Cult of the Muses | Februa-arius or pertaining to purification

The beginning of the year is tended to by the two-faced god Janus, guardian of the threshold, which is where the month of January gets its name.  Janus is said to have the lucky privilege of looking to the past as well as looking to the future, therefore Janus became the God associated primarily with beginnings and ends. This quality caused the ancients to prescribe Aquarians with the gift of wisdom and insight.

In his tales Ovid, an ancient Greek poet, has tied Janus to the planet Saturn, which was considered to be representatative of time and matter, trials and tribulations, and more importantly, knowledge that comes through experience.  In Ovid’s poems Jupiter had expelled Saturn from the sky, and Janus provided Saturn with shelter.  The pair, it seems, found some comfort in each others’ company.

But what about the water bearer?  Popular astrology has focused on Aquarius’ guiding constellation, the water bearer.  In Greek myth the water bearer was a beautiful young man named Ganymede.  He had been the son of the first Trojan king, but Zeus became infatuated with him and taking the form of an Eagle, abducted him.  He was taken to Mount Olympus where he became the water bearer of the gods.  But the water bearer was more than just a boy toy to the Greek gods.   The Latin term Februa means purification and the suffix -arius translates as pertaining to, and so the constellation itself extolled the cleansing properties of water, just as it reminded ancients of the danger of a deluge.   It was a time to exercise any demons, finalize any unsettled business, and prepare to make a fresh start.

Hopefully we can move forward in this time of purification and new beginnings with the insight of Janus, and the good sense of Saturn.

History and Memory

There have always been members of a society who were chosen to remember the past–chosen is intended in the most fluid of definitions here–they were the ancient scribes and prophets; their work was to not forget.  Many of these histories come in the form of religious genealogies, divination, and recitations.  And what about the great western epics?  Their tales of heroic pasts helped legitimize those in power, most commonly by creating direct ties to the family of Olympic gods.  Don’t we also create a mythical and glorious past for ourselves in order to legitimize and to not forget?

What part of the collective memory constitutes “history”? Is collective memory always the same as cultural memories, family memories, and traumatic memories?  It’s not very likely that these currents of remembrance would come together to create one big happy picture–and in fact, they hardly ever do.  So whose current does and does not contribute to the collective identity?  And why?  Who are the arbiters of the past?  And why are they ordained to be the rememberers?  It’s a curious thing to work out.  That is what one of my classes this semester is all about.  Being a historian, it is an interesting exercise to confront my own biases and agendas, and how they will in turn, influence the way I do history.

Palatine Chapel

Aachen (in Germany today) was the seat of power for the Carolingian king Carolus Magnus, also known as Charlemagne, or Charles the Great.  The Carolingian line emerged in post-Roman medieval Europe, and would become the first line to have been given the title of Holy Roman Emperor, in 800 AD.  In the 8th century the King of the Franks built the chapel as part of his palace complex.  He was also responsible for something of a cultural revival, certainly the art and architecture was a new amalgamation of previous styles in a traditional setting.  The palace complex no longer exists, but the chapel at Aachen has been preserved.  It is one of the best examples Carolingian Romanesque styles, and it is one of my favorite medieval chapels.

Photograph: Tobias Helfrich, May 10th, 2004.

Photograph by Holger Weinandt, October 1, 2005.

Cult of the Muses | Amalthea, tender goddess

Where should we draw the line between history and mythology?  People always seem to be surprised to find that I am as familiar with the zodiac as I apparently am.  I shouldn’t be surprised, how would they know about my long-time interest in the Greek pantheon, including the god’s and goddess’ iconography, celestial and astral symbols and myths.

Astrology, it seems, is not considered as credible as “history” is.  I’m not the one to argue that it should be, I am a recreational user myself.  But why is the distinction so sharp?  What would happen to the historian who might point out that western history is based on the Greek tradition, and that the Greek tradition was based firmly on these same mythological traditions. Perhaps we’ll never know.

So who draws that line between “real” history and the trifling other habits we haven’t given up?  In celebration of this understanding, I submit my own astrological history.

I am a Capricorn.  What do the magazines say about Capricorns?  That they’re steady, headstrong, driven.  My fellow Capricorn has said he has come to terms with the reputation for being arrogant and pompous.  The obnoxious girl at the bar said that Capricorns were “the most unimaginitive” and “boring” of the twelve signs,  and another friend laughed out loud at lunch when she told me I was supposed to be organized.  Well I think that I am pretty organized, for the record, but that’s how these astrological things go.  Everyone has their own relationship with the zodiac.

I suppose that the Greeks probably had similar relationships with their gods.

In their myths, Capricorns are represented by the goat.  This you may know, but what you might not know is that the mountain goat is the nurse-mother of the Olympic God Zeus.  In this myth found in Hesiod’s Theogony, Zeus’s mother saved him from being eaten by his father, Cronos, by hiding him in a mountain cave and replacing his swaddling with a stone.  Cronos ate the stone, rather than his potential usurper, and died.  And so Zeus was reared in the cave by Amalthea, translates tender goddess, the sheep herder who fed Zeus from her goats with cheese and milk.  When Zeus was grown he killed the goat and gave it’s skin to Amalthea as protection; it has become a part of her iconography.

Ballet Idaho: City Symphony

I kind of stumbled upon a couple of tickets to the ballet this weekend. I called my little sister and we had a girls night out.  She’d never been to the ballet before, and I was more than thrilled to take her to her first one.  I was even more excited at how much I knew she was going to enjoy it, and I had such a good time!

The first piece, City Symphony, was a modern number, performed to Philip Glass, that above all displayed the sheer strength of the dancers and creativity of the choreographer, Ryan Jolicoeur-Nye; it was beautiful and the dancers’ movement appeared so effortless!  The opening silhouettes were stunning, the black shadows contrasted sharply with the white clothing and background, and the movement was just as crisp.  The most amazing moment came when the forms on the ground moved, the crowd audibly oohed as they realized the “scenery” were actually people!  I loved the overall mood, the aesthetic was clean and crisp, the pulse of the music drove the movement.  Beautiful!

The first surely outshone the rest of the show.  But! I did love live piano for the Clair de Lune piece, it made the performance seem so alive! And I appreciated the softness of this number, which seemed even more gentle in stark contrast with the previous modern piece.  At first I wasn’t sure what to expect of the Pirate theme, to be quite honest.  But I was completely charmed by the headlining pirates, the set, the dance-off; there was a lot of good humor, and of course, I loved the costumes. My sister and I had a wonderful time this weekend, I hope to see more in the future.