Return from 14th century Norway

Making a leap from medieval Norway to 21st century Canada is not only difficult conceptually. In addition to "imagination lag" from a world rich in myth and redolent of saga, there's the physical effect of too many airports and airlines and customs declarations ("Anything to declare?" -- "I declare that I'm thoroughly fed up with standing in long lines of tired people.") not to mention the discombobulation of sleep patterns (despite the faithful ingestion of "No Jet Lag" homeopathic tablets) and the disorientation of returning to a house that looks almost as neglected after my absence as the 10th century Viking farmstead in Iceland that I visited with a group of storytellers.

Therein lies a tale -- which is that I intend this blog to spin. I already have two blogs in what might be called "cut-out limbo" as a renowned CBC radio music host once described his program which highlighted LPs no longer in circulation. Physically -- again -- typing on a keyboard is a far remove from weaving on a loom, moving the shuttle back and forth, the weft creating the story on the firmly strung warp, or even from shaping images with knitting needles or tapestry needles, magically creating a tale from seemingly thin air. Perhaps thin air is the connection, given that reality in a digital age is "virtual", as in non-corporeal, and that try as we might to see or even imagine the Emperor's dazzling new suit of clothes, he remains naked.

And yet -- at the heart of it all -- even here in 21st century Canada we live in a continuum of stories (and there springs to mind the wonderful tale written by O.R. Melling in The Book of Dreams) and through them the connection lives between the myths that came into being in places all over the globe, waiting to be rekindled in our imaginations. We need only to listen and to read, but mostly to have our ears and eyes, hearts and mind open. The revival of storytelling in so many countries is an indication that it is not only our opposable thumbs that make us unique beings, and our upright posture, but our urge to tell stories and our love of hearing them.

While clearing papers on the dining room table, I came across a page I had printed from Mythic Passages before I left because of an article there by Terri Windling, a storyteller whose work I greatly admire, having chanced upon her novel The Wood Wife a couple of years ago in the library. I have since purchased a copy, and reread it twice now, knowing that when I am in need of re-enchantment after the onslaught of what the media insists is "news", I will return to this story. Her brief but eloquent item in Mythic Passages emphasizes the connection between place and story, and the way in which she lets "the land speak through me with its own voice." Her vision of the importance of myth and story is one that I fully honour: "just as nightly dreams reflect the realities of our waking life, the symbols found in folklore and myth (the collective dreams of entire cultures) provide useful metaphors for the journeys, struggles and transformations we encounter in modern life."