2 Replies to “Audio 143 Why Shiva has a blue throat”
Nuria Daly
Dearest Nawab – you have done it again! Solved another mystery. In the story I am working with, the Son of the King finds his Beloved the Divine Sophia whose name is All. They have three marriage ceremonies and at the last, the storyteller lets us know that he was at the wedding. He says ‘All I got from them were stockings of thick milk (churned milk or butter), paper boots. I threw them at them. They were drowned. I came safe. That is the end of the story. Now I understand it! Than you. I am still working on the paper boots!!!
Thank you. I think I will add your story as a postscript! Nuria
Dearest Nuria, thank you for the response. I am glad you found something useful in the podcast. In Russian folktales the ending is often a sort of formula, more or less like this: ‘I was at their wedding. I drank mead and wine. It ran down my beard and chin but didn’t go in my mouth.’ This paradoxical impossibility might have some esoteric meaning, since we can find something esoteric wherever we look, but it could also be that it is a way of dividing the realm of story from everyday reality, sort of similar to a standard musical coda, to say, ‘Bin ban bun, now my story’s done.’
Sending loving greetings, Nawab
Dearest Nawab – you have done it again! Solved another mystery. In the story I am working with, the Son of the King finds his Beloved the Divine Sophia whose name is All. They have three marriage ceremonies and at the last, the storyteller lets us know that he was at the wedding. He says ‘All I got from them were stockings of thick milk (churned milk or butter), paper boots. I threw them at them. They were drowned. I came safe. That is the end of the story. Now I understand it! Than you. I am still working on the paper boots!!!
Thank you. I think I will add your story as a postscript! Nuria
Dearest Nuria, thank you for the response. I am glad you found something useful in the podcast. In Russian folktales the ending is often a sort of formula, more or less like this: ‘I was at their wedding. I drank mead and wine. It ran down my beard and chin but didn’t go in my mouth.’ This paradoxical impossibility might have some esoteric meaning, since we can find something esoteric wherever we look, but it could also be that it is a way of dividing the realm of story from everyday reality, sort of similar to a standard musical coda, to say, ‘Bin ban bun, now my story’s done.’
Sending loving greetings, Nawab