The Essence

Myths are things which never happened but always are.
~Sallustius

In the Spotlight

I've boarded the train, scrutinized the numbers on my ticket amongst the the Chinese characters and meandered my way to what I hope is my hard sleeper. Next stop: Xian, the Terracotta Warriors with over 2000 years of history and an adventure in the making.

Shortly thereafter a couple arrives with a new born. The woman smiles and nods and then busies herself with the child. The man quickly engages in conversation as the train slowly begins to rattle its way along the tracks. I find the Chinese very curious and friendly. Canadians are well thought of in China due to Norman Bethune's participation in the Long March. "Canada and China...very good friends," the man tells me.

It hasn't taken me very many days to realize that our western sense of "taboo" is completely non-existent in this country. Just a day before, after a bout of food poisoning and looking incredibly jaundiced, a Chinese person came up to me and inquired, "so, is your skin white or is it yellow?" How does one explain that? Normally, if I feel good, not quite so yellow. One would never get away with pointing out skin colour in Canada...it just simply isn't politically correct. Here, however, absolutely nothing is off limits, except perhaps criticism of the government.

As the train creeps through the country side, We pass a series of your standard Chinese shanty shacks. Farmers toil the fields accompanied by mangy looking dogs. Eventually, up a dusty hill, I see an unusually luxurious looking residence. Officially the Chinese can't own land, or so I've been told, but the man is most obviously nervous about this topic and the sharp contrast of this house compared to those we saw previously.

The conversation turns back on the baby. With the one child rule, children are spoiled and doted on. These parents, like so many others, are beamingly proud. My mind keeps flitting to a particular fair haired, blue eyed "waspy" looking friend back home who had allegedly been born with a mysterious "Mongol spot", a dark spot at the base of the tailbone which I've been told is common place amongst almost all Asian children. The spot usually disappears when the child is anywhere between two and four years of age. For years, this girl's doctor teased her of being descended from Genghis Khan, for the spot is sure "proof" of Mongol blood. I wonder. It is not something that I had ever witnessed. Was it true?

Eventually curiosity overcomes my reserved, stoic upbringing. I have to know...so I ask, "is it true?" The father immediately flips the child over and whips off her bottoms and there it is. I'm stunned. I no longer remember what I had imagined, but it certainly wasn't this...a big dark blue, round spot that looks like a huge bruise. The father explains that there is a myth about a benevolent goddess...although looking at the size of the spot, I'm not quite sure how benevolent she could be. When the child is coming into the world, if the goddess decides to spare the child's life, she gives it a hard smack on the bottom right as it makes its way into the world leaving this big round blue spot. This young girl has been spared and apparently blessed.

Sacred Waters

A certain magic always hung in the air as we drove past the spotted lake in the South Okanagan. We would hang from the windows of the car with our eyes glued to the side of the road looking beyond, just a ways down the hillside…watching … watching for that magical lake with spots…the Spotted Lake. And the first to see it would cry out, “There it is! The Spotted Lake!” It held us captivated as I’m sure it has many others throughout the years.

The native people in these parts consider the lake sacred and the therapeutic quality of the waters have apparently been known throughout time as far back as their history goes. In fact legend tells that warring tribes once declared a truce in the middle of a battle so that both sides could tend to their wounded in the lake. Throughout history, tribes from all around came for the “medicine” the lake contains. Stories told by these peoples’ ancestors tell of the cures the lake has provided, both physically and spiritually through its medicine powers.

“Its medicinal powers are not to be taken lightly. This Lake is a Chief among lakes, its powers are above the purely physical. It contains 365 circles in various shapes, sizes and depths. Each particular day of the year, anyone who goes to this lake will find the right circle if he seeks.”

I have never confirmed the statement regarding the circles, however, I can say that the lake has drawn me. I feel its pull, the magnetism of its call. Even now, many years later, whenever I drive by, I cannot pass without looking.

The Beast

In a time just a few years before my own, rumours circulated that strange beasts roamed through the dense shadows of these woods: tall, hairy beasts with a foul stench trailing behind them. It was in these times during one cold, dark autumn night in the tiny village of Kaslo that an incident occurred that would snowball into mythic proportions.

A group of teenagers had met together at the house of one of the locals. This said local, Mr B, was a bit of a strange man with straggly unkempt hair. But this was not in the least unusual for a small village full of solitary woodsmen.

The kids were getting ready to leave when one was sure he saw a shadow move in the bushes near the edge of the yard. Mr B said he would go out to investigate. Bears are known to occasionally wander into the city boundaries, especially at this time of year with the trees full of pears and apples. This was always a bit of a concern and no one thought it would be anything but. A few of the teenagers watched at the window, but the murky night obscured all but the pale movement of shadows. They waited as the icy air wafted in through the cracks of the old cabin.

Suddenly Mr B flew through the door all wild eyed with hair flying in every direction. “It’s a SASQUATCH!” he rasped as he raced to the kitchen and wrenched open a drawer, utensils flying everywhere. He grabbed the biggest knife to be seen and said, “I’m going after it!” Out he flew into the dark night with all the kids watching wide eyed in hushed whispers. They could just barely make out two shadows seemingly wrestling in the dark of the night. They waited on edge as the minutes passed.

After what seemed like an eternity, a dishevelled Mr. B. returned. “He’s gone! He got away, but I got him good. I don’t think he’ll be back.” The jittery group eventually made their way from the house and plodded towards their own. The groups broke off and became smaller as they fanned outward throughout the town. One of these groups met up with another group of teenagers also on their way back home. The excited kids exchanged stories with the other group and so the tale spread.

By later in the evening, the story had reached the police who wanted to investigate. And their story was later overheard on their radios by the police in the neighbouring town of Nelson. And then later by reporters in Vancouver. Within a week, the story covered the front pages of the Province, and this was before the Province had become such a rag.

So what really happened on that cold dark night? Search parties scoured the woods. They weren’t going to see any sasquatches. But I say nothing.

More on Loreley

A gigantic stratification of slate (132 meters above sea) impressively overlooks the Rhine near St Goar. Far below, the Rhine twists its way through a narrow valley which over centuries has been the site of many a tragic shipwreck. German poets have immortalized this place through their romanticized writings. As a result, various legend and lore has come about.

In one such story, it is said that from the top of this rock a ghost-like image of Loreley sang sailors to their doom. As they heard her fascinating, sad voice when they passed the bend of the river, they would become mesmerized with her, crashing their ships onto the rocks. This tale goes on to say that she was once a mortal girl who threw herself from the top of the rock into the Rhine because her lover proved her unfaithful.

Clemens von Bretano tells yet another tale in his novel “Godwi.” Here a ravishingly beautiful woman was cursed to attract men and thus bring about their undoing. Because she could no longer bear this tragedy, she threw herself off the highest point of the rock into the Rhine to put an end to the spell.

Yet another slightly different version of the story is found in a poem written by Heinrich Heine in 1824. He tells of a girl who combs her golden hair and lilts a little song with such a powerful melody that the sailors below, instead of watching out for shallows and wild currents look up to her and crash their boats against the rocks only to be dragged to the bottom by strong river currents which at this point is almost 100 feet deep. Thus their fate was Loreley’s song.

The Lovely Loreley

"I cannot explain the sadness
That's fallen on my breast.
An old, old fable haunts me
And will not let me rest."

I do not know what haunts me,
What saddened my mind all day;
An age-old tale confounds me,
A spell I cannot allay.

The air is cool and in twilight
The Rhine's dark waters flow;
The peak of the mountain in highlight
Reflects the evening glow.

There sits a lovely maiden
Above so wondrous fair,
With shining jewels laden,
She combs her golden hair.

It falls through her comb in a shower,
And over the valley rings
A song so mysterious power
That lovely maiden sings.

The boatman in his small skiff is
Seized by a turbulent love,
No longer he marks where the cliff is,
He looks to the mountain above.

I think the waves must’ve flung him
Against the reefs nearby,
And that did with her singing
The Lovely Loreley