Winter is coming

Snow is falling in Utah Valley, covering walkways with wet powder and causing people to walk with slower, surer step. There has always been a sense of wonder associated with snow, but yet we still hear people complaining about this precipitation, wishing it away as if their wishes were the winds of Zephyros, god of the west wind, conveying spring to the chilled earth. But it is Boreas, god of the north wind, who has blown in with his chilling, biting winds, giving hands reasons to don gloves and button up coats against his onslaught. And when it comes to him, I have to agree with the complainers; I don't appreciate his contributions. 

Now his daughter Khione, on the other hand, is a different story. Not much is known about Khione except for that she was the daughter of Boreas and Oreithyia, the lady of mountain gales, and that she was (most likely) the goddess of snow. My first instinct is to imagine her light and fragile looking on the outside, with a cold, hard center underneath, capable of playfulness and cruelty all in the same breath. But I think there would be more to her than that. Pure snowfall, without wind or any disturbance, creates a space where sound is muffled and dense. The quiet pervades all around you and reaches into your heart, separating you from the rest of the world in a perfect moment. That is Khione
in her purest state.

One of my new favorite novels is a book called The Snow Child by Eowyn Ivey. In this beautifully written piece of literature, Jack and Mabel try and carve a place for themselves in the hauntingly desolate Alaskan wilderness of the 1920s. Unable to have children, they find that they are losing each other to despair. Then the first snow of the season falls upon them one night, and for a brief moment they lose themselves in the wonder that snowflakes can bring, building a snow child to replace the ones they lost. The next morning, the snow child is gone and they encounter a little girl who ends up stealing their hearts and bringing them back from the brink. I don't want to ruin the novel, so I won't tell you whether they ever found out if the child truly came to life from the snow (though I encourage you to read it to find out, truly an amazing book). But this story is a perfect illustration of the affect that I believe this act of nature has on us, even if we count ourselves in the "snow haters" column.

"She could not fathom the hexagonal miracle of snowflakes formed from clouds, crystallized fern and feather that tumble down to light on a coat sleeve, white stars melting even as they strike. How did such force and beauty come to be in something so small and fleeting and unknowable? You did not have to understand miracles to believe in them, and in fact Mabel had come to suspect the opposite. To believe, perhaps you had to cease looking for explanations and instead hold the little thing in your hands as long as you were able before it slipped like water between your fingers." -The Snow Child

So while some people might be complaining today about the cold, the wet, and the slickness, I revel in the "hexagonal miracles" that are now falling in our skies. Sometimes we need to let go of the unknowable, we need to let go of the things out of our control. In doing this, the knowable becomes apparent. And the miracle has occurred. So wait for the moment when outside there is nothing but pure snowing falling. 

Then step out. 

And listen.

The Beginning

Of bodies changed to other forms I tell;
You Gods, who have yourselves wrought every change,
Inspire my enterprise and lead my lay
In one continuous song from nature's first
Remote beginnings to our modern times.

Ovid, Metamorphosis Book I

IN THE BEGINNING...

We as a species are so concerned with figuring out our beginnings. It has been debated countless times and served to ignite more than one war. We ask the question over and over, "Why?" Why are we here? Why was I born under these circumstances? Why do I feel this way, when I should be feeling that way? Why, why, why? There needs to be an explanation. And that is where myth and belief take center stage. 

We think of myths as stories, but all of them started out as a belief, an explanation for a seemingly unexplainable situation, a claim of reality. As Nietzsche would say, they are a "moveable host of metaphors, metonymies, and anthropomorphisms: in short, a sum of human relations which have been poetically and rhetorically intensified, transferred, and embellished, and which, after long usage, seem to a people to be fixed, canonical, and binding" (On Truth and Lies in a Nonmoral Sense). We see this "host" move through the ages, popping up in the modern day under new names and guises, but the same core remains. Even in the fantastical accounts of the ancients, we still seek for that understanding of the beginning.

It's this quest, this evolution of myths over the centuries, that has always fascinated me and drawn me to mythology. So when it came time to choose a senior project as part of the Honors program at Utah Valley University, my thoughts turned quickly to this subject. And that is how Purfle & Gyve was born. 

Actually, my vision for this website was not always in this current form. It's always amazing to me to see how ideas and plans change so much from the time they germinate in the brain, to the time that they are brought to fruition. This project has been no different. What started out as a serialized journal dealing with one myth per issue, has now become an all-encompassing website which seeks to collect a plethora of works of original literature and art on all Greco-Roman myths. One day, I would love to branch out and look for pieces dealing with Norse mythology, the Hindu pantheon, etc., but we must walk before we can run. 

With each re-telling of these stories, more and more strings are added to the tapestry.

If there's one thing that I've learned from beginning this experience, is that it is extremely hard to put all of your expectations on the will of others. I think that's one of the reasons the gods had so little trust in each other; it's hard to get others to follow your vision. All of my success with this journal lies on other people being inspired enough by my vision to create art, and I certainly don't have the physique of a Greek god or a threat of a lightning bolt to the face to "inspire" others to help me. And so we come back to belief, belief that there are those out there as fascinated by this "sum of human relations" as I am, fascinated enough to contribute and help me build a one-of-a-kind website, where myths of the past can intermingle with their future selves, where people get a chance to connect the dots of the past with those of the present. So I'll keep begging, cajoling, discussing, wishing, and hopefully inspiring. 

Purfle & Gyve is on it's way.

And it needs you.