The Storytellers Goddess Part 12

Kuan Yin (kwan YIN) Mother of Mercy (China) Introduction

Like the European Mother of G.o.ds, whose wors.h.i.+p as Mary, Star of the Sea, continues to this day against great inst.i.tutional and theological odds, the Great G.o.ddess of China survived the Buddhization of Her realm by becoming Kuan Yin, Mother of Mercy. Often a.s.sociated with the waters of the deep, riding a dolphin or a fish, for example, Kuan Yin probably originated in the ancient Nu Kua, the Great Ocean-Snail Snake Dragon Woman who gave birth to all life and the patterns of the universe.

When Buddhism developed about 560 B.C.E." wors.h.i.+p of the Mother was already very old. Writers in 2000 B.C.E. exhorted readers to pray to the Grandmother in a land already roamed by humans for a nearly unimaginable 496,000 years. While we do not know how many generations of people in those years revered the Great Feminine, we are almost certain that they recognized only their biological mothers, not their fathers. In such a setting, it is easy to imagine widespread awe for the Female origins of life.

Buddhist storytellers, like their Greek counterparts who told of the G.o.ddess Athena's (see story) paternal birth, said that Kuan Yin was actually a male who had reached a state of Buddha being and then decided to come to Earth as a spiritual teacher in the form of a woman.

By masculinizing Her origins, Eastern and Western tellers were undoubtedly trying to grapple with the reality of the Great Feminine in a patriarchal context.

Kuan means Earth, and Yin is the Feminine balance to yang, both of which exist at the root of all the beings and workings of the world.

Yin is a state and an energy that flows, creating gentle, consistent, and determined action.

Like lamanja of Brazil (see story) and the Virgin Mary, Kuan Yin protects, relieves, and comforts in sorrow. She is related to the j.a.panese Kwannon, still wors.h.i.+ped in the Asakusa district of Tokyo. Her story is a retelling of the traditional one in Merlin Stone's Ancient Mirrors of Womanhood.

Because Kuan Yin is as widely wors.h.i.+ped as the Virgin Mary, Her statue is easy to find. She, like Mary, can be called on for healing and mercy and can also be invoked by a willow branch or a white flower floating in a bowl of water.

In the Land of the Dead The G.o.ddess Kuan Yin longed to live among humans. Living so, She would understand the joys and sorrows of mortal life and increase Her wisdom when humans called on Her for help.

So one day Kuan Yin came to live as the youngest daughter of three in a house with a cruel father. He ignored his daughters for years, and when he didn't ignore them he spoke coldly to them. When they came of age, he became openly mean.

"I'm tired of you," he raged.

"Marry, every one of you. Find yourselves husbands. Stay in their houses, not mine. You are not welcome here."

The eldest daughter married a silent warrior. The second married a greedy merchant. But Kuan Yin said, "I do not wish to marry. I am going to live in the Temple of the White Bird, the temple of gold and black marble with lotus flowers in the fountain."

When Kuan Yin continued to refuse to marry, Her father arranged for the women in the temple to treat Kuan Yin cruelly.

"Make her do all the hardest work," he said.

"Pull Her hair, and give Her only dry bread and water to eat. Then She will leave the temple and marry, as I command."

Some women at the temple were afraid, and they obeyed Kuan Yin's father. They gave Her the hardest work and not enough food. But Kuan Yin waited until all the others slept. Then the serpent came to help Her carry the water. The tiger appeared and gathered wood for the fire. The birds flew about busily collecting vegetables from the garden. The spirit of the fire rose up and helped to cook the food.

The peac.o.c.k even swept the kitchen floor with his thousand-eyed tail.

The father was so enraged when he heard of the animals helping Kuan Yin that he set fire to the Temple of the White Bird.

"Now every woman who dares defy me will die!" he screamed.

But Kuan Yin came and put out the fire with Her own hands. When Her father saw that not only was the temple safe, but Kuan Yin's hands were not even blistered, his rage knew no bounds.

"Find Her and cut off Her head!" he ordered his servant.

The servant was amazed when his sword broke in two instead of harming the body of Kuan Yin. But the servant was afraid to fail in the task of killing Kuan Yin. So he squeezed Her throat with his hands until She couldn't breathe and tied Her lifeless body to the back of a tiger, setting it loose in the jungle.

The Land of the Dead was dark, and Kuan Yin was afraid. But soon She sat up and began to sing. You know the songs She sang. The ones with the melodies that comfort and bring the sleep of renewal. The people who lived in the Land of the Dead gathered around Kuan Yin. They looked at Kuan Yin in wonder, and then they began to take each other's hands. They touched Her robes and began to chant and sing. The pain and the loneliness they felt melted and there came peace and joy.

The King of the Dead was furious.

"No singing in this place," he thundered.

"Begone!" And he banished Kuan Yin from the Kingdom of Death.

So Kuan Yin returned to Earth and Her soul rejoined Her body. Quietly She made her way to an island in the northeastern sea. There She lives to this day, chanting and singing for the well-being of all in the Land of the Living and the Land of the Dead and comforting us in our troubles with Her sacred willow branch when we call out Her name.

Sedna (SAID-nuh) The Great Woman at the Bottom of the Sea (Inuit People) Introduction Sedna, also known as Arnaknagsak and Neqivik, has probably a dozen different names, depending on the language spoken in Greenland, Alaska, northern Canada, and the islands between. Sedna's country is the severe and beautiful land of the Inuit peoples, often called by outsiders Eskimos. Though a giver of life and abundance, Her good is not to be wors.h.i.+ped: it is sufficient unto itself. Rather, Her people placate Her vigilantly in order that Her power rest on the side of plenty and safety rather than barrenness and danger. Her people trust in the wisdom of Her placaters, the medicine people and the storytellers the angakok for they are the seers who have touched the helping spirits with their souls.

Evil is real to the Inuit peoples. Daily they face great darkness, storms, gales, and stealthy fog. Despite the convenience of ready-made tools and electricity, the experience of generations shows that life is difficult: humans constantly confront forces stronger than ourselves.

Sedna embodies the innocence and the clarity, the evil and the good.

From Her depth emanates the mysterious regulations of Life, which include the matter-of-fact necessity of Death.

Depending on Her pleasure, Sedna is the G.o.ddess who keeps back and sends out animals for the hunt, and to Her She gathers all spirits who die of natural causes.

I blended themes from more than one Inuit myth for Sedna's story. This G.o.ddess helps me come to terms with sacrifice and with the tremendous s.h.i.+fts of life, so great that for the Inuit peoples they must be marked with an entire change of name. I have invoked Her with seawater and a wooden comb.

How the People Came to Eat in Wintertime The Angakok are the special ones. They can converse with the Sun and the Moon. They travel to the Underworld, going through rocks if need be. Indeed, the angakok know the way to the floor of the ocean. That is why they are able to tell the story of Sedna, the Great Woman Who Lives at the Bottom of the Sea.

They tell of Her before the change in Her calling name, when She was young and lived only on the land. And they tell of Her now, whose mercy and abundance we beg, soft and generous when we appease Her by combing Her flowing raven hair.

In the old days, say the angakok, when the Sun Dogs never tired of pulling the Sun across the sky, before humans came to Earth, Sedna was the beautiful, flat-nosed Land Maiden called Avilayoq (a-VEE-luh-yoke).

Avilayoq lived among caribou, musk ox, reindeer, hare, fox, and the birds of the air. When Sedna was Avilayoq, say the angakok, the land knew only daytime. The G.o.ddess then, for centuries at a time, would beat the frame of her ayayut drum and croon the song of the Land Maiden. Handsome, free, and graceful was She: Eyaya-eya. Eyaya-eya.

Other times, She would sit on a rock, dressed in Her most lovely clothes, quite still and staring out over land and sea, gazing for eons at the bottomless placid water that reflected the glowing colors of the Sun hung red, yellow, and low in the sky. Silent and motionless, Avilayoq would drink in the rays of the Sun broken into blue, green, and blinding white by the breaking, floating icebergs.

At other times, say the angakok, Avilayoq had the heart of a child at play with a ball. She skipped at the edge of the sea and teased the strong, persistent First Sun Dog, who lay his compliments so prettily at Her enticingly booted feet. The day came, though, when Avilayoq saw that the eyes of First Sun Dog were flecked with kindness, and the tease in Her heart turned to thrill.

Earth was never the same again, say the angakok, when Avilayoq took First Dog as Her husband. Avilayoq and Sun Dog built a snow hut to lie in, and the other Sun Dogs, leaderless now, rested in such a way that night came for the first time to the land of endless day. And out of the womb of Avilayoq came human beings: small and large of every age.

They too began to make huts and to hunt for food on a land that was fast turning colder than Avilayoq had ever known before.

There had always been snow and ice, but now came an ominous thundering of that ice, louder than the beating of a thousand ayayuts. A violence of snow driving off the sea sent caribou and musk ox so deep into the freezing night that none could follow.

Gone was the laughter, the plenty, the Sun. Come was the time of no eating, and the wails of Her people filled the ears of Avilayoq. The heart of Avilayoq, say the angakok, grew heavy as a carca.s.s. She wrung Her hands for the fate of Her humans. Then the picture of the quiet gazing of that endless summer filled Her, and there was born in Avilayoq a plan that filled Her both with peace and dread.

Avilayoq called Her people to Her.

"You must gather the strength you have left," She called over the howling of the wind.

"You must build a boat of skins. In that boat I will ride with the Old Man out into the sea. There will I calm this sky and call back the summer's food."

Weak as they were, the people were amazed. No one before had left the land for the waters. And to call back the summer's food! Eyaya-eya!

Eyaya-eya!

The people built a boat of skins. Avilayoq dressed again in Her finest clothes. To Sun Dog She said, "Life is heavier than death. It so happens that one is leaving."

"Are You leaving now?" asked Sun Dog, and though His eyes were filled with sorrow, He did not follow Her.

Bent and falling, Avilayoq with the Old Man pulled themselves to the edge of the sea where the kayak waited tied to a bone stuck in the Earth. Avilayoq and the Old Man climbed inside, and the Old Man cut the boat free with his axe.

The kayak rolled in the black waves like an eye in the head of a wounded caribou. The silhouette of Avilayoq stood tall, arms outstretched in the shrieking gray torrent. Avilayoq shouted, say the angakok. She begged the sky and the sea that had beckoned Her so long ago. But what happened next, say the angakok, is horrible to relate.

No one knows why some say it was a frenzy of terror no one knows why, but the arms of the Old Man shoved. They shoved the Land Maiden into the pitching sea.