The number of gods who survived the destruction of Peladokus has always been a bit of a point of pointless contention among scholars. While the traditional numbers vary from 26 to 72, it is in fact believed by modern scholars to be much higher: aproaching several hundred survivors. What is agreed upon though is that certain gods did or did not survive. Likely the 40 gods immortalized in the poem 'Monmigut' are simply the ones who survived not only the serpent's mouth, but also the trials of wandering in the bitter fields, and the slow death of obscurity. Even without a sense of factual certainty, 'Monmigut' is useful both as entertainment, as a religious traditional text, and as a gateway to another era.
Monmigut ate the crystal towers and the marble walks.
Monmigut ate the bronze doors.
Monmigut ate fathers and grandfathers.
He ate neices and nephews,
and aunts and uncles, and boys and girls,
and frogs and dogs and cats and logs -
the jaws approached swiftly and destroyed what the gods had made.
The houses and manors, the parks and gardens, the markets and forums:
Food for the jaws.
A city in one bite: Monmigut;
Peladokus Lost.
A world in one bite: Monmigut;
All is lost...
but three who fell from off the wall,
one who slipped between the teeth,
twelve huntsmen riding far,
two lovers hiding in a glen,
a poet lost, a porter fast,
a bookbinder and a beekeeper,
eight farmers and eight widows,
the madman exiled from the city,
and the babe left to die of exposure.
Forty of forty thousand.
Seventy six tears were shed for the city;
there was time for no more.
One tear for each eye, but the madman grinned
and babe did not know what had passed.
The babe would not remember, but the rest could not forget:
Monmigut!
Wednesday, December 28, 2011
Monday, April 12, 2010
The Journey of Two-Handed Baboon: The Frog Eater
A long way down the road, out of the forest and across the mountains, coming upon a bridge, Two-Handed Baboon began to tire. He had not counted on the men living so far away. He was thirsty and the bridge seemed like a nice place to stop and grab a drink, so he walked down beside the bridge, toward the narrow but deep stream that ran beneath the bridge and squiggled off over the horizon and out of sight. There he dipped his face and drank deep of the clear running water. After drinking his fill, Two-Handed Baboon sat back against the bank, under a shade tree and watched the flies dip down to the stream. The warm wind blew, the flies buzzed, and, tired from travel, Two-Handed Baboon drifted into a light afternoon nap.
While he slept, he dreamed he was floating on a river. The river was long and straight and passed through many strange lands filled with strange creatures. He watched as each land one sailed by, more marvelous and fantastic than the last, until, far ahead he saw the land of the men. Closer and closer the river pushed him to his destination. He was almost there when a blur and a splash brought him back to his body. A long, large green snout poked out of the water onto the bank, and from behind it deep slitted eyes stared at him. Half of a recently dead frog hung from its jaws. It tilted back its head and swallowed the frog before re-fixing Two-Handed Baboon with its stare.
"Hello" Two-Handed Baboon said as he waved to the creature, "what is your name?"
The creature blinked with two eyelids. Slowly then he said "Frog...Eater."
"I am Two-Handed Baboon" he said the the creature.
The Frog Eater blinked. Two-Handed Baboon scratched his head. A fly Buzzed. The stream ran. The Frog Eater blinked.
"So, I'm traveling to find the home of the men. What do you do here?" Two-Handed Baboon said.
"Eat....Frogs".
The Frog Eater blinked.
Brilliant, thought Two-Handed Baboon, This creature is a scholar! He understands things so deeply, that his every action transforms his identity. He transcends his old self each moment!
Two-Handed Baboon became self-conscious, having only transcended once. He was certainly not ready to hear the wisdom of The Frog Eater, not until he was wiser. Embarrassment filled Two-Handed Baboon, he mumbled about getting on with his travels, grabbed his deer leg-bone and went off in a hurry across the bridge. As Two-Handed Baboon disappeared around a bend in the road, The Frog Eater watched him, and blinked.
While he slept, he dreamed he was floating on a river. The river was long and straight and passed through many strange lands filled with strange creatures. He watched as each land one sailed by, more marvelous and fantastic than the last, until, far ahead he saw the land of the men. Closer and closer the river pushed him to his destination. He was almost there when a blur and a splash brought him back to his body. A long, large green snout poked out of the water onto the bank, and from behind it deep slitted eyes stared at him. Half of a recently dead frog hung from its jaws. It tilted back its head and swallowed the frog before re-fixing Two-Handed Baboon with its stare.
"Hello" Two-Handed Baboon said as he waved to the creature, "what is your name?"
The creature blinked with two eyelids. Slowly then he said "Frog...Eater."
"I am Two-Handed Baboon" he said the the creature.
The Frog Eater blinked. Two-Handed Baboon scratched his head. A fly Buzzed. The stream ran. The Frog Eater blinked.
"So, I'm traveling to find the home of the men. What do you do here?" Two-Handed Baboon said.
"Eat....Frogs".
The Frog Eater blinked.
Brilliant, thought Two-Handed Baboon, This creature is a scholar! He understands things so deeply, that his every action transforms his identity. He transcends his old self each moment!
Two-Handed Baboon became self-conscious, having only transcended once. He was certainly not ready to hear the wisdom of The Frog Eater, not until he was wiser. Embarrassment filled Two-Handed Baboon, he mumbled about getting on with his travels, grabbed his deer leg-bone and went off in a hurry across the bridge. As Two-Handed Baboon disappeared around a bend in the road, The Frog Eater watched him, and blinked.
The Journey of Two-Handed Baboon: The Baboon with Two Hands
This is a work in progress - more to come
Two-Handed Baboon began life as any baboon begins life: a baboon pregnancy followed by baboon birth. By all accounts, Two-Handed Baboon was a regular baboon, with - as his name suggests - two hands, which is normal for baboons. It would seem to follow then that the name Two-Handed Baboon is meaningless, without a regular context for baboons with a number of hands different than two, and that he should simply be called baboon, like all other baboons, but making that assumption requires the observer to overlook one key detail: one day, while eating a mouse, Two-Handed Baboon came to realize he had two hands. After this realization, he tried to share his knowledge with his baboon gang. Not one of the other baboons cared or understood what it meant to have two hands. Two-Handed Baboon tried to go back to his everyday life, but in everything he did he was constantly reminded that he had two hands. He felt disconnected, and knew that the other baboons were not like him, and that he could not be happy as a baboon. Remembering from long ago, Two-Handed Baboon thought of the men who had walked through the forest. They had been different than baboons, and also had two hands. They wore coverings over their bodies, and carried objects of power. They knew many secrets. Two-Handed Baboon decided to find where the men lived, and to join them, so that he might know secrets also, and so that he would have the company of equals.
Two-Handed Baboon fashioned a skirt from leaves and picked up a leg-bone from a deer skeleton, to use as a cane, before leaving his home. He did these things because he knew that finding the men would only be half of the journey - between his old life and his future, and that when he found the men, he would need to be more than a baboon. The road was long and Two-Handed Baboon began walking.
Two-Handed Baboon began life as any baboon begins life: a baboon pregnancy followed by baboon birth. By all accounts, Two-Handed Baboon was a regular baboon, with - as his name suggests - two hands, which is normal for baboons. It would seem to follow then that the name Two-Handed Baboon is meaningless, without a regular context for baboons with a number of hands different than two, and that he should simply be called baboon, like all other baboons, but making that assumption requires the observer to overlook one key detail: one day, while eating a mouse, Two-Handed Baboon came to realize he had two hands. After this realization, he tried to share his knowledge with his baboon gang. Not one of the other baboons cared or understood what it meant to have two hands. Two-Handed Baboon tried to go back to his everyday life, but in everything he did he was constantly reminded that he had two hands. He felt disconnected, and knew that the other baboons were not like him, and that he could not be happy as a baboon. Remembering from long ago, Two-Handed Baboon thought of the men who had walked through the forest. They had been different than baboons, and also had two hands. They wore coverings over their bodies, and carried objects of power. They knew many secrets. Two-Handed Baboon decided to find where the men lived, and to join them, so that he might know secrets also, and so that he would have the company of equals.
Two-Handed Baboon fashioned a skirt from leaves and picked up a leg-bone from a deer skeleton, to use as a cane, before leaving his home. He did these things because he knew that finding the men would only be half of the journey - between his old life and his future, and that when he found the men, he would need to be more than a baboon. The road was long and Two-Handed Baboon began walking.
Friday, February 26, 2010
Death and the God of Lost Causes
They meet every Thursday afternoon in the park, because Death doesn't mind the company and the god has to be true to his nature. They grab a coffee and sit down at one of those little chess tables, though they never play. Instead, they watch the people walking in the park, and on the street, and make plans to meet throughout the week. Death takes on many appearances: in each meeting comes as a different person. The god is always the same. He is an old balding man, wearing an old worn out sweater - olive usually - and pants that threaten to swallow him whole. His face is heavy and wrinkled; the skin on his chin hangs loose with the goose hair stubble that grows in hospitals. His eyes are deep and brown and are filled with compassion along with a surprising amount of youth and strength. Death enjoys approaching the meeting as new person every time, and seeing if the god recognizes him. Death comes to these meetings out of curiosity. The god comes because he has no choice. Still, the two are civil, forever is too long to bicker. The god comes to ask for life. Death can not concede. And so they schedule. They will meet in an alley sometime between Tuesday night and Wednesday morning where the god will look for an exit. They will meet on a bridge late Friday night where the god will try to give some hope. They will meet countless times in the hospital, where the god silently pleads as the tragedies tick away. Still, at each scheduled stop, Death performs his duty and smiles. Death smiles because, when the god's compassion overcomes his own senses and leaves him lying feeble with grief, Death can hold him as he cries.
Monday, July 6, 2009
The Serpents and The Gods
This text was taken from 'A Moral History of Existence' written in the middle 100's by an unknown author. Many scholars believe the author to be a monk who lived in a monastery somewhere in the province of Ru. Because of this, he has come to be known simply as The Monk of Ru, and has had many texts philosophical, religious, and instructional (possibly erroneously) attributed to his name.
To call the place formed by the corpse of Something the bitter fields is misleading. The world was not called this due to the prevalence of grasslands within it. In actuality the bitter fields are called such because in the infinite grey recesses, beings of strange forms emerge inexplicably, like crops from the earth. Many of these being defy explanation, and, before clocks and calendars and weekends, they churned against each other eating and being eaten. This churning pitted infinity against itself, and allowed no peace within the world. Of the creatures to form in this world, only the great and clever were able to persist, and of these, the greatest were the serpents and the most clever were the gods.
The serpents were very large, very powerful creatures, but they possessed animalistic intelects. Because of this combination, often they would grow so long that they would forget where their tails were. This did not trouble the serpents because they knew that only another serpent would have jaws strong enough to injure them, and they avoided each other's hunting grounds. Still, the longest of serpents would circle back centuries later, and, upon seeing their own tail, think it the tail of a rival, bite it, and tear themselves apart. The amazing aspect of the serpents though was that they were also natural magicians. Often times their coiling would mirror the exchange, and sections of their long bodies would fall out of the bitter field all together, to occupy some other space.
The gods, not unlike humans, thrived by virtue of cooperation, and in the midst of the terrible churning were able to build Peladokus, the first city. Inside Peladokus, the gods studied many things, and over time some of them learned secret things from echoes, and others found remnants of the exchange in the action of the churning: some of the gods became magicians, and others grew wise. The gods who held the wall of the city became great warriors and the gods that gave themselves over to passion became great artists and lovers.
All of this happened and Peladokus flourished. Peladokus was the gem of the world, and it was all the gods cared for, until it was eaten by Monmigut, a great blind serpent. Few of the gods survived, and the wise men among them discovered something first-hand: it is better to be great than to be clever.
The serpents were very large, very powerful creatures, but they possessed animalistic intelects. Because of this combination, often they would grow so long that they would forget where their tails were. This did not trouble the serpents because they knew that only another serpent would have jaws strong enough to injure them, and they avoided each other's hunting grounds. Still, the longest of serpents would circle back centuries later, and, upon seeing their own tail, think it the tail of a rival, bite it, and tear themselves apart. The amazing aspect of the serpents though was that they were also natural magicians. Often times their coiling would mirror the exchange, and sections of their long bodies would fall out of the bitter field all together, to occupy some other space.
The gods, not unlike humans, thrived by virtue of cooperation, and in the midst of the terrible churning were able to build Peladokus, the first city. Inside Peladokus, the gods studied many things, and over time some of them learned secret things from echoes, and others found remnants of the exchange in the action of the churning: some of the gods became magicians, and others grew wise. The gods who held the wall of the city became great warriors and the gods that gave themselves over to passion became great artists and lovers.
All of this happened and Peladokus flourished. Peladokus was the gem of the world, and it was all the gods cared for, until it was eaten by Monmigut, a great blind serpent. Few of the gods survived, and the wise men among them discovered something first-hand: it is better to be great than to be clever.
Tuesday, June 2, 2009
Getting Farther Off Topic
No-one has seen beyond the horizon, and winds can only carry so many whispers.
There are many beginnings we know of, and most likely many more that have been forgotten or never even known. So, it is with this knowledge that we set down what happened in our history, and we attempt to go back all of the way to the first beginning. Certainly there is a beginning which came before, but allow us the privilege of calling our oldest known beginning the first.
The First Beginning
First, there were two brothers: Something and Nothing. They together were Everything and they were one and the same. Regularly, Something would become Nothing and Nothing would become Something. This switch was the oldest ritual, known as The Exchange. This entire system was called Potential.
Sometimes, instead of practicing The Exchange, Something and Nothing would create an idea and place it inside of Something or Nothing, depending on what it was or wasn't. So, at one point, instead of practicing The Exchange, Something and Nothing created Separation. Separation did not fit in either set, so it lay down between Something and Nothing.
Separation prevented Something and Nothing from practicing The Exchange and appeared to have put an end to Potential.
For a very long time Something, stuck as Something, continued to create things to fill only himself, while Nothing, stuck as Nothing, became more and more bitter. Eventually, Nothing and Something no longer remembered they were brothers and viewed each other as the enemy from across Separation: Something recognized the bitterness which had consumed Nothing, and Nothing saw only Something's senseless pursuit of more.
Nothing plotted to kill Something.
Nothing approached Something when he was distracted with creation and, using The Exchange, wounded Something. Something's Blood poured out, half on either side of separation. One half the blood pooled around Nothing and the other half stewed upon Something's dieing form. The corpse of Something bloated and tainted the blood. This tainted blood created a bitter field, filled with monsters. Nothing, in his killing of Something, had finally bridged Separation and felt great sorrow for Something. He took the blood that pooled around him and, using the Exchange for the last time, created a world within himself as a shrine for his dead brother. This world was entirely empty, and its form was that of penance.
Together, the bitter field and the world made of sorrow, divided by the primordial force of Separation, were the beginnings of our world. All of this happened before the gods. The world that was created was called Potential.
There are many beginnings we know of, and most likely many more that have been forgotten or never even known. So, it is with this knowledge that we set down what happened in our history, and we attempt to go back all of the way to the first beginning. Certainly there is a beginning which came before, but allow us the privilege of calling our oldest known beginning the first.
The First Beginning
First, there were two brothers: Something and Nothing. They together were Everything and they were one and the same. Regularly, Something would become Nothing and Nothing would become Something. This switch was the oldest ritual, known as The Exchange. This entire system was called Potential.
Sometimes, instead of practicing The Exchange, Something and Nothing would create an idea and place it inside of Something or Nothing, depending on what it was or wasn't. So, at one point, instead of practicing The Exchange, Something and Nothing created Separation. Separation did not fit in either set, so it lay down between Something and Nothing.
Separation prevented Something and Nothing from practicing The Exchange and appeared to have put an end to Potential.
For a very long time Something, stuck as Something, continued to create things to fill only himself, while Nothing, stuck as Nothing, became more and more bitter. Eventually, Nothing and Something no longer remembered they were brothers and viewed each other as the enemy from across Separation: Something recognized the bitterness which had consumed Nothing, and Nothing saw only Something's senseless pursuit of more.
Nothing plotted to kill Something.
Nothing approached Something when he was distracted with creation and, using The Exchange, wounded Something. Something's Blood poured out, half on either side of separation. One half the blood pooled around Nothing and the other half stewed upon Something's dieing form. The corpse of Something bloated and tainted the blood. This tainted blood created a bitter field, filled with monsters. Nothing, in his killing of Something, had finally bridged Separation and felt great sorrow for Something. He took the blood that pooled around him and, using the Exchange for the last time, created a world within himself as a shrine for his dead brother. This world was entirely empty, and its form was that of penance.
Together, the bitter field and the world made of sorrow, divided by the primordial force of Separation, were the beginnings of our world. All of this happened before the gods. The world that was created was called Potential.
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