The Agony of the Plumed Serpent

Unlike their famous neighbours to the West, the Mayans of the Central Americas were far older than the Aztecs. Hailing from the Yucatán Peninsula in the East (which, interestingly, is the site of impact of the meteorite which struck the Earth sixty-five million years ago, annihilating the dinosaurs), the Maya people had been a majestic civilisation many centuries before the arrival of the Conquistadores.  When Spanish, and later English, colonists arrived in the Yucatán, not for the first time would the towering ruins strike awe into the hearts of men, nor would the grand stories the Maya told of their gods.

Chichén Itzá - One of the greatest Maya Cities
Photograph taken by Claude Belair.

Rivalling the Egyptians in their age, the Mayans began to make their mark five thousand years ago. Rising to be the greatest power in Central America by the turn of the Common Era, the future looked bright for the Maya. But, for reasons unknown, the Mayan Empire fell from grace in the 10th century AD. Great cities were abandoned, temples neglected and material wealth declined. A mere shadow of its former self by the time the Spaniards were at their doorstep, the story of the Maya is one of melancholy. Their relative poverty in gold and silver spared them the greed of Europe as Spanish steel slaughtered their Aztec brethren, but not for long. Holding out for a little over twenty years after the fall of Tenochtitlan in 1521, the Maya did not go down without a fight. Nor, according to legend, did their gods. The story of how man came to be according to the Maya is one of remarkable tenacity, and age old struggle in pursuit of the 'perfect being', the search for which brought about the world of the Maya.

                      " Now it still ripples, now it still murmurs, ripples, it still sighs,
                        still hums, and it is still empty under the sky.
                        Cometh the first words, that first eloquence... "
                                               - THE CREATION IS OPENED

The Temple of Kukulkan at Chichén Itzá
Photograph taken by Kyle Simourd.

There is no life. There is not one person, one bird, one fish, one tree, one meadow, one forest, one mountain, one gorge or one river. The sky is there, standing high above the barren cosmos. The land is not there, only the vast oceans gathered under the towering skies. The natural order of things is tranquil, and at harmony, yet empty and lifeless. Ruling over this shell, the Plumed Serpent stirs, named Q'uq'umatz in old K'iche' Mayan, Quetzalcóatl in the Nahuatl Aztec tongue and Kukulkan in high Mayan. The Serpent Lord is a magnificent being to behold, resplendent in the blue-green sheen of the vibrant quetzal feathers which adorn his form. Within the high skies, there resides another being, the Heart of the Sky, who glides through the aether to the mighty serpent. The two powers spoke long through the darkness. The ceaseless peace was intolerable. They desired more than air and water for their own. But behold! As each new word fell from their lips, that which was spoken was born. As the Plumed Serpent, Heart of the Sky and his offspring Hurricane, Newborn and Sudden Thunderbolt spoke, that which they longed for came up from the void. Soon, the Plumed Serpent spake the word 'Earth', and a vast form unfurled in the mists of the endless waters. Vast mountains peaks tore through the surf and reached for the skies. The genius of their fertile minds soon gave birth to vast forests upon the bare mountains, as mighty vales of cypress and pine came upon the land. The ocean's waters fell among the pinnacles of stone, and rivers and streams were born. Holding back the skies and the Earth from one another, the Plumed Serpent was pleased with this grand new realm.

Beautiful as it was to behold, all that could be heard upon earth was simply the wind in the trees. The gods considered, "Why this pointless humming? Why should there merely be rustling beneath the trees and bushes?" Their land needed guardians, they thought, and as they thought and spoke it, all manner of animals took form upon the land; deer, birds and many which are hunted now by man. To the meadows were sent the deer and the tall trees and skies the birds for a home. Each were commanded to speak to each other and the gods. The gods asked the animals to give thanks to them for their life. The animals tried, but could not form the words of the gods' language. They howled, screeched and squawked, but did not say thank you. In anger, the Plumed Serpent cursed them to hunt each other for eternity, and feast on the flesh of their brethren. The first attempt of humankind had failed.

Tikal - A great Mayan city
Photograph taken by Clark Anderson.

Not giving in, the gods turned to their own hands for Creation. Taking both earth and water, they crafted a form of mud. Their new creation was as a man in shape, but it was imperfect. This man simply crumbled, disintegrated and dissolved. His face became deformed. He spoke, but could not talk sense. Soon he returned to the aether from which he came. The Plumed Serpent despaired. The other gods decreed that this new creation was to be called Thought, fleeting and transitory as it was, but lacking strong form. The gods tried once again. This time they turned to the wood of the trees that they had themselves borne of thought.. Taking the wood, the gods carved it, whittling from it the form of a man, with a strong mouth amongst its features. These new men came into being, and multiplied across the Earth, chattering happily to each other. "But there was nothing in their hearts and nothing in their minds, no memory of their mason and builder". They ran amok across the Earth, but knew nothing of the Plumed Serpent or Heart of the Sky. Their bodies were dry, and their faces began to crust through lack of sweat. Another attempt had failed, and the gods decreed that these new beings would remain in the trees from whence they came, and their descendants are the monkeys of today. The Plumed Serpent vented his frustration on the Earth with a great flood, a rain of resin from the sky, and terrible monsters which hunted and mutiliated all in their path, all but wiping out the animals of Earth.

Trying one last time, the Plumed Serpent desperately sought out the ingredients for the recipe of man. Calling the approaching dawn, he bade all the animals of the Earth to bring all the food they could find before him. Coming down from the mountains, fearful of his wrath, the creatures of Earth brought all manner of sweet fruits and crops. They brought Cacao, pataxte, innumerable zapotes, anonas, jacotes, nances, matasanos and countless other fruits, all exotic to our eyes. Then the last brought before the Plumed Serpent simple corn. Seeing the corn as the essence of the Earth, which will sustain man for eternity, the Plumed Serpent decreed the new men to be fashioned from the humble maize seed. The goddess Xmucane took the corn and ground it, and nine times she ground it. The other foods, along with the water she rinsed her hands with, created the fat which clings to men's bones. The oceans gave blood to the veins of men, and the other gods fashioned a heart and soul. Four men were born of this new attempt. They looked around and gave thanks to the Plumed Serpent for their life, and began to faithfully work the land. They sacrificed to the gods, and honoured the seasons. As they looked upon the world they were given, their knowledge grew, and their intellect with it. The gods were delighted at last, and the Plumed Serpent was at last satisfied. Finally, a race which could offer the gratitude he so craved, and guard the spectacular creation which he had unleashed, was born...

The story of the Creation according to the Maya is a vast tale, and the struggle for humanity long and arduous, spattered with blood and poetry in equal measure. The tales are recorded in a scripture known as the Popol Vuh, Mayan for 'Book of the People'. Unlike almost every other such account across the civilisations of man, this story is written and told like a novel, not a grandiose work of epic or prayer. Give it a go, and you will see this. The result if a thoroughly refreshing and engaging read. You can get a copy quite easily, and due to the comparative obscurity of Mayan mythology in the West, at a very good price from Amazon:

United Kingdom

Mayan Lore:
Popol Vuh
(A unique relic of the Mayan age, Popol Vuh is the Mayan literary telling of their Creation. It is very readable, dispensing with lofty formulae in favour of a more personal story)

United States

Mayan Lore:
Popol Vuh: The Definitive Edition of The Mayan Book of The Dawn of Life and The Glories of Gods and Kings
(A unique relic of the Mayan age, Popol Vuh is the Mayan literary telling of their Creation. It is very readable, dispensing with lofty formulae in favour of a more personal story)

The Dwarven Wager

Ever the deceiver, tranquility and peace was a balance only ever to be overturned in the mind of Loki (for more about him, click here). Through cruel intelligence and expertly crafted trickery, even the mightiest of gods and beings had been lead astray by Loki's sleight of hand. Though friend to the Aesir of Asgard, Loki was never truly one of them. There were times, however, when the god paid the price for his mischief. This is the story of Loki's wager with the dwarves.

Sif - goddess of the fertile Earth
Drawing by John Charles Dollman.

Of all the Aesir, there existed a curious friendship between Loki and Thor, son of Odin and Thunder god. The two frequently adventured together to the realm of the giants, in the name of honour, or sometimes simply for sport (for the story of one such adventure, please click here). The powerful Jötunn (giants), and even other gods were jealous of Thor for the renowned beauty of his wife, the goddess Sif, patron of the fertile earth. Renowned particularly for her hair, gold as the wheat fields which abound on the earthly plains, Sif was also admired for her virtue. Ever thirsting for anarchy however, was Loki. One night, with mischievous designs, Loki quitely crept up behind the sleeping goddess and cut off her hair. When the thunder god received word of this, he was under no illusions as to who the perpetrator was. Seizing the god in rage, Thor would have broken every bone in Loki's body, had the trickster not sworn to travel to the land of the dwarves to acquire new hair of gold.

The anger of Thor soon sped Loki on his way. Coming to the searing heat of the dwarven forge, Loki encountered two dwarves, hard at work at the bellows and the anvil. The dwarves were brothers, Brokk and Eitri, the sons of Ívaldi and famous for their skill as craftsmen. Asking the dwarves if they would forge new hair worthy of the goddess Sif, the brothers got to work. Soon after, Brokk presented Loki with three gifts. First, the magnificent new hair of shining gold for Sif, second a magical ship, called Skíðblaðnir for Freyr (a fertility god), and finally, a mighty enchanted spear for Odin, King of the Gods, called Gungnir. Greedy for more wonders, Loki's spiteful nature came to a head once more. Loki flattered the dwarf, and said that Eitri could never make three gifts so marvellous as those of Brokk. Sensing the deception at work, Brokk said that if Eitri could, then he would take Loki's head. Loki agreed, as long as the dwarf take only his head and not the neck. The dwarves happily accepted, knowing that Loki would soon be humbled.

The Dwarves and their gifts
Print by Elmer Boyd Smith.

Beckoning to Brokk to work the bellows, Eitri took up the hammer and tongs. Now, when working metal at a forge, it is vital that the heat not be too strong, or too weak, to achieve the perfect malleability of the metal. Brokk knew this, and so did Loki. Fearing that the dwarves may succeed, Loki decided to hinder them. Laying out a pigskin upon the hearth, Eitri began work with the gold, as Brokk held the bellows steady. The work went well, except that a gadfly flew in the open window, and bit Brokk on the hand, to the irritation of the dwarf. Soon, Eitri took out the new gift, a great boar made of gold - Gullinbursti. The fires of the forge roaring, Eitri laid fresh gold in the burning hearth, bidding Brokk keep up the blast of air from the bellows. The gadfly now settled upon the dwarven smith's neck, and bit down once again, yet Brokk endured the pain, faithfully working the bellows. Eitri returned and drew out from the fires a splendid gold ring, called Draupnir. Turning to the forge a final time, Eitri set iron in its heart, as he began work on a powerful weapon, a fitting gift for the god of war. Turning to his brother once again, Eitri warned Brokk that the work would be spoiled if the blast from the bellows failed. The dwarf's hammer rose and fell, and the gadfly returned. This time, it settled upon Brokk's eyelid, and bit down hard. A trickle of blood ran into Brokk's eye, causing the dwarf to twitch in agony, but still, the work was completed, and a majestic hammer rose from the forge - Mjöllnir, the famous weapon of Thor.

Valhalla
Painting by Max Brückner.

Brokk emerged from the forge laden with all six gifts, and made haste to Valhalla, the hall of Odin in Asgard, to present the gifts and settle the bet with Loki before the Aesir. To Odin was given the spear Gungnir, enchanted so that it would never miss and always kill. To Sif was given the radiant hair, which would grow to her head as soon as it came upon her flesh. To Freyr was given Skíðblaðnir, a ship which would always have a favourable breeze in its sail, and could be collapsed and folded so as to fit in the god's pouch. Now Brokk brought forth Eitri's gifts. To Odin was given the ring, enchanted that every ninth night, eight identical rings would be born from it. To Freyr was given Gullinbursti, a boar forged with expert dwarven skill of gold, which could run through sky and earth with a swiftness to match the finest horse, and the lustre of the metal was such that no cave would be too dark for Gullinbursti to find his way. The dwarf then turned to Thor. To the Thunderer he presented Mjöllnir, and showed the god its might:

          " Then he gave the hammer to Thor, and quothed that Thor might smite
             as hard as he desired, whatsoever might be before him, and the hammer
             would not fail; and if he cast it forth at a foe, never would it miss,

             and never would Mjöllnir fly forth so far that it would not return to his hand... "

                                     - BROKK PRESENTS MJÖLLNIR TO THOR

The Aesir looked on in marvel at these mighty gifts, decreeing Mjöllnir the envy of them all, most potent of weapons it was, and mighty new scourge of the Jötunn. Thus it was that Eitri's gift was considered greatest of all. Brokk turned to Loki, ready to claim the god's head in triumph. Loki however, was not so easily foiled. Loki took up Mjöllnir and pointed to the fore-haft of the weapon. It was just slightly shorter than would be most comfortable to Thor's hand. The gods suddenly noticed this flaw and murmered.

Brokk however, realised the trickster craft. The gadfly in the forge had been Loki all along, and when the blood had flowed within his eye, the split second distraction had cost him the perfection within the great hammer. The Aesir sympathised with the dwarf, knowing Loki's tricks. Brokk came forth for Loki's head, but the god attempted to flee. Brokk pleaded with Thor for help, who promptly grabbed hold of Loki. All hope of escape gone, Loki unleashed his final trickery. The dwarf could indeed take his head, as their agreement originally was, but that agreement had also said that the dwarf could not touch his neck. Brokk shouted with frustration, as it is not possible to sever a head without touching the neck. Taking a knife and string, Brokk sewed Loki's mouth shut, so that the god may never boast of his wit and utter deceit ever again. The Aesir all looked on and laughed at Loki. Unlike Thor, who learned from his humiliation, Loki was furious at the gods for their laughter, and ever thereafter swore revenge...

United Kingdom

Penguin Classics:
The Prose Edda: Norse Mythology (Penguin Classics)
(A fast paced, 'episodic' version well suited to casual reading)

United States

Penguin Classics:
The Prose Edda: Norse Mythology (Penguin Classics)
(A fast paced, 'episodic' version well suited to casual reading)

The Dreamtime

So far on our wanderings through the words of history, we have seen much that is old, from a previous era of existence. The lore of Greece, Rome, Egypt and India has indeed witnessed the rise and fall of many great powers since the ink was wet on their pages. Now we look to a culture that is truly ancient. Older than the pyramids, older than the first cities of Mesopotamia, older than the stories of the Greeks, and coming into existence forty thousand years before the first stone was laid upon the Seven Hills of Rome. This is a way of life which has truly endured the passage of time. This is the culture of the indigenous peoples of Australia.



Paintings of the Tjukurpa - The Dreamtime
Photograph taken by the author.

The stories, customs and languages of the indigenous Australians, called Aborigines by the Europeans, are as varied as the land they dwell in. Hardly surprising for an island one could fit almost all Europe inside. Yet all are united by a common, powerful link with the land itself, along with its flora and fauna. Stories are passed down from generation by spoken word, and have been so for thousands of years. Even within one people, the legends vary immensely. For me to write of the legends of Uluṟu (a Pitjantjatjara word of the Anangu people, known in English as Ayer's Rock), Australia's most famous landmark, would take a lifetime to detail its infinite variations. For this reason, I will write of just one, that told by the Anangu people, who have lived alongside the great rock since ancient times.

Uluṟu - born of the Dreamtime
Photograph taken by the author.

In a time before time, the world was a flat, barren and lifeless plain. No mountains burst forth to the skies, no rivers snaked through the land, no trees rustled in the winds, no birds soared in the clouds, no animal life was sustained by the land. It was an endless desert, serene in its tranquility. This was the Dreamtime. The 'Tjukurpa', The Anangu call it in the Pitjantjatjara language. Time came to pass once when the spirits of the Dreamtime stirred, rising from their earthly slumber. There was no name for the forms they assumed when they awoke, for each was different. Some were as men today, some as the mighty trees, some as the desert reptiles, some as docile creatures that man would one day hunt, yet some too of forms no living man today could name. For a time, the spirits were as men are today. They sat around fires, they took the new water from the land, they danced, they sang and they fought. The spirits undertook great journeys across the land, giving shape to the world as they traversed its vast plain. Where they made shelter, the mountains arose, where they dug their staffs into the plain, the trees rose, and where they ground their corn, great boulders were left behind. There was a time however, when the spirits grew violent. In the central desert, a great battle stained the land with its blood, and the Earth rose is grief. So was born Uluṟu.

The Mala Wati
Photograph taken by the author.

Many ages passed, when many of the old spirits had turned to stone over the passage of time. The men of today are their descendants, a living legacy of the continuum of the Dreamtime. There came a time when two boys, hunting in the desert plains, came across mighty Uluṟu. They saw the Mala People gathered around a rock hole on the northern face of Uluṟu, who were preparing some kind of ceremony. The two boys were curious, being not versed in the rites of men, and looked on. The Mala were preparing for the ceremony of the Inma, and planted a pole in Uluṟu. The next morning, strangers of another people appeared on the endless horizon. They were friendly and invited the Mala to their own Inma. All the things of the Mala people had to be done in the proper manner, be it hunting, collecting water or communicating. The Mala told the strangers from the West that they could not join their Inma, for they could not interrupt their ceremony. The strangers withdrew, furious at the insult to their hospitality. The Mala continued to prepare for the Inma, as some of their number searched for food at Taputji. A staff they used to dig for food can still be seen by men today, though it has long since become stone. Soon however, horror ensued. A vengeful spirit appeared on the horizon, bounding toward the Mala foragers. The spirit was as a great black hound - Kurpany. Kurpany pounced, slaying man, woman and child, staining the land once again with blood. The remains of the fallen Mala can still be seen today on Uluṟu, standing high above the plain on its northern face, called the Mala Wati.

Artilla - resting place of the two boys
Photograph taken by the author.

Whilst the Mala had been preparing the Inma, the two boys had been playing, mixing earth and water to create mud. Sliding down the south face of Uluṟu, they dragged their muddy fingers along the rock, leaving trails in their wake which can be seen by men today, though they have long since become stone. The two boys hid to avoid Kurpany's murderous wrath in the many clefts and gouges of Uluṟu, until the demon's bloodlust was sated at last. Terrified, the boys went out into the desert, desperate to seek water. Moving north, they came to the slopes of another great mountain, called today 'Artilla' by the Anangu (known in English as Mount Connor). In frustration, one of the boys hurled his club at a nearby wallaby. The club sailed past the animal, and embedded in the plain. But where it struck the land, water gurgled up from the subterranean realm. The boy was delighted at the new spring, and slaked his thirst. The other boy later asked where he had found the water they sought, but he refused to tell him, for the boy was selfish. In a rage, the other boy hurled himself upon his follower, and the two fought upon the slopes of the mountain, until they both were upon the summit. Collapsing to blood loss and thirst, the two boys died, and can still be seen today by men, though their bodies have long since become as stone...

The Dreamtime is one of the few stories shared as a common heritage between the indigenous peoples of Australia, and is arguably one of, if not the oldest story ever told. What followed the awakening of the spirits is never the same amongst the countless peoples, but this is the story according to the Anangu, who have preserved this tale for tens of thousands of human years...

The culture of the indigenous Australians is told through voice and not book, so the closest you can come to seeking the original thing is to travel to Australia and hear it for yourself, or see it painted upon the many rock faces which populate the continent. Here, however, are two quite good books available from Amazon which retell some of the aboriginal stories, the first being very nicely illustrated:

United Kingdom

Dreamtime Traditions
Voices of the First Day: Awakening in the Aboriginal Dreamtime (Inner Traditions)
(Very nicely illustrated, and bursting with content - recommended)

Aboriginal Mythology
Aboriginal Myths, Legends and Fables
(A different approach which tries to capture the 'campfire' nature of the stories)

United States

Dreamtime Traditions
Voices of the First Day: Awakening in the Aboriginal Dreamtime (Inner Traditions)
(Very nicely illustrated, and bursting with content - recommended)

Aboriginal Mythology
Aboriginal Myths, Legends and Fables
(A different approach which tries to capture the 'campfire' nature of the stories)