the fiery rock
That once danced
To the naked power of the sun.
“Who are you?� they asked
“To come before us,
Clothed in living flesh?�
“We seek to petition the Lords of the Dead�
Said Red Clay
“We seek to free the spirit of the Mother.�
Said Earth Woman.
And the Old Ones laughed.
“We are not Death.� they replied.
“We are the Gods of Change.
All things come to us in the end.
Even the Great Mother.�
Red Clay and Earth Woman pleaded their case,
They used every languid, gracious word
Given to them by the people.
Dripping poetry from their tongues
Like sweet droplets
Of honeyed hope.
But the Gods of Change were unmoved.
Even words die after a time.
Red Clay and Earth Woman
Silently mourned
As they prepared for their end
When suddenly, Red Clay felt
A present he had carved for his daughter.
A small thing, the only thing left to them
After their many trials.
“If Gods of Change you are,� Red Clay said
Holding a pair of dice in front of him,
“Then gamble with us for the world.�
The ember eyes glittered briefly and the gods agreed.
They would gamble for the life of the world.
Red Clay stepped forward and prayed for his people
For all the ancestors stood behind him now.
And he rolled those dice and it was good.
But those stone gods scooped up the dice.
And one of them blew on it with a chill breath.
They threw those dice and they bounced once.
Red Clay lost and was gone.
His wife stared at the ashes who were once her love
And some of her fire dimmed,
And her skin grew paler
But she was set and determined
To fight for her children, and her people
She took up the dice and repeated the offer
To gamble for the spirit of the world.
And they accepted.
Earth Woman stepped forward
And prayed for her children
For all her descendants stood before her now.
And she rolled those dice and it was good.
But those stone gods picked up the dice.
And one of the them blew on it with his fiery breath.
They threw those dice and they bounced, once, twice,
Earth Woman lost and was gone.
From the darkness, came a small child.
Daughter to Red Clay,
Child of Earth Woman.
She had followed her parents
Through all their trials.
She had seen their deaths
And the fire within her had dimmed,
Her skin so pale,
You could see the blood beneath it.
But her gaze was fierce
And her will was strong,
And with proper words
Taught to her by her parents and her people
She challenged those Old Gods
A third time.
And they accepted her wish
And she held those dice to her heart
Praying to her mother and father
Praying to those who were in front
And behind her.
Praying to Creation itself
To smile on a young girl’s foolishness,
She threw the dice down.
Those old gods looked at what she had done
And they saw that she had won.
Still they rolled their dice
Bouncing it against the jeweled stones
Once, twice, three times.
Shaking their ancient heads,
They released her to the world above.
And the glaciers began to pull back
And the sun began to feel warmer
And the Mother came back to life.
But her skin remained like a ghost
As did that of her children and her children’s children.
And that is why our skin looks this way
To this very day.
5.
Our culture, though – the way things have been done -
That came from Greensinger’s people.
“Greensinger� is not a name but a Title
They talk to the Green Nation
They know the language of plants
And have a deep understanding of the world.
The people of Greensinger’s tribe
Lived North of the womb of the world.
They were a happy prosperous people.
They knew how to work with the Mother
To build great crops of food, intertwined
With each other and the land around it.
They traded with their neighbors
Sometimes they were raided
But at all times, they were happy.
But the world changed, as it always changes
They began to lose their food
They began to starve.
Perhaps alone, they would have survived.
Perhaps if others had helped,
The story would have changed.
But their hungry neighbors remembered
That Greensinger’s people had food
And they swarmed down on them
Like hungry insects
They drove the People from their home.
Weeping, Greensinger’s people fled
Until they came to a swamp between two rivers
Furious at the others, they vowed return
And they prayed to their gods for succor.
They turned to Greensinger
And asked him for help.
They needed food and shelter
Clothing and tools
Even in this dismal place
They wanted to live.
The Greensinger of that time
He was a powerful one but young.
His training was not complete.
His Elder had died during that time
Of Fleeing. And this young one,
So powerful, was also filled with pride.
He went out into the world
And he found what the people needed
He found things for clothing and food
Shelter and medicine.
He brought many wonderful things.
Then one day, he heard a voice
And hearing it, he followed it
Until he came to a field of Grass.
And that grass spoke to him.
It said:
“Greensinger, greensinger
Listen to me.
Take me to your people.
Take me inside you.
And in turn I will make them
As many as the stars in the sky
They will sweep across the world
And devour all that crosses them.�
Greensinger was appalled.
What kind of spirit would ask such a thing?
Were his people not content with
Having what had been provided?
Who would want the entire world?
And with that, he recognized the creature
The thing that hid in the grass
And he named it monster.
He named it An-as – Lonely Wheat.
He said he would never take this thing
To the people. Instead he would destroy it.
Greensinger was a man,
Only a man,
Filled with pride.
Powerful as he was
He could not turn the tide of grass
Nor could he find it in his spirit
To ask for help.
The battle was great
And he gave a good accounting
But Greensinger died that day.
The An-as bit off his head
And moved inside him
Forming a false face to
Replace the old.
It gathered up itself,
Armfuls of its seeds
And returned to Greensinger’s people.
And it said to them:
“My people, my people,
Listen to me
Take this inside you.
And in turn it will make you
As many as the stars in the sky
You will sweep across the world
And devour all that crosses you.�
The people were confused.
Why would they need such power?
Were they not content with what
They had been given?
But Greensinger had always been good to them.
And some said, there may be old wrongs
Made right with such power.
They took the An-as inside them.
Sick at its foul medicine,
They began growing beyond reason.
They swept across the land
Like a virulent plague.
They built the first cities
Moved out from the swamps,
Destroyed their enemies
And took back the fertile lands.
Like the grass, they raced across
The world, always moving, always eating.
They were the Children of An-as
The Children of the One God,
Which also means Lonely Wheat.
They built cities, yes
But they left behind deserts.
Lifeless wastes.
They could see
What they were doing was wrong.
But they could not stop it.
The medicine was inside them.
They had become devourers
That would sweep the world.
They had little choice.
But the story doesn’t end there.
6.
The power of the An-as grew.
It reached out northward and
Met the ghost-skins.
It granted them this choice
Become one with the Devourers
Or die.
The ghost-skins laughed
They had faced death before
And they had won.
But some thought,
As Greensinger’s people had
In the beginning of this world,
Perhaps there is a way to use this.
Perhaps there were things that
Could be set right
With such power.
And so they took the medicine inside them.
Those who walked the White Road
Brought the knowledge of death
To the ways of the An-as
Taking up its path
With such fierceness
That some thought
Their skin was the source of
That devouring.
They brought death into the living world.
They tore into the ground
And spit fire into the sky.
They found the smallest and the largest
And took death’s black essence
To make wonders
And terrors
Too great to behold.
But the story doesn’t end there.
7.
The An-as and its children
Spread across the world
Some few saw it as a serpent
But it was no living thing.
It was a consuming force
Driven by a need to reach
The ends of the Earth.
It swept across the World Ocean
To the place some call Turtle Island
Some people held their own
Against its storm.
Others perished and were forgotten.
But then, something happened.
It reached the Western edge of the world
and its momentum broke.
There was nowhere else for it to go.
Nothing else to consume
Save itself.
Here, in this place,
In the land of Tukupar Itar, Sky Coyote
In the land of the Dolphin People
The one who watches over his creation,
The outsider, Coyote, guardian and protector
He saw this thing coming and he thought to himself
What a strange thing this is.
He had seen Two-leggeds perform
Stupid tricks before.
They had hurt themselves
And even the world
For a short time.
But these newcomers,
These ghost-skins and
Their ghost weapons.
They were a new thing.
So, he went to talk to them, in a new way
From an unexpected angle.
And as he walked towards them, he found
Himself in a new place.
But perhaps not so new.
He had been here before.
He knew this place.
He spotted a small child, weeping
And came to comfort her.
“Little one,� he said. “Why are you here?
You are in the land of the dead.
It will hurt a living spirit.�
“I am lost� the child replied.
“We have been here for so long.
Since the time of my grandfather
And my grandfather’s grandfather.
We can no longer find the way home.�
Coyote felt a great sadness,
For no living spirit
Should be trapped in such a place
And he made this promise.
“Little one,� he said “Much harm has been done.
But some things can be undone.
I’m going to kill the thing
That has led you here
As I promised the Creator
Since the beginning
To finish the world.
That’s what I do
I kill the monsters
That threaten the world and man.
But before I go,
I will teach you a song
To lead you back.
But you have to know
You will be changed.
Nothing comes back
From the land of the dead
Unchanged.�
Grandfather reached deep into himself
And plucked out a part of himself
To give to the child.
“Take this. It will become
A part of you. And should others,
Lost to this darkness,
Wish to return,
They need only ask their family
In the Red and Green and Gray Nations
And they too will give up this small part
So that your family and friends may return.�
As the little child took up that piece
Of Grandfather,
He started to sing.
“Little one, little one
Listen to me.
For I have a song to give you.
It is an old story.
And some may tell it differently,
But it is just as sweet – �
0.
“In the beginning was the Void,
And all was darkness.
And from that dark ocean came the Voice,
And from that Voice came the Chorus.
And from their Song unfolded all things…
I love this.
I love it the same way I love Afterculture. I love that some people have started preparing for the stories and art that we will need after this era collapses.
I also appreciate the way this story brings the concepts of scientific knowledge back into the realm of “story”. Often, the scientific understandings we have come to about human origins are held up as the ultimate end of knowledge. Who in this civilized life would think to take the things that science has taught us about ourselves and put it back into story? But to do so brings the things we have gained from science into our hearts. It takes cold, anthropological data and turns it into a living, human story.
Thank you, William Two-Roads for telling a good story.
Comment by Rix — 20 June 2007 @ 10:06 AM
Breathtaking. Beautiful. But what of the Grey Nation? Is that the fourth Nation? Where were they in all this? You had the White bundle, of death, and the Red bundle, of life; what of the others?
Comment by Jordan Mechano — 20 June 2007 @ 11:06 AM
The Red, Green and Gray nations are mentioned in part 7 as a way to return back to the land of the living.
According to the story of the Bundles, they talk of four bundles (and four roads which the bundle-keepers walked down): Red, White, Yellow, Black.
The Red Road is well talked about. Obviously the above is about the White Road. What are the Yellow and Black? While I have some suspicions, I’d like to let others who wish to find figure it out and tell me!
Comment by Bill Maxwell — 20 June 2007 @ 12:41 PM
Bill can correct me if I’m wrong, but I think the correlations here are:
Red Nation = “Kindgom Animalia”
Green Nation = “Kingdom Plantae”
Gray Nation = “Kingdom Fungi”
Red Road = “Indian race”
White Road = “White race”
Yellow Road = “Asian race”
Black Road = “African race”
“Race” is a complete myth, of course, but the idea of a different “road” makes a little more sense, since there are genetic klines adapted to various bioregional conditions, and that is what you find in the Hopi mythology. But the one overlap might be misleading—the Red Road is not the same as the Red Nation.
Comment by Jason Godesky — 20 June 2007 @ 12:51 PM
Jason, you are correct in your assessments, although here’s one fun bit of mythological overlap for you:
The Red Road concerns itself with life, which ties it intrinsicically with the Red Nation. One could argue it is that another name for it would be the Road of Blood but is that too fantasy-novelish?
***
Ah — and I would be interested in seeing how people ‘translate’ / dissect the different pieces. Where do they come from? To what do they refer? Does tries to ‘return’ a mythological narrative to its linear roots kill it or give it more depth?
Best
Bill Maxwell
Comment by Bill Maxwell — 20 June 2007 @ 6:35 PM
I always love a good round of interpretation, myself, so I may not be the best one to answer that question.
Comment by Jason Godesky — 20 June 2007 @ 6:53 PM
i love this. so nice. thank you.
you pose the question, Bill: does, as Jason phrases it “a good round of interpretation,” or some such attempt to force some linear root upon a mythological narrative, kill it?
i offer this quote on the topic of mythology from one who felt in some distant way to me in childhood as a “grandfather” at least in spirit, JRR Tolkien…speaking on the very dead “critical” interpretations made of old Beowulf in his time:
“A man inherited a field in which was an accumulation of old stone, part of an older hall. Of the old stone some had already been used in building the house in which he actually lived, not far from the old house of his fathers. Of the rest he took some and built a tower. But his friends coming perceived at once (without troubling to climb the steps) that these stones had formerly belonged to a more ancient building. So they pushed the tower over, with no little labour, in order to look for hidden carvings and inscriptions, or to discover whence the man’s distant forefathers had obtained their bulding material. Some suspecting a deposit of coal under the soil began to dig for it, and forgot even the stones. They all said: ‘This tower is most interesting.’ But they also said (after pushing it over): ‘What a muddle it is in!’ And even the man’s descendants, who might have been expected to consider what he had been about, were heard to murmur: ‘He is such an odd fellow! Imagine his using these old stones just to build a nonsensical tower! Why did not he restore the old house? He had no sense of proportion.’ But from the top of that tower the man had been able to look out upon the sea.”
(i am a neglectful librarian for not linking you here to any official source, but it does appear in several published collections of Tolkien’s lectures, and i think everyone here is bright enough to find that on their own, if they wish!)
i’m going to read your song again, more slowly now. but going through, too quickly as always, the first time around, i’m fairly sure that for one or two seconds i felt that maybe i caught a glimpse of the sea. or, as Tolkien also said about his first reading of the works of the Anglo-Saxon poet Cynewulf: “I felt a curious thrill, as if something had stirred in me, half wakened from sleep. There was something very remote and strange and beautiful behind those words, if I could grasp it, far beyond ancient English.”
Comment by patricia — 20 June 2007 @ 9:02 PM
This is my story, it’s the best way I know how to tell it. It won’t make any sense to most of you. That’s okay with me, it that’s okay with you…
What is our spiritual history?
What about today points us in the right direction?
Can you imagine how people changed their beliefs as necessary?
Did you know the common white button mushroom is a genetic mutant and all have the same mother?
The Amish and other Pennsylvanians once raised fine brown mushrooms in caves, a technique of the French.
Before the turn of the century, white mushrooms were thrown away.
But one enterprising mushroom farmer cloned a white mushroom, and the resemblance to a new item, white bread, made it a hit, and quickly, everyone bought spawn form this man, and now we are sold our old-fashioned brown mushrooms for twice the price and twice the verbiage, with names like “portobello” and “porcini”.
If a single mutant organism such as a white mushroom can become so powerful as to grow from discarded fruit to the only mushroom most people can recognize, then we should recoqnize how easy any owerful story can transform a landscape.
The white mushroom (and now you know why you can’t go out in the wild and collect it) is only a part of this story I am spinning for you.
Who are we spiritually? Do we all have a single mother? Was there a plan of the gods?
They will not answer this question until we admit to ourselves that we are gods ourselves, and allow ourselves to answer this question for ourselves. WHen your spirit reaches for such answers and becomes satiated, it is all to fantastic for the body to believe, so we perefer to refer to such things as ‘imagination’.
But I ask you, can you explain common imaginings of the fantastic other than with the following two possibilities?
That one: Humans and all life are a part of a larger, meta-physical world where thoughts are connected and the true center of our inner selves is a common intelligence.
Or two: There are other organisms and beings we cannot perceive but have contacted or are contacting us now.
It could even be both. But try solving ’spooky action at a distance’ without thinking fo the old hippie mantra ‘we are all one’.
All one, but atomic. There something else out there.
It calls you, It calls us all. It will answer to any name, or even no name at all. It will excuse and judge no behavior, but only address requests, the energy of life is that which is always on, knowledge must be sought.
The mother and the father are in us. They will answer to any name, because they know who we are, even if we don’t.
You may already know this, but it won’t hurt to hear it again. There are atoms, and there are reactions. There is life, and there is knowledge.
Knowing cleanses life fire. But it also cools the self, presses the reset button on personality.
Knowing yourself is knowing how you are not yourself, specifically, who you become for others.
We internet spiders, are all free individuals. We all have the potential to bot be the person others want us to be, we have the power to find and carve out a creative will.
The movement from the pure and programming of the insect world, and towards full creative being is our spiritual road.
We must equally understand our tendencies. We are not a sum, but the latest arrival in the creation station (should I have capitalized that?).
Many people get in touch with one spirit. In that one spirit, there are many lifetimes to explore the possibilities. Can you live a life with many allies? Of course. you can get too bogged down, becoming a shepard of allies rather than a friend and companion.
For me, one has never seemed enough, but I can’t ever seem to not take things too far.
Once you forget who you are, people will not want to know you. You will confuse them and disappoint them, and spin an entire web of expectations you never knew you needed to meet (let alone, the difficult expectations you create for yourself, that aren’t fullfilled).
Are you a man, or are you a fish?
~one stoner asked another:)
You may have more success pondering and developing what a Fish ACTUALLY IS that what you may have success pondering what a man ACTUALLY IS.
Think about how oyu know a fish better than a man.
…
…
…
Okay, this time, you will get the answer to my riddle!
You know what a FISH IS more so than what a MAN IS because you are not afraid to tell a fish what it is, but we are all very morally opposed to telling a man what a man is.
There is a missing link here, and it uncovers who we are. A fish can tell a fish what a fish is. A fish can tell a man what a man is. A man can tell a fish what a man is, a man can even tell another man what a fish is, but how do we redisover the power to tell a man what a man is? It is the missing link, it is why man has gone mad.
It’s simple. We cannot point to what a man is not and expect a man to know what a man is.
We can only tell a man what a man is and hope.
Think about it. Why does a fish not ‘hope’ it’s school mate can be a fish? Because IT IS.
We ARE not. We actually don’t exist. But we interract with the physical world. Think about it.
Man doesn’t exist.
Man cannot BE because man does not EXIST.
….
….
….
Okay, so if man isn’t existing, then what is man?
Man is creation. We are not made in the physical image of god, but of the same spiritual cloth.
Man is made, man is creation. Man is of monkey, but only has (how many?) daughters of Eve.
It’s a simple choice you have to make spiritually. Can you accept that man doesn’t exist, but creates?
(and is by definition, not stable, ever-changing, being in parts, but never being in whole).
You can choose to live the life of Hanuman, but understand it’s still a choice. We must deconstruct the noble savage, with Diamond dozers.
We can choose anything. WE can choose a green road, we can join the community of the stars. We can choose complexity, we can choose surival or extinction (all the while suicide cultures appear to self-fullfill).
This is the Mega-post boiling point:
The question is not if humans are on the top of the food chain, but if humans are on the bottom of the spiritual chain?
That’s my story, that’s the best way I know how to tell.
Comment by TonyZ — 22 June 2007 @ 9:49 PM
To Larry
I keep my link to Anthropik network and the writings of Jason Godesky and his postings of other writers.
From time to time I go there and I am impressed that these thoughts are recurring among these people as they have between us.
The idea of rewilding
rewilding—developing the mythological foundation for a new relationship with the living earth. This epic poem is offered as a sort of creation myth for today’s primitivists,
http://anthropik.com/2007/06/white-road/
What are we but a story and how else may we reinvent ourselves as we come to learn that after all this time, these countless generations, all have become travelers on this white road
Do we stand in this road to be run down by passing cars?
Some will, but why sacrifice yourself to the inertia of a machine?
To dream of another way, another road,
or to dream of our world over the horizon and how it might unfold after the great revolution and its aftermath while acting out what your heart tells you are chapters in this next life, is this also a self sacrifice ?
Or shall we enjoy our lives to the fullest extent of our perceived shared entitlement, driving our metaphorical car,
its so nice, bluetooth and all, but we do know,
those of us anyway who have taken a few minutes to think about what is it we are doing,
with eyes widening a bit on learning,
that Bakary Jatta of Bwiam Village, The Gambia, has read our ramblings, theorizing, hypothecating on charcoal and terra preta
and has discounted us for what we are, to speak of his peasant farmer life and his vision while thanking his teachers,
while it is he who is teaching us.
http://terrapreta.bioenergylists.org/nepad19zai2004
http://terrapreta.bioenergylists.org/techreviewapril2007
http://terrapreta.bioenergylists.org/oilmalleeiai07
Comment by Rich Haard — 24 June 2007 @ 1:28 AM
Developing the mythological foundation for a new relationship with the living earth is just one kind of rewilding. Developing the relationships and skills needed for that are also part of rewilding. Rewilding is a total process; myth follows from lifestyle, and vice versa. No part can be approached in isolation from the others.
Comment by Jason Godesky — 24 June 2007 @ 9:54 PM
I like a lot of this story, but I just don’t like the emphasis on race. To group everybody into these color-coordinated groups is misleading. It throws the Bantu in with the Pygmies, for example. There is no one “road” for “white” or “red” or “yellow.” Tell the Hohokam and the Anasazi that the “Red Road” is the road of life. Tell our Paleolithic ancestors that the “White Road” is the road of death. They were just as pale as we were. Why is their post-agricultural presence presented as the White Road and not their hunting and gathering?
I don’t care about Hopi mythology. I don’t care if they separate the “races” this way. We’re not Hopi. Our culture has been obsessed with race for a few centuries now, and what good’s come of it? I strongly believe that race is one of those concepts that we should just let go. Make klines part of our mythology, if we absolutely must talk about skin color.
Comment by Giulianna Lamanna — 25 June 2007 @ 8:01 AM
Glad you enjoyed what you enjoyed & glad you’re commenting on what you didn’t.
I’m going to point out something which I know most people won’t get at first. The White Road of Death is not “bad”, much as the Red Road of Life is not “good.” They are directions of investigation.
They also don’t prevent us from being simply utterly Human, with all that entails, good and bad. Hence why some of us joined with Taker civ to become the mess we’re in today.
Why am I ‘associating’ skin with path? Because virtually the only way our kline gained pale skin was by consistently courting death in the frozen north. In that case, genetics would have favored people with the melanin-deficient skin.
Also one of the oldest ‘Northerner’ tales (Norse) includes a family (Odin, Vili, Ve) fighting and killing the father of all giants in the frozen north to create the world. Death makes the world in a land between fire and ice.
So yes, I’ll say explicitely, I believe we set out on the White Road as Hunter Gatherers. I believe it is a noble direction to explore and we should understand that — in fact, it’s important to understand that!
One of the major things that people talk about when it comes to mass extinctions / severe tribal decimations (as in the Americas with the advent of smallpox) is that the process is extremely traumatic. Losing people that you know or love, especially if they possess needed skills or knowledge is devestating. Can you imagine what would happen if Jason dies in the downward cycle but you and the rest of your tribe survive? What happens if I lose one or more of my children?
It’s going to be up to those that understand death to help people get through that. It’s going to be up to those who understand life to heal the scars. And it’s going to be up to everybody to build a new world in what’s left.
That doesn’t happen as easily when one piece of the puzzle forgets what it’s learned and / or refuses to accept the challenges given.
I’m not a Hopi. I’m not related to them. I don’t live in their lands. I was inspired by a tale told by my sweat lodge ‘uncle’ because I wondered this simple question “What if…” What if the Mystery did give instructions to folks? What would ours look like? What would make it a ‘positive’ road, as richly complex as the “Good Red Road”, but would apply equally to our current situation (the Europeans overshadowing the Sumerians as the ‘colonizers’ / conquerors of the world) and to our HG forefathers?
What would match (and honor) the earliest legends of my ancestors, the Northmen (Norse) and the Cymry (Welsh) with their tales of Annwyn and Pwyll and Odin’s sacrifices and the nature of death? What would match our scientific ‘facts’ of those relentless explorers who moved Northward, into the ice and were transformed, unlike the Inuit, into pale-skins (not a judgement, just an observation)?
Who are we?
We’re the ones who explored Death. Look at what we’ve found. Look at what we’ve done. Even in the face of the horrors of Taker society, we’ve gone so far.
Now it’s time to go home. To join with the others to share the triumphs of our labor and discard the many things which currently diminish our humanity.
Comment by Bill Maxwell — 25 June 2007 @ 2:07 PM
Here, here. That’s very much the spirit I took it in, and I think, why I didn’t share Giuli’s concerns. But she does have a point that this could be taken as a kind of race-centered ideology. It could be, but I think that would be very much missing the point. As a “road” and not a “race,” it speaks to where you’ve been, not who you “are”; it says where your experience lay, what you explored, not where you’re going or where your destiny lies. In that, I think it’s a damn fine myth to address not just the differences in skin coloration, but the differences in cultural experience, and how we came to what we are. Those are much more important questions—that’s why it’s a “Road,” and not a “Race.”
How do you honor your ancestors when your ancestors have done such terrible things? I’m really impressed with this story because it comes up with a good answer to that.
Comment by Jason Godesky — 25 June 2007 @ 2:19 PM
Interesting that you had that reaction, Giuli as I commented on that to Bill, as well, though in a slightly different way. Maybe on an instinctive level I saw some of what he expressed above…. and BTW, Bill, that explanation right there is… awesome. It draws it all together for me!
J
Comment by janene — 25 June 2007 @ 2:34 PM
I think I understand better now, but I still object to organizing everything by these four vast, overarching “races.” As I said before, you end up lumping the Bantu in with the Pygmy—they certainly haven’t walked the same road. And I’m very pale, but I’m Italian and Russian-Jewish, not Norse.
I guess it just makes me uncomfortable because I’ve been doing a lot of research on neo-Nazis lately (thinking of working them into my next novel), and they’re constantly conflating genetics with experience and “race memory.” And your story toys a lot with race memory. I realize that’s part of the mythologizing, but it leaves a seriously bad taste in my mouth.
Comment by Giulianna Lamanna — 25 June 2007 @ 8:26 PM
I kind of feel like I should comment on this, seeing as how I’m white, 90+% German descent, still have some communication w/ the Aesir & Vanir, and have long struggled to reconcile my heritage, or “spirit of culture”, with my spirit of place.
I have a hard time knowing what to do with “race memory”. I’ve noticed that I have an easier time communicating with beings that my ancestors would have known well. So that’s part of who I am, but it’s not all of who I am. I don’t have identical experiences, there are divergences into entirely new (for me & my ancestry) regions of humanity’s “Collective Unconscious”. I’ve been in the process of forging new alliances and severing old ties whenever & whereever it’s appropriate, with the goal being a true reconciling between these two spirits. This is not without some danger.
This does not appear to be the goal of neo-Nazi’s (or real Nazi’s for that matter). Neither does their ideology accept personal (read: psychological, or, gods help me, “psychic”) danger, rather they try to insulate themselves from it.
So, from experience, I believe there is something like “race memory” (what a poor phrase tho’!), but I don’t really know what the mechanism is. At the same time, it seems incredibly obvious to me that whatever this phenomenon is, it’s [b]not[/b] the only contributor to who I am, or how I should live, nor is it the [b]most important[/b] contributor.
So I find myself at what could be an impasse. I understand the concern, but I’m not comfortable leaving my heritage completely behind. It would seem that my only choices are to forge ahead and try to avoid the dangers, “stay put” and do nothing, or start from scratch. Doing nothing is out of the question. Starting from scratch…? That’s a pretty tall order, it seems like more than a lifetimes work. Continue reconciling…? Certainly a fair amount of danger there, but it seems more doable to me.
Ah, anyway, I think I’ve rambled enough on this….
Comment by jhereg — 26 June 2007 @ 10:08 AM
“Race memory”? No way. Of course, there is a cultural continuity there. That’s why old Germanic myths resonate with you; the echoes of them were still there in the stories your parents told you as an infant, just like their parents’ stories.
Which is why cultural appropriation fails. We’ll never have the same “feel” for Dagwûn’noyaênt that we have for the jötnar. Which is why we can’t simply become “wild” again; we become “feral,” by synthesizing and creating a new, syncretic mythology that adapts us to the land we live in, the land we’re becoming native to.
Comment by Jason Godesky — 26 June 2007 @ 11:02 AM
Well, I think the word ‘klines’ hits the nail on the head. It may use some of the same TERMINOLOGY of racial identity, but it doesn’t use the same MEANING.
It’s kind of like explaining a sarcastic joke, and trying to tell someone you didn’t MEAN what they thought you mean.
Until the person themselves accept the meaning you gave them, and realize it was a joke, or in this case, myhtology (as opposed to sociology), then there is nothing you can do but give them more examples of sarcasm, or mythology.
WE name colors of the rainbow, but that doesn’t mean we forget the colors in between the colors.
If I told you there was red, orange, yellow, green, blue, and violet in the rainbow, does that mean I am leaving out chartruse, mauve, toupe and turqoiuse?
Certainly not.
How does one B and have knowledge?
To B is to B essential, to have the native state. It may feel like having no language in the mind is a native state, but trust me, it’s just a resonance. It’s a beuatiful thing to have no-mind, but it’s a chord in a entire song.
So, what are the other chords in the song? That’s for you to write. But there is nothing wrong with using the chords from the song of anothers’, there is no need to defend against backbiters who would accuse you of all the things one can be accused of before they open their mouths. There are no need to address occupational critics, that is, people who aren’t normally your friends and from time to time offering up friendly advice.
I have the day off today and will be leaving for Chantrelle hunting soon. Am I wrong for using a french word to describe an American fungi? Am I leaving out the fact there are white and black and yellow and organge chantrelles (well, I’m not now, am I?)
What is it in our internal dialogue that has us ask challenging questions?
THat part of us that has kept us well and defended us when we were weak and facing strong attacks on our consciousness and character.
Are we still weak? None of you here that I know appear to be intellectually weak, so I see no need for defense.
So for every road there is a street between, and ever street a path between, and every path a run through, and for every run there are the bushwackers, the tree climbers, and infinite airspace above.
There is so much space to explore. Every inch of it resonates with a different lesson.
How then do we explore the space of others?
Comment by TonyZ — 26 June 2007 @ 11:15 AM
/shrug
To be frank, I’m not even really all that interested in the mechanism itself. I’m not arguing, I just don’t really have much interest. I [b]don’t[/b] like the phrase, and never have, but it does relate to that phenomenon of continuity and that’s undeniably real. What we do with that continuity is really what I find more worthy, rather than what, exactly, it is. Just my 2 cents….
Comment by jhereg — 26 June 2007 @ 11:19 AM
I know what you mean, jhereg. Of course, the border cases are where you see what’s going on. Take a newborn babe of “German” blood and give him to some Seneca parents, and guess what? His German “race memory” is replaced with Seneca “race memory.”
Culture’s a lot more powerful than we give it credit for, so it’s understandable that we’d feel such a resonance so deeply we’d think it’s some kind of “race memory.” But it’s not in the blood; it’s in your past.
Comment by Jason Godesky — 26 June 2007 @ 11:28 AM
A quick comment this morning (will follow up later, I promise!)
Giuli
“I think I understand better now, but I still object to organizing everything by these four vast, overarching “races.” As I said before, you end up lumping the Bantu in with the Pygmy—they certainly haven’t walked the same road. And I’m very pale, but I’m Italian and Russian-Jewish, not Norse.”
1) The original story of the Bundles is not mine but came from folks who originally chose the color scheme due to the seasons, spoke of themselves as following a “Red Road” and then were surprised as hell when people of three other ‘colors’ popped up (matching their older symbology). They have no problem lumping folks together in these categories. Should I? (this is not a retort or chastisement — it’s actually a serious question!)
1) So what’s the Russian story? How far north did they travel? Or did the “pale” kline flow outward from Europe into that eco-region. How did the Russians get ‘white’ (heh.)
2) Oh Writer (and I know you write!), what would you use instead of race for that section? Skins? Klines doesn’t work because it’s not a common word. What’s poetic? What suits the eyes and is immediately recognizable? What makes it less ‘racist’?
Oh, and I’m Italian as well, but I tend to credit them to the “An-as” side of the coin.
Gotta go — kids calling!
Best
Comment by Bill Maxwell — 26 June 2007 @ 12:20 PM
Well, I’m a piss-poor writer, but I like simply Road or Path. It links lifeway to geography. Of course that would necessitate some rewording of the original story, but who’s looking for “one, right story”, anyway?
Comment by jhereg — 26 June 2007 @ 1:41 PM
I think Giuli’s concern is certainly a valid one, even though it’s not one I’m too worried about. I like “Road,” myself, for exactly the same reason. But as Two-Roads himself said, “I tell these stories as I found them. Some tell them differently.” So, tell them differently.
Comment by Jason Godesky — 26 June 2007 @ 1:56 PM
Is this what folks have in mind?
“There are some who tell a story,
Those who are cousin to my blood
Whose name means “United,�
They tell this story
That the Creator gave to the tribes of man
Instructions on how to live.
Creator understood that as man moved out
From the center of all things,
They would explore creation
And so needed guidance.
So four grandfather spirits were created
To guard four sacred spirit bundles
That held within them the stories
Telling of four sacred Roads.
And the sacred bundles were given
One each to the tribes of man.
As these bundles went out,
Some who followed were lost along the way
And it caused much confusion.
But they knew that one day,
The bundles would return.
When the entire world had been explored.
When the tribes of man had explored each Road, coming
To the end of their travels
They would return to the center
And as they did
The sacred bundles would scoop
Up the lost ones,
Bringing them, regardless of skin
Back to understanding,
Back to the Center.
The bundles were that powerful.
This, my cousins believed.
Comment by Bill Maxwell — 26 June 2007 @ 3:08 PM
Part of the point of this is to create not THE one-true-way story but A true story that is linked to what we, as modern ‘civilized’ folks, understand. I was raised in ’science’ and hold some of its beliefs now in a spiritual manner because they dovetail nicely with what is.
Bottom line, of course, is this story should be able to be challenged and I should be able to defend it.
Regarding race in the Bundles, I don’t really care but others do and it’s not a particularly defensible position so I look at ways I can slide the words sideways into something that conveys the same meaning.
However, when it comes to the story of How Pale Skins came to be, Greensinger’s Song, and An-as on the White Road, I can and will defend that.
Unless you’ve got some really compelling arguments? Heh. Throw them at me!
And if I haven’t said it yet, thanks to all of you who have taken the time to comment!
Comment by Bill Maxwell — 26 June 2007 @ 3:15 PM