What I Learned This Fall Semester

So, I came up with a lot of my final presentation while I was speaking, but this is the paper I was reading off of.

What I learned this fall semester

By Zach Jewett

It all began with time. Or rather, the passage of time. I believe that a myth is created through time. Yesterday was news, ten years ago was the past, 100 years, history, and 1000 years, legend, and eventually it becomes myth. That is, if it doesn’t fall off the radar. 

And this is how I started my first draft of my final presentation. But as I was sitting there, head butting my way through writer’s block and I was like “Man, this is terrible.” Even worse than being terribly written, it was boring. Of course, “If it is boring, then you have not developed the capacity to be interesting”. In the middle of face-rolling my way across the keyboard, I was shocked to devise a better plan. I can stand here and tell you exactly the things I thought, the things I said, the things I saw, and the things I did. What better way to show you.

I had heard before that any story ever written had already been done by the Greeks. I questioned, how? How does it account for things that did not exist; cars, planes, guns, most technological advancement. It doesn’t have to. This class opened my eyes to how prevalent myth is in everyday life. How myth is the precedent behind every action. It’s the foundations of the stories, the lessons learned that write the stories. The settings and characters change but never do the underlying themes. Something you all proved with the displaced myths.

One of the largest lessons I took from this class was public speaking. Not necessarily just the presentations but the blog as well. Like Jean, this was my maiden voyage into the blogging world. I was concerned about having all my thoughts and experiences out there for people to read and pass judgment on it. In fact, I didn’t even grow the guts to email to Scott until last week.  But once it was on there, I felt more a sense of pride, not only for posting it, but knowing that I went outside my comfort zone. Shortly following this revelation, I realized we were all going through this obligation and suffering. A continuous cycle of the three stages of myth: separation, imitation, transformation. Life can be broken down into certain cycles, childhood, teenage, adult, etc. However, there are cycles within those cycles. Each semester in college can be a cycle, or college as a whole as a Rite of Passage. Going, and coming back.

I also learned some friendship lessons. I want to thank Sebastian. Sebastian and I go back a couple years, and he has a massive help to me this semester. He helped me keep myself organized and pushed me to get back to class. He proved himself to be an awesome friend that I respect. You are the Theseus to my Pirithous. And look at those luscious locks! Ladies, seriously! I’ll see you in the underworld buddy.

Ian. I’m not sure I spoke a word to you all semester thank you for keeping me in the game. You were my friend from across the internet. Your and Elises’ notes saved my bacon multiple times. I realized you were in my math class, last Thursday. He can vouch that I skipped a presentation in that class as well.

I remember that everything is, well, remembered. Yet, I find one exception: the people. How do we remember people we have never met? It was fun learning who you all were. Kelly, I can see your birthday haunting me in the future. July 25^th? Something important happens today. I also have a soft spot for Mankato now. In one of the games I play, I can conquer the territory, I choose not to enslave the populace. From everyone else, I gained another valuable lesson. I forgot what it was like to be a class like this. One in which no one had to be here. We all took LIT285 because we had an interest in mythologies.

Now it’s time I added a little brown-nosing. Sexson, I’m so jealous ofyour grandchildren, you’d be the coolest grandpa. I think a lot of can agree. They say it takes 10,000 work hours to be considered a master. I think you’ve accomplishped that tenfold and are a Grand Master Educator, definitely Zeus to the class. Not only did you teach us the stories of the Olympians but you taught us vocabulary, etimologies, art history, books worth reading, even laws of thermodynamics, and you did it in an entertaining fashion. It’s hard for me to sit down and listen to a man talk for 75 minutes. Yet, you’re like listening to a book. You sir, are a scholar and storyteller. And stories are what it was all about. So that  is what I truly learned from this class: a good story.

Rite of Passage - CotL

For our second presentation, we were asked to discuss Rites of Passage from across the globe. I was granted a free choice and with it I chose to do the Crossing-of-the-Line ceremony.

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The Crossing-of-the-Line Ceremony is a naval tradition practiced worldwide by many navies. Prominent ones include the U.S. Navy and Coast Guard, Russian Navy, British Navy and Dutch Navy. The first written record of it I came across was from 1799, though the ceremony is much different now. The ceremony is used as initiation for Pollywogs, sailors who have never crossed the equator. AKA, the Line. These Slimy Pollywogs (yes, this is origin of the Pokemon 'Pollywag'), are often new sailors and are hazed by the Trusty Shellbacks, sailors who have completed the ceremony. Crossing-of-the-Line is seen as necessary for morale during long periods at sea. It shows that the Pollywogs have the fortitude to be part of the crew. In the old days, the Pollywogs would be whipped with ropes, beaten, partially drowned, and sometimes towed behind the boat for a period of time. This did result in the drownings and a report of a man being bitten by a shark.

Over the past 200 years the initiation has become less drastic. Though deaths were still reported as a result up to World War II. However, over time, parts have stayed the same. Their has always been a sailor portraying King Neptune, his first-mate Davy Jones, and wife Amphitrite. These two hold court over the Pollywogs who are administered a 'truth-serum', often aftershave and tabasco sauce, and forced to do embarrassing acts. Though it varies ship to ship, common ones I found consisted of a bikini show, consisting of all male participants. Or going down a slide with the leftovers from the mess haul and lubricated with aftershave, and condiments. Whipped with rubber hoses to represent the history of flailing cords of rope. Another was the faking of a pirate boarding in which the Pollywogs are repelled with fire hoses and brooms. There are many great and humorous YouTube videos of these. However, the largest part of the ceremony and the part never forsaken is the Kissing of the Royal Belly.

Neptune's Court

And it is exactly that. A senior officer of the ship volunteers to be dressed in a diaper and coats his bare, sometimes hairy stomach in condiments, grease, and aftershave. (The Navy really has a thing for aftershave). In which every Slimy Pollywog must bury their face. I mean, nose deep in the gunk filled belly-button of their commander. Face rolling on a jolly tummy.

Afterwards, the Pollywogs have earned their post and seen as part of the crew and trustworthy sailor. Out there, saving the free world...

Juggling the Mundane

My life is chalk full of routines. Though I try to view them as miniature traditions. It was relatively difficult for me to find an interesting way to alter them. Most routines were simple: morning start-up, school/work schedule, socializing habits. Too simple to alter significantly. I had tried to magnify them anyway. Music makes any situation more enjoyable. A cold beer in a hot shower was a good twist for after work. Spending time with less known acquaintances doing things I hadn't done often. Sure I acquired more experiences and knowledge, but I felt it just wasn't consistent enough to be considered routine. So I decided to develop a new mini-tradition. One with more flare.

I started throwing things. Anything. In any direction. Juggling has been an occasional hobby of mine, but one I never took too seriously. It is possible to juggle damn near anything so this is what I based my new experiment on. If I could hold it my hand, and it was logical for tossing, it went in the air. This was no three ball juggling, most of the time I am just flipping things behind my back, over my head, through my legs. Pens are  a common item as I sit down to homework. Car keys are constantly in midair as I come or go from the house. Lobbing trash across the room for garbage can. Plates, bowls, and cups would somersault out of cabinets. Bottles or cans had much for fizz once I got around to opening them. I fantasized myself a glorified bartender, acrobat, or professional ball player in the midst of the flying baubles.

Besides just being entertaining, the flying objects have proved useful. My hand-eye coordination has increased. Items get across the room faster in flight. I've always been clumsy and the repeated catching has helped nab things out of the air before striking the ground. However, there is always a price to pay to learn. We have seen the demise of our off-white carpet with a red wine bottle. At least 4 glasses and 2 bowls have been shattered. There are new cracks on my both my Ipod and cellular screens. The death of a beloved key-chain. Accidental vandalism of an art project. Countless dollars in coins vanished. All in the name of enjoying the mundane.

Herds and Hospitality

I've chosen a passage from  Roberto Calasso's The Marriage of Cadmus and Harmony,starting  from the bottom of page 71 and continuing to page 76. This passage is a reflection of Apollo's servitude under King Admetus, as well as Ademtus' trials and unveiling. I believe it also gives an insight to love and death as priorities in Greek mythology.

It was not often the Gods loved. They were frequented by desire, but rarely did they truly love. And true love is what Apollo felt towards Admetus, King of Pherea in Thessaly. Oh the feelings to be so eagerly wanted, especially by a god. A god whose aptitude of love is famous. Admetus is not loved so dearly by just Apollo, but lucky enough to have the love of Alcestis as well. Both of whom will save his life.

What made Admetus so special? How was he loved so immensely by two people? "We know that he was handsome, that he was famous for his herds of cattle, that he loved sumptuous feasts, and that he possessed the gift of hospitality" (Calasso 71). Not a bad profile. Here Calasso gives us our first and only needed hints of Admetus' true identity and we begin our tale. Apollo has been banished to a 'great year' (9 years) of servitude under a mortal for the killing of Zeus' weaponsmith, the Cyclops. "For a God, the equivalent of death: exile" (73). Yet Apollo was willing to tarnish himself and his reputation for his love. He submitted himself to servitude under Admetus. Taking the role  as herdsman to the king, he forsake his looks and lyre. During the course of his love Apollo, not only tampers with Admetus' fate, but sets an all time low for the Gods. Apollo's submission to a mortal is a shameful feat, and he maximizes it by accepting payment from his beloved. This reduced the god to the equivalent of a prostitute, someone "unprotected by any rights...considered the worst of all perverts, in whose defense no one in Greece ever ventured to speak so much as a word" (73). To be so disgraced was an astonishment, but Apollo again teases with exile when he intoxicates the Fates for Admetus.

As all do, Ademtus' had an impending doom. Not wanting to lose his beloved, Apollo finds a way to get the Fates drunk. A tricky task, but upon completion, the intoxicated Fates agree that they will deter Admetus' death if someone is willing to die in his place. With the happy news, Apollo tells Admetus of the compromise, who immediately sets about asking friends and family to die in his place. None are willing. This flabbergasts Admetus. None except his young and beautiful wife, Alcestis. Its Alcestis' act that sets the pinnacle for philia, "that friendship that grows out of love," only thought to be achievable by men (73). Alcestis, by "simply agreeing to die, with no hope of return or salvation," surpasses any known love and represents the only case of female philia in Greek mythology. Now Admetus as been saved twice. Once by Apollo's party with the Fates, and secondly by Alcestis' ultimate sacrifice.

Though happy to be alive Admetus soon becomes stricken with grief and deems his life worth less than Alcestis'. Due to the impressive showing of sacrifice by his wife, the Gods decree that Alcestis can be saved, and allow Heracles to rescue her from the land of the dead. Heracles agrees to help as compensation to Admetus for his hospitality. His most forth coming trait. Admetus "has been saved on three occasions: by a god, a woman, and by a hero"(74). Why would people of such importance go to such lengths for a mere man? Purely out of his hospitality. And it is here that Calasso, unveils Admetus for what he truly is: Death.

First, Calasso asks us to investigate the landscape of Thessaly.  This is also where we encounter an amazingly well-written paragraph. The presiding deity of Thessaly is Pheraia, the night-roaming, torch-wielding, underworld goddess. She also happens to be the daughter of Admetus. Though the land is adjacent to Mount Olympus, the "Olympians  are loath to descend...the horses that gallop around Thessaly are creatures of the deep...they are the dead, brilliantly white, brilliantly black...it is the luxuriant country of the dead" (75). Nine years, the length of  Apollo's exile on earth, is one time cycle in the Underworld. Here Calasso leads us to the end of his intricate breadcrumb trail. We know that Admetus is attractive. Well of course, he is a god after all. We know that Admetus is hospitable. "Who could be more hospitable than the king of the dead? His is the inn that never closes its doors to no one" (76). Proving an excellent point, no one escapes death. It shows no biases and no judgement, accepting all into its fold. We know Admetus has massive herds "and no one has such numerous herds as the king of the dead" (76). The herds, the black and white horses, literally are the dead. Either dead animals or humans, no one would have a larger herd than of all the beings who died before. Being the ruler of the dead is also the reason for his surprise when no one agrees to die for him. People agree all the time to his divine form but this is a new feeling as a mortal. The nail in the coffin is the definition of own name, Admetus: indomitable. "And who is more indomitable than the lord of the dead?" (75)

We now see that Apollo is infatuated with death and will know such pleasure and pain forever. It is his fate. Whether through the death of his previous lovers, Hyacinthus, his lovers he condemned to death, Coronis, his love of death, Admetus, and his future with death, patricide of Zeus. Apollo is considered the most luminous son, it is ironic his playfulness with the darkness of death. Admetus' other lover also gains a new identity. Alcestis is hinted to being none other than Persephone, the goddess whisked away by Hades while picking narcissi. Her identity magnifies her sacrifice, giving up throne and immortality for her husband. It is for the loss of his true love that Admetus becomes so distraught over his queen's sacrifice. Viewed in atypical role, the death god "is not just an abductor but a lover too" (76).

Hwanung - Korean Creation Myth

For our first presentation, creation myths from around the world, I was given the Korean creation myth of Hwanung. It is quite an interesting tale but the more I researched it, it became clear that this myth was more the creation of Korea as a people rather than one of cosmogeny.

The Korean belief system is based from the worship of nature and the attribution of souls to objects, often regarded as Animism. They believed that everything had a spirit. From the Sun, Moon, and stars, to the mountains, rivers, trees, and creatures. All the way down to the rock that trips you while walking.

And above all these spirits reigned Hwanin. Hwanin is the Divine Regent, God of All, Supreme Deity, literally the Emperor of Heaven. Hwanin had a son named Hwanung, and of all children do, Hwanung yearned to leave home. He longed to leave the sky and live on Earth amongst the mountains and valleys. Hwanin granted his son's wish and let him descend to Earth with 3000 helpers.
He landed near a sandalwood tree on Mount Taebaek. At the base of this tree, he founded the city of Shinsi, "City of Spirits". Hwanung appointed three ministers; the Minister of Clouds, Rain, and Wind. With their help and guidance, Hwanung introduced humans to laws and a moral code. He also gave mankind the knowledge of arts, medicine, and agriculutre.
Near the sandalwood tree, lived Tiger and Bear. Everyday the two creatures would come pray at the tree and ask Hwanung to trasnform them into humans. Hwangug appeared one day with twenty bulbs of garlic and mugwort and said that if they could stay in a nearby cave for 100 days, eating only those two plants, he would change them. Tiger and Bear both agreed and entered the cave. Tiger, grew impatient and hungry and left the cave after about 20 days. However, Bear remained in the cave for the full 100 days, and on the 100th day, Hwanung appeared and transformed Bear into a beautiful woman.
The woman was overjoyed with Hwanung and continued to praise him and made offerings to him. Over time, the woman grew lonely and prayed to Hwanung to be blessed with a child. Hwanung was greatly moved by the woman's prayers and so he took her for his wife. Upon breathing on her, she was impregnated and gave birth to their son Dangun (or Tangun).
Dangun was known as the 'Grandson of Heaven' and with this title, he ascended to the throne. From which he decreed that the walled city of Asadal be built. This marked the birth of the first Korean Empire. This is said to be beginning of Korean history, around 2333BCE. Dangun is also accredited with the creation of acupuncture and moxibustion. It is claimed Dangun lived 1,908 years and upon his death either returned to heavan or became a mountain god.

*Sandalwood trees, mugwort, and garlic are all still sacred to the Koreans

Post Regarding Memories

In illo tempore.
A phrase with many translations referring to 'the beginning', or 'the time before', but the one I choose to see it as is 'in the Great time'. They say that retrospection is 20/20 but everyone remembers what they saw a bit differently. We have a tendency to see the past better than it was and long for those days and feelings to come back. I definitely do. Being 12 was fantastic. School was simple, sports were less demanding, friends were numerous, not superficial, and could spend the night any given weekend. Bikes could be ridden dawn to dusk and recess was pure joy. Kissing a girl was the biggest accomplishment.

Which leads to my first memory as a human being. I've always taken pride in my poor memory, so the first memory I fully recall comes in illo tempore of kindergarten. In fact, many of my beginning memories stem from that school in Reno, but I like this one. I had made my very first best-friend in kindergarten, his name was Christian, and till this day I still have a stuffed animal with his namesake. Even at the kindergarten level, this school required uniforms, for boys, collars and slacks, for girls, dresses. And every recess, Chrisitan and I would lay amongst the woodchips under the jungle-gym bridge and wait for the girls in their dresses to run across. Waiting for that flash of underwear. It sounds super creeper status now, even typing about it. But we were five, and girls were an anomaly. At the same time, occasionally girls caught us and would run the bridge anyway, trying to beat our gaze.

It has just occurred to me the slight resemblance between my experience and the sexualising of children in Huxley's Brave New World. Only without teacher instruction.

Axis Mundi (Ménage-à-tree)

To a hug a tree...

One of the more original assignments I've ever had.
Oh, Sexson.

Might as well hug two. At the same time.

<PHOTOGRAPHIC EVIDENCE COMING SOON>


While embracing the not-so-soft skin of the tree, I began to wonder if this tree had ever been hugged before. Surely, it must have been. For how long it has been here, 20? 30? 40 years? Has no one held this tree? But no matter the amount the of personal relations this tree has had, I became more intrigued in what had it seen, what had it experienced? I wish it could talk and share it's life. A happy seedling, not far from the roots of its mother. The day it's first squirrel scampered it's branches or a bird called it home. The chill of Montana winters. The tragedy of its friends being cut down around it. People relaxing in it's shade. The stories it could tell!

Despite all the definitions and relate-able objects for Axis Mundi, I can see the tree being the most realistic and fitting. Yggdrasil was literally the Tree of Existence in Norse mythologies, The Tree of Knowledge in the bible, Apollo and Daphne, 1,000 year-old Cherry trees in Japan. Trees always been and always will be important, either as being literally powerful or just serving as powerful symbolism.
So much depends on a tree.

First Days of Mythologies

I've always been fascinated by myths. Derived from a love for history and stories, I immediately took to mythologies and the lessons they could teach. Which is why I was ecstatic when I found myself enrolled in Professor Sexson's class. I believed I possessed  a solid grip on the fundamentals of most myths and the cultures of their time but, one class in, and oh, how I am mistaken.

The amount of names to process, their relations to others, and even how to pronounce them shall be a very enjoyable challenge. However, outside of just the myths themselves, Sexson seems to teach us vocabulary, etymologies, books worth reading, and just overall lessons for life, all at the same time. And all in an enjoyable manner.  He thinks far outside the box and loves what he teaches, making him a wonderful educator and storyteller. More subjects need to be taught this way. It still dumbfounds me at how often myths are relevant today and all the things that stem from them. I yearn to learn more and am incredibly pleased to be in this class with peers wanting the same.

A Person from Porlock

Kubla Khan

By Samuel Taylor Coleridge

  Or, a vision in a dream. A Fragment. 

In Xanadu did Kubla Khan

A stately pleasure-dome decree:

Where Alph, the sacred river, ran

Through caverns measureless to man

   Down to a sunless sea.

So twice five miles of fertile ground

With walls and towers were girdled round;

And there were gardens bright with sinuous rills,

Where blossomed many an incense-bearing tree;

And here were forests ancient as the hills,

Enfolding sunny spots of greenery.

But oh! that deep romantic chasm which slanted

Down the green hill athwart a cedarn cover!

A savage place! as holy and enchanted

As e’er beneath a waning moon was haunted

By woman wailing for her demon-lover!

And from this chasm, with ceaseless turmoil seething,

As if this earth in fast thick pants were breathing,

A mighty fountain momently was forced:

Amid whose swift half-intermitted burst

Huge fragments vaulted like rebounding hail,

Or chaffy grain beneath the thresher’s flail:

And mid these dancing rocks at once and ever

It flung up momently the sacred river.

Five miles meandering with a mazy motion

Through wood and dale the sacred river ran,

Then reached the caverns measureless to man,

And sank in tumult to a lifeless ocean;

And ’mid this tumult Kubla heard from far

Ancestral voices prophesying war!

   The shadow of the dome of pleasure

   Floated midway on the waves;

   Where was heard the mingled measure

   From the fountain and the caves.

It was a miracle of rare device,

A sunny pleasure-dome with caves of ice!

   A damsel with a dulcimer

   In a vision once I saw:

   It was an Abyssinian maid

   And on her dulcimer she played,

   Singing of Mount Abora.

   Could I revive within me

   Her symphony and song,

   To such a deep delight ’twould win me,

That with music loud and long,

I would build that dome in air,

That sunny dome! those caves of ice!

And all who heard should see them there,

And all should cry, Beware! Beware!

His flashing eyes, his floating hair!

Weave a circle round him thrice,

And close your eyes with holy dread

For he on honey-dew hath fed,

And drunk the milk of Paradise.