This marathon of cultural scholarship masterfully blends sensory intimacy with a profound exploration of Ainu reciprocal ethics. It serves as a vital archive that challenges modern anthropocentrism through the lens of indigenous spiritual sustainability.
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Anu means human just that the people as distinct from everything else. It's a naming convention shared by indigenous groups around the world. But in the case of the IU, it carries a particular weight because the line between human and everything else is not quite where you would expect it to be.
In a new understanding, the non-human world is not empty or passive, but rather it is teeming with camoi, divine spirits. You'll find them in the mountains, the rivers, the fires, the animals, and even in a well-used tool.
And these spirits are conscious, purposeful and morally demanding. They give gifts to humans, a bit of food, resources, maybe a little warmth.
But there's a catch. They expect specific forms of respect [clears throat] in return.
Maintain the relationship and the world holds together.
Disrespected and everything unravels.
This is the worldview that belongs to the indigenous people of Japan's far north. Genetically distinct from the Japanese, speaking a language connected to no other on Earth. and carrying one of the most remarkable folklore traditions that most people have never even heard of.
Well, if you've never heard of it, perhaps now is the time.
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Thank you in advance. Let's begin.
And I suppose we may as well take off from the topic of the introduction, the camo.
What on earth is that?
It's a little complicated. Essentially, the concept of camoy is the organizing principle of a new cosmology and the key to understanding everything else in Anu folklore. So being the foundation, it's best to start from here. The word camoy is commonly translated as god or spirit.
But neither translation is quite adequate to the fullness of what the IU people mean by it. You see, a camoya is not necessarily a transcendent thing.
not necessarily omnipotent, not necessarily morally perfect in the sense that monotheistic traditions tend to demand of their deities. A camoy is rather just a being of inherent power, awareness, and moral significance that inhabits and animates particular aspects of the world. A species of animal, natural phenomenons, tools, places, diseases. They've got camoy for everything.
But a camoy world is not above the human world or separate from it.
It rather overlaps it and requires constant maintenance of the relationship between the two realms for both to function properly.
The Inu recognize camoy of extraordinary diversity and specificity.
Kim unun camoy is a mountain deity, the lord of bears, the most important camoy in the au spiritual hierarchy given the bear's centrality to a new subsistence and root uh ritual life.
Repun camoy is the deity of the sea often manifested as an orca whale.
Aeuchi or Fuji is the goddess of fire.
one of the most uh important and frequently invoked Kamoy in daily life who meditates her between the human and spirit worlds. All prayers pass through her since she is the fire that burns at the center of every new home and whose smoke carries human requests upward to the camoy world.
There are camoy of rivers, wind, thunder, specific mountains. There is a camo of the weasel, the owl, the eagle.
There are camoy of illness, not the malevolent in a simple moral sense, but spirits that have rather been offended or neglected, and whose attention, once fixed on the household, manifests as a disease, and you don't want one of them on your hands.
The relationship between humans and camoy is explicitly commercial in its metaphors and moral in its requirements.
You see, camoy visit the world in disguise.
The deer you hunt, that's a camoy. It's just wearing the suit of a deer as a new descriptions sometimes put it. and who has come to the human world to bring gifts, meat and hide in exchange for gratitude, ritual attention and proper ceremony that humans offer in return.
The camoy in this understanding is not really killed when hunted.
More that the fleshy vehicle of the deer suit is destroyed and the camo's essence is liberated to return to the spirit world bearing the wine, the carved inowl prayer sticks and the spoken gratitude that the au hunter has provided.
The camoy world in several AU narrative traditions is structured exactly like the AU world. The camoy have houses, families, celebrations and social obligations.
They enjoy offerings made to them and report positively on the humans who made them which attracts other camoy to visit the human world in the form of game animals, fish and other resources so they could get the same sort of treatment.
The structure is reciprocal and it has profound consequences for the a new relationship to the natural world. The animals are not resources to be exploited.
They are beings of moral standing whose treatment is subject to ethical requirements that parallel those governing the treatment of human persons.
A bear killed carelessly without proper ceremony or proper thanks is a wronged camoy. and a camoy who has been wronged.
Well, they're going to report the injustice to the spirit world, deterring other camoy from visiting an animal form and causing the community's luck in hunting and fishing to slowly deteriorate.
The ethical framework governing the relationship to nonhuman nature is therefore not essentially different from the ethical framework governing human social relations.
Both require gratitude and respect. This uh maintenance of obligations that run in both directions is mutually beneficial. Sure. But this is not the framework of most western traditions. And it produces a fundamentally different relationship to the environment. One whose practical consequences were visible in the sustainable hunting and fishing practices that characterized I knew life for generations.
And one of the I suppose most important features of the camoy concept is its extension to the manufactured object of sufficient age and intensity of use.
A worn out tool, a knife whose blade has been produced by years of sharpening, or a bow whose wood has been shaped by a lifetime of drawing may accumulate a camo presence that requires respectful treatment rather than simple disposal.
The tool is not simply worn out. It's not an old piece of garbage. Far from it. It has rather acquired personhood through use, through the investment of human care and the accumulated memory of the work that it has done.
Disposing of it carelessly is an offense against that accumulated presence.
This is not a minor peripheral aspect of a new belief. It reflects a foundational premise that a personhood and moral standing are not fixed properties of certain categories of being but are generated by relationship, history and accumulation of care and attention over time.
The world is not divided into persons and things. The division is permeable and things can become persons through the right kind of relationship.
Next up, we have the Aomante, the bear sending ceremony. Perhaps the most important ritual in traditional AU life, not to mention the focal point of the AU relationship with the spirit world. It is a ceremony of extraordinary complexity, emotional intensity, and it has perhaps been profoundly misunderstood by outside observers who have tended to describe it in terms that emphasize its surface level strangeness without engaging with the theological and social framework that actually gives it its true meaning.
The yomante involves the raising of a bear cub captured in the ring.
Typically, when the cub is small enough to be handled, it's kind of hard to uh capture them when they're older. In the community, for one to three years, they feed it, care for it, and treat it as a guest of honor in the human world. At the ceremony itself, the bear is ritually killed. Its spirit sent back to the camoy world with gifts and gratitude and its flesh and blood consumed by the community in a feast that is simultaneously a celebration and a renewal of the covenant between the spirit and human worlds.
The cub during its time in the community is treated with genuine affection alongside its ritual significance.
It may be nursed by women alongside human infants. It's given a name. It lives in a special cage built for the purpose.
But it's regularly handled, played with, and treated as a member of the community whose needs and well-being truly matter.
This is not theater or pretense. In the I knew understanding, the bear cub is a young camoi who has chosen to spend time in the human world and treating it well during this period as a demonstration of the community's reliability as a partner in the exchange relationship.
The bearup experiences I knew hospitality, care and food. When its spirit returns to the camoy world, it reports on what it experienced and its positive report encourages other camoy to visit in animal form.
The ceremony itself is conducted with elaborate ritual precision. The bear is led from its cage in procession, brought before the assembled community, addressed in formal speeches of gratitude and explanation.
It is then offered food and wine. The killing conducted with specific ritual implements, including the monet, a cross-like press of wooden poles that restrains the bear while causing it minimal prolonged suffering, is followed by immediate prayers and apologies.
The bear's blood is then drunk by the hunters as a mark of intimacy of the exchange. The head is given the place of honor at the feast. Adorned with enol, the carved willow prayer sticks whose whittleled shavings curl outward in a distinctive form is one of the most recognizable elements of a new material culture.
The inour gifts, objects made with skill and care, offered to the camo as expressions of human craft and gratitude.
The feast that follows consumes the bear's flesh in an act that is explicitly understood as the community receiving the camo's gift in return for the gifts that it has given.
But here's the thing. This was all banned in 1955 on grounds that it constituted cruelty to animals, which well, culture aside, I don't think you can really argue against it being cruelty to animals. I know animals get slaughtered in slaughter houses and everything, but uh this is a little bit different.
The problem is this regulation struck the I knew community as a profound misunderstanding of what the ceremony involved and what it meant.
The surprising thing is that the ban was eventually lifted in 2007 which of course a lot of people would have seen as a step back for animal rights but it is what it is. This was because there was decades of advoc advocacy rather by uh I knew cultural organizations and the ceremony has been revived in a modified form at several I knew cultural centers.
The revival debate touches on one of the most difficult questions in the study of indigenous traditions and that is how to practices whose meaning depends on an entire cosmological framework survive the partial destruction of that framework and what is preserved and what is lost when a ceremony is revived by a community that is largely separated from the daily cultural context that gave the ceremony its original weight.
Pretty complicated, huh?
The Inu communities working to maintain and revive the omante are grappling with this question from the inside which is exactly where it should be grappled with I suppose.
Well, next let's move on to the Yukar that is the uh great epic poems of the Inu oral tradition and they are one of the most remarkable bodies of indigenous literature in the world. The human yukar are heroic narratives told in the first person by human protagonists. Long intricate tales of warriors who go off to distant lands, encounter supernatural beings, rescue the distressed, write wrongs and then return home as heroes, but also having bearing hard one wisdom.
The Camoy Yugara are spirit songs, shorter but equally intricate narratives told in the first person by Camoi who described their experiences as in the divine world and their visits to the human world. Together, these two traditions constitute an oral literature of considerable sophistication, employing specific metrical patterns, elaborate parallelisms, refrains, and specialized vocabulary that differs significantly from the ordinary spoken ainu.
The performance of yukar was not a casual activity either. It was a skilled art form requiring years of training, an extraordinary memory, and the capacity for sustained performance.
Major Yukar could take many hours or even multiple sessions to complete.
The performers were typically women, a feature of Inu oral tradition that distinguishes it from many other heroic epic uh traditions globally, where the bard is almost universally male.
I knew women were the primary transmitters of the great narrative tradition and the female performers voice giving expression to heroic male protagonists created a specific aesthetic quality an act of imaginative ventriloquism requiring both technical mastery and deep cultural knowledge. The recording of Yukar by researchers in the late 19th century and early 20th was complicated by this tradition. You see, many of the most important performers were elderly women whose knowledge had not been transmitted to the younger ones, and the urgency of documentation was matched by the inadequacy of the available recording technology.
The content of the Ukar reflects the IU world in its full complexity.
The protagonists travel between the human world and the camoy world, between their home village and distant lands that are simultaneously geographic and supernatural.
They encounter enemies who are sometimes human and sometimes divine, fight battles in which the outcome depends on ritual knowledge and spiritual power as much as physical prowess, and navigate relationships with supernatural beings that require the correct forms of speech and behavior to manage safely.
The specific challenges and adventures described in the UK are not simply entertaining stories. They are in the context of oral tradition practical guides to the ethical and ritual requirements of navigating a world saturated with camoi. How to address a spiritual encounter unexpectedly or conduct yourself when you receive supernatural assistance and what obligations you might incur when you are assisted. What debts require payment.
The camoy yukar are particularly fascinating because they are narrated from the perspective of the divine. The spirit speaks in its own voice, describes its own experiences, motivations and relationships with humans.
One famous camoyukar is narrated by the owl, the blackeston's fish owl, who inhabits Hokkaido, who presents itself as the guardian and protector of a human village, watching from the forest at night, warning the community of approaching dangers, keeping particular watch over the children, things like that.
The owl camoy's description in its uh own domestic life in the spirit world mirrors the a new domestic world it observes in the human realm reinforcing that principle that the divine and human worlds are structured well kind of the same way.
Another famous camoy yukar is narrated by a small fish hook that has accumulated camoy presence through years of use and that describes its own inner life with a combination of pride in its function and awareness of the relationship it embodies between the fisherman and the sea.
The ueipeca are the shorter pros narratives closer to what we would call folktales or legends that address different register of experience from the heroic epic where the yukar deal with extraordinary protagonists in extreme situations.
The UPCa often address ordinary life, social relationship, the consequences of breaking taboos and encounters between ordinary people and the extraordinary.
They function as a form of moral education, showing through narrative the specific ethical requirements of a new life, all the basic stuff, the hospitality of guests, how to treat your elders, and of course the ritual obligations.
Well, how clever characters navigate difficult situations too is a big deal.
Many u have specifically comedic dimensions. The trickster figure, the absurd situation, the resolution through wit rather than force.
It all provides a relief from the moral weight of the camoy yukar and the heroic intensity of the major yukar.
Well, let's keep going. Let's talk about the creatures of the IU folklore because there's plenty of them to talk about.
The IU world is populated with a remarkable diversity of supernatural beings and that's beyond the major camoy of nature and the heroic protagonists of the Yukar.
These beings range from the benevolent to the dangerous, from the small to the vast, and their descriptions reveal an imagination that is simultaneously firmly grounded in specific landscape features of northern Japan and extraordinary creative in the beings it projects onto that landscape.
The Koro Pokuru, literally people under the leaves of the butterbar plant, are perhaps the most charming and most disgusted of the smaller supernatural beings in the Au tradition.
They are a race of small people living underground or in hidden places of the landscape who were in the world before the Inu arrived and with the whom the Inu coexisted in a relationship of kind of a weary mutual benefit.
Now, in most commonly told versions of the tradition, the Koropokuru would leave fish and game for the Inu near their houses at night in exchange for receiving a few small gifts left out for them. They were shy, though, and they didn't like being seen. The detailed echo's fairy traditions cross many cultures. If you watch the uh English folklore video, you'll know what I mean.
But also uh a relationship would break down when a young a new man would grab one of the korupokuru as it delivers gifts. Big mistake. Whereupon the small people departed and were no longer seen again. That one guy who just had to ruin it for everyone.
The story is a parable about the conditions of exchange. gifts might require the right of relationship, including the respect of the givers's boundaries, and the young man had violated them. Therefore, well, the little people went away, never to be seen again.
Grabbing what you want rather than accepting what is offered destroys the possibility of reciprocity.
There's been considerable scholarly and popular discussion about whether the Koro Boguru represent a memory of an actual earlier population.
Perhaps a pre-Inu people of smaller stature who inhabited the region before being displaced. Or perhaps they were purely mythological figures.
The Jon people, the prehistoric inhabitants of the Japanese archipelago from whom the Aua largely descended, don't show any marked difference in stature from the Inu themselves.
So the memory of an earlier people interpretation is not strongly supported by physical anthropology.
But here's something that's more likely.
The koro pokuru belong to a widespread human tendency to populate the landscape with smaller invisible beings who represent the nonhuman life of the world. The beings who are there when you're not looking, who maintain the world's functioning in ways that humans rarely notice, and whose relationship to the human community is governed by the same principles of respect, exchange that govern all relationships in the AU moral universe.
The Repun Camoy are the next ones, the offshore gods, the sea deities, and they're among the most powerful and most feared of the beings in AU tradition, reflecting the centrality of the sea and its resources to AU coastal life. The orca whale is the most important of the sea camoy, understood as the lord of the ocean, who controls the availability of marine resources, and whose good will is essential to successful fishing. I knew fishermen addressed the orca with specific prayers and ritual forms when they encountered it at sea, and the killing of an orca was either absolutely prohibited or surrounded by elaborate ceremony, depending on the specific regional tradition. Everyone had slightly different ideas.
The orca's dual nature, simultaneously a powerful predator and a provider of food through its role in driving fish, shows the new understanding of camoy power as morally ambiguous in ways that are not reducible to simple good or evil.
The nitn camoy are a category of malevolent spirit, literally bad gods or demon spirits.
They represent the dangerous and destructive aspects of the supernatural world. The yang to the yin, I suppose.
Unlike the major camoy of nature, who are powerful but potentially benevolent when properly respected, the nitn camoya beings whose intentions toward humans are primarily hostile.
They cause illness, misfortune, and inhabit dangerous places. Deep pools in rivers where people might drown, avalancheprone mountain faces, the margins between these settled human world and the wild natural one. The Inu shamanic tradition, the ritual practitioners who could diagnose and treat spirit-caused illness dealt primarily with the nitnik camoy using their knowledge of the spirit world to identify which malevolent being was responsible for a given affliction and how to sort out that problem, find the influence and neutralize it.
The shamanic specialist, particularly the female shaman, the Tusukur, was essentially a figure in a new community life that no one could do without. One whose knowledge provided the community with its primary means of managing the dangerous aspects of the world.
The Upas Camoy, the snow deity or frost god, represents the specific supernatural character of Hokkaido winter, which is among the harshest in East Asia and which shaped a new culture in fundamental ways.
Winter on Hokkaido brings months of deep snow, temperatures that regularly fall well below freezing, and the specific dangers of a landscape that can become lethal to the unprepared.
Yubas camoy is not simply a personification of cold though. It is a being with motivations and requirements capable of being addressed and appeased whose severity in any given winter reflects the quality of the human community's relationship to the spirit world. Rituals conducted at the onset of winter were partly practical preparations for the difficult months ahead and partly forms of negotiation with these supernatural forces whose decisions would shape whether the winter was survivable or catastrophic.
And believe me, up in the north in Hkaido, the winter is extremely cold.
Not as cold as northern China, but extremely cold. Anyway, this is the I knew version of a universal human impulse to address the conditions of life not merely through material preparation but through the management of the relationships that govern those conditions at this deeper level.
Next, let's talk about the in the sacred objects and a little bit about prayer.
First up, the Enow are the physical expression of a new prayer and the material medium of the relationship between the human and spirit worlds.
They're pretty recognizable wooden objects, most commonly made from willow, that are shaped by cutting and shaving wood in specific ways that produce the characteristic curling shavings that are the in's most visually distinctive feature.
The shavings are not removed from the stick. They remain attached curling outward from the surface of the carved wooden spirals that represent both the physical act of human craft and the spiritual offering that the craft embodies.
The making of enal is a skilled art that requires specific knowledge of the appropriate forms for different purposes, different camoy dresses and different ceremonial contexts.
A man who could make Inar well was a person of spiritual as well as technical capability.
No doubt a popular person in the village.
And the diversity of inau forms is quite remarkable too. There are small in made for personal prayer placed at domestic altars or carried on the person. There are large ceremonial ino erected at sacred places in the landscape at the entry to a village. The margin between the settled and wild worlds had significant natural uh natural features rather like unusual rock formations or old large trees that have accumulated a camoi presence.
There are specifically shaped enow for addressing specific camoi. The fire goddess Fuji who has Eno whose forms are different is different rather from those addressing the mountain deity which differ again from those addressing the Sahi deity and so on and so forth. You get the point. The language of Eno, the visual vocabulary of carved form, pattern and arrangement, is a material language parallel to the verbal language of prayer and reading it requires knowledge of the tradition that cause a casual observation cannot really provide you.
Next is the Hezekot altar, the sacred window sill on the eastern side of a traditional AU house through which prayers were directed toward the camoy.
That was the domestic focal point of the in our tradition. You know how European homes in medieval times would have hearths? Well, I knew had the uhot altar on the window sill.
The Eno were placed on the Hezagot and renewed periodically.
Old Eno that had served their purposes were not simply discarded, but rather treated with respect as objects that had been in contact with the divine.
The Eastern orientation of the altar reflects the AU cosmological significance of east as the direction of the rising of the sun and the entry of light and life into the world.
The spatial organization of traditional Aenu houses was a cosmological map as much as a functional dwelling with each direction, each area of the house and each piece of furniture carrying a specific symbol and significance.
The fire in the center of the house was not simply a source of heat and light.
It was the residence of Fu, the fire goddess and the domestic focal point of the entire Anu spiritual world.
The tuki, the ceremonial drinking cup used in ritual context, is another material object of deep significance.
out from wood, often with elaborate decorations, including the mustache lifter bar, which distinguishes the male ceremonial duki. The cup was used in specific ritual contexts, including the ceremony of sending prayers to the camoy through the medium of wine, a sake or millet beer that was offered as a gift.
[clears throat] The mustache lifter, a small bar attached to the edge of the cup that held the characteristic I knew male mustache out of the liquid, is one of the most immediately recognizable elements of traditional a new male dress and ritual equipment.
I knew men traditionally wore full mustaches and the specific form of the tuki was designed to accommodate this.
The intersection of personal appearance and ritual function in the design of Tuki reflects the degree to which I knew material culture was organized around the requirements of spiritual life rather than purely practical considerations.
I knew shamanism, the practice of specialist ritual practitioners who could communicate with uh the spirit world is one of the most distinctive and least widely known aspects of a new life. The IU shamanic tradition has specific features that distinguish it from both the Siberian shamanic traditions to the north and from the Japanese spiritual traditions to the south.
But the thing is it shares elements of both. Right in the middle it reflects the position of AU people at the intersection of multiple cultural spheres.
The primary shamanic specialist in AU tradition was the Tusu Kur literally means one who trembles or the one who shakes a name that references the physical manifestations of spirit possession that characterize the shamanic state. that Usuzukur was predominantly though not exclusively a woman and her role in the community was of quite a bit of importance.
He was the person who could diagnose the specific spiritual case of illness, identify which camoy or nitn camoy, remember that's the bad ones who were responsible and conduct the ritual interventions necessary to address the problem.
Bally the diagnosis, treatment and cure.
They all relied on her. Sometimes him, but mainly her. Illness in the I knew framework was not primarily a physical manifestation.
It was a relational disruption, a sign that the relationship between a person, household, or community in some aspect of the spirit world had gone wrong and it required a kind of correction.
The Tuzu Kuru's knowledge of the spirit world acquired through training, experience, and the specific spiritual gifts that marked her as a suitable one for the role gave her the ability to navigate this relational diagnosis in ways that ordinary people simply could not.
The shamanic ceremony was conducted in specific context requiring the tusukur to enter a state of altered consciousness typically through rhythmic movement, the use of specific ritual equipment and the assistant of a few helper spirits who facilitated communication with the other world.
The physical manifestations described in accounts of the tu this is the ritual ceremony. Um the trembling, the rapid breathing, speaking in voices other than the practitioners uh practitioner's own are consistent with descriptions of shamanic trans states across a wide range of cultures and have been the subject of considerable anthropological analysis.
What is specific to the AU tradition is the detailed cosmological framework within which these states are embedded.
The Tuzukur was not simply entering an undifferentiated spirit world, but navigating a specifically structured divine realm whose geography, inhabitants, and protocols were mapped by the tradition that she'd been trained in.
Then there's the Nusa, the ritual altar used in outdoor ceremonies, the spatial focus of many shamanic and community ritual activities.
The nua typically consisted of a row of inow in various forms planted in the ground at a specific outdoor location creating a dedicated sacred space at the boundary between the human settlement and the natural world.
It was at the Nusa that major ceremonies were conducted and that the communication between the human community in the camoy world was most formally managed or with that specialist knowledge of the tutu there.
Now the outdoor sacred space was distinct from the domestic sacred space of the Hessot altar in ways that reflected the distinction between individual and family spiritual practice and community level spiritual practice.
Of course, both were essential and both required maintenance, but the Nusa ceremony was a communal event in a way that domestic prayer just couldn't match up to.
Finally, the Akashi, the male elder, a grandfather-like figure, the complimentary ritual specialist to the female Tusukur, where the Tuzukur's role centered on direct communication with the spirit world through transers and possession.
The Akashi's ritual role was granted in knowledge of correct verbal forms, proper ceremony, and the accumulated wisdom of that oral tradition.
The Akashi led the verbal prayer, made the formal speeches of addresses to the camo and conducted the rituals of daily and seasonal life that required expert knowledge of protocol rather than direct spiritual contact of the shaman.
This division of spiritual labor between the male and female specialists, each with their own domain of expertise and their own relationship to the spirit world, reflects the IU understanding of gender as complimentary rather than hierarchical because both roles are after all essential. Neither is subordinate to the other and the community's spiritual life simply requires both of them to function.
A new cosmological traditions describe a world whose origins are divine and whose structure reflects the specific features of the North Pacific environment in which they lived.
The creation accounts vary considerably across regional traditions. Hokkaido, Sakalin, and the Kuril Islands each had their own specific versions of the narrative.
But certain themes recur with sufficient consistency to constitute a recognizable high a new cosmological framework.
In one widely recorded tradition, the world before creation was a formless chaos, a muddy, watery mixture without distinction or order. A big mess really.
The creator deity, sometimes identified as Camoy Moshiri, the divine world or divine land, sent a wagtale bird down to the surface of the water to create some land. The wagtail beat its wings and stamped its feet on the surface, compacting the mud, pushing the water aside, and gradually solid land was formed.
This creation by an animal agent rather than directly by a divine word or act is quite characteristic of a cosmological sensibility in which the natural world i.e. birds, animals and specific creatures of the a new landscape are active participants in the creation of maintenance of the world rather than passive objects of divine creation.
Now, as for the wagtail, that's a small bird quite common in Hkaido, whose characteristic tail bobbing movement is easily read as a stamping action.
The cosmological narrative is grounded in the observation of actual natural behavior. Of course, the structure of Au cosmos in the mature tradition involves multiple worlds arranged vertically. The upper world or heavens camoy mushiri where the camoy reside in their divine communities. The middle world mushiri which is the human world and the lower world pna mohiri associated with the dead and the various underworld beings.
Communication between these worlds moves along a vertical axis with fire particularly the domestic hearth fire serving as the primary conduit between the human middle world and the divine upper.
Smoke rises and they carry the prayers up. The dead however descend.
So the model is not entirely unlike cosmological models found across many cultures. But the specific IU version has distinctive features as the lower world is not a place of punishment or darkness but rather just a parallel domain whose inhabitants have their own lives and whose relationship to the upper and middle worlds is one of exchange rather than absolute separation.
The origin of the Inu [clears throat] people themselves is addressed in several distinct narrative traditions.
One important tradition holds that the Inu are descended from the offspring of a divine dog and a divine woman, a union that establishes from the beginning the intimacy between the human and animal worlds that characterizes the cosmology.
This is not a derogatory origin story in the IU understanding. You see, the dog was more of a divine being and the human animal mixture that resulted was a feature of the a new position in the world as beings who stood at this intersection of the divine and earthly, the animal and spiritual.
Another tradition holds that the first were created directly by the camo and placed in specific landscapes of Akaido with various features of the land created around them to provide the resources they needed.
In this version, the landscape is not a neutral environment in which people had and do live, but a specifically designed home whose features reflect divine intention and whose specific character shapes the people who inhabit it. The concept of IU Moshiri, the IU land, the human world is not simply a geographic destination, but a spiritual concept, i.e. the specific portion of the cosmos that the I knew have begun um giving a rather stewardship of that requires their care and ritual intention to maintain the proper functioning order.
The decline of the natural world is not in the IU understanding simply an ecological problem.
It's a relational one. A sign that the obligations of reciprocity between humans and camoy have been sufficiently well rather insufficiently maintained.
That the gifts of the natural world have been taken without adequate return.
This theological understanding of ecological decline is not a modern environmentalist retrofit onto a traditional culture but rather a direct expression of the camoy framework that has given the a new life generations after generation.
It is one of the aspects of a new cosmology that has attracted the most serious attention from contemporary environmental philosophers.
Well, let's talk a little bit about material culture in art. The specific patterns that characterize a new textile and woodwork design, the specific forms of personal adornment and arrangements of objects and all that, well, they all express the understanding of the world and the human beings placed within it.
The section will uh focus of course on the aspects of I knew material culture that most directly intersect with folklore and spiritual tradition that we've been discussing. But of course there's other parts of material culture that are in a different realm. But today we're talking about the folklore aspect.
First up we got the akis, the traditional au garment woven from the inner bark of the elm tree. It's decorated with the geometric patterns that are most immediately recognizable features of a new visual culture. The patterns traditionally applied to embroidery and applique in dark blue and white are characterized by complex curvear forms.
You've got spiral scrolls, these interlocking curves, and they all form this visual vocabulary of quite a bit of sophistication, we could say.
Well, they're not purely decorative either. The specific forms placed on specific parts of the garment protect the wearer at the specific bodily locations that they cover, serving as a form of spiritual armor. A woman who embroidered a garment for her husband was performing an act of care that was simultaneously domestic and ritual, providing both warmth and spiritual protection.
The knowledge of the appropriate patterns for appropriate purposes was a form of expertise transmitted from mother to daughter that was valued as any other form of practical knowledge.
Then there was the practice of lip tattooing in IU women. One of the most discussed and most misrepresented aspects of their culture.
Adult old Inu women traditionally wore a tattoo around the mouth, a wide dark band that extended beyond the natural lip line, giving the tattooed face a characteristic expression that has sometimes been misread by outsiders as intimidating or strange.
The practice began in childhood with small marks applied progressively as the girl grew, expanding to the full design by the time she reached adulthood.
The lip tattoo was not merely ornamental, but it was rather a marker of adult female identity, a form of spiritual protection, I guess, particularly important around the mouth at the sight of speaking, eating, and breathing. The connection to an ancestral practice that made women recognizable to the divine world as I knew women rather than a being of ambiguous identity.
But what about a woman without a lip tattoo?
Well, in the I knew belief, she was incomplete in the social and spiritual framework.
The practice was banned by the Japanese government in 1871 as part of a broader campaign of forced assimilation that stripped the Inu of multiple cultural practices simultaneously.
A new wood carving, particularly the carving of ceremonial objects and household items, employed the same curve vocabulary is the textile tradition, expressing in wood the visual language that thread expressed in fabric.
The most elaborate carved objects were typically those with the most direct ritual significance, the prayer stick holders, the sake cup stands, and the ceremonial spoons and food containers.
The carving of these objects was uh not a craft separate from spiritual function. It was an act of carving that was quite integral to the relationship with the other world performed correctly and with the right intentionality and invested the object with the spiritual charge and an appropriate purpose.
But a poorly made or carelessly made ceremonial object was not just aesthetically deficient but spiritually sufficient. Unable to function as a bridge between the human and the camo.
Useless garbage.
This integration of craft and spirituality is characteristic of many indigenous traditions and it represents a fundamentally different relationship between the made world and the sacred than most western frameworks allow.
But before we finish up, let's talk about what the future holds and how we got ourselves into the modern uh situation of the AU culture.
The history of the I knew over the past two centuries has not been good. It's one of systematic dispossession, suppression, and marginalization.
It's only been partially addressed by more recent Japanese government recognition and the legal protections that have gradually, albeit incompletely, been extended to the Anu community.
The Inu were officially recognized as an indigenous people of Japan only in 2019.
That's right, only about what 7 years ago. A recognition that came after decades of advocacy.
And that, sure, while it was welcome, doesn't really reverse the accumulated losses of the preceding century and a half. Understand the current state of AU folklore and tradition requires honest engagement with that history.
The Maji period of Japanese history between 1868 and 1912 was catastrophic for AU culture. The colonial expansion of the Japanese state into Hkkaido, renamed from Azo, its AU name in 1869, proceeded through the allocation of AU lands to the Japanese settlers, the for settlement of nomadic and semi-nomeatic Anu communities, the prohibition of traditional practices, including the Eomante bear ceremony, hunting with poisoned arrows, and the use of Anu language in schools. It was all over.
The lip tattooing ban of 1871 was one element of a broader project of force assimilation intended to transform the IU into good little Japanese subjects fitting in with the general population.
Well, the explicit aim was cultural erasure and it achieved substantial success.
Within two or three generations, the majority of the Anu population had lost fluent command of their language and practical knowledge of their ceremonial tradition.
The response of Anu cultural activists and scholars from the late 19th century onward represents one of the most remarkable stories of resistance in the model modern world rather in terms of culture. the work of Yuki Chiri, who completed her collection of Camo Yukar transcriptions and translations at the age of 18 in 1922, writing in the preface with devastating clarity that she had gathered these songs because, quote, "My race is declining and the songs will soon be forgotten forever."
He died of a cerebral hemorrhage at the age of 19 before she could see the work published.
Now that's sad I think. But Jur's collection compiled with the assistance of the linguist Kyoske Kindichi preserve text that would otherwise have been lost within a generation and it stands as a monument to both the richness of the tradition and the urgency of its documentation.
Contemporary AU culture life is shaped by the tension between the reality of significant cultural loss and the genuine vitality of the revival movements that have emerged over the past four decades.
The Uppoi National Anu Museum opened in Shira Shi excuse me Hokkaido in 2020 represents the most ambitious government investment in a new cultural preservation to date. The museum has been welcomed by many in the IU community, a kind of long overdue recognition, while others raise concerns about the degree to which the IU community's own voices shape the institution's interpretive framework.
The question of who controls the representation of indigenous culture, the indigenous community, or the national institutions that fund and manage the museums. Well, that's a complex one that the IU case highlights with particular clarity.
The Inu language once on the verge of extinction with only a handful of fully fluent native speakers remaining by the late 20th century has been another sub uh subject of substantial revitalization efforts including language documentation projects, the development of teaching materials and the establishment of immersive language programs.
The language's isolation, its lack of demonstrated relationship to any other language family makes it both uniquely precious and uniquely challenging to revitalize since learners can't draw on the support of a related language community.
The current number of fluent AU speakers is still very small, but we hope it'll get bigger.
What remains and what the revival movements are working to sustain is something more than the sum of specific practices, artifacts and texts, but rather a way of understanding the world.
The camoy framework, the principle of reciprocal relationship between the human and spiritual, the understanding of the landscape as a community of persons rather than a collection of resources.
All of these are not merely ethnographic curiosities. their ways of knowing that the genuine relevance beyond the IU community itself. Ways of thinking about the relationship between human beings and the world they inhabit that differ profoundly from the dominant frameworks of industrial modernity. And that offer for anybody willing to engage with them seriously. A genuinely different perspective on what it means to live well in a world that's not merely just a backdrop to human whims.
The bear in the forest. The wagtail that stamped the land into being. The fire goddess who carries the prayers. The small people under the butterbell leaves who left fish at the door by night.
They all refuse to be wiped away by some scientific understanding or government medddling.
They are in the end of the day expressions of a coherent and sophisticated relationship to the world.
Yuki Chiri dying at 19 with her collection barely published.
She knew what was at stake.
We're so glad that she spent that time in her life before she was so cruy taken away from us writing down these things.
It's a shame. Go and read her work, collection of I knew divine songs. You should be able to find it.
Anyway, the future still receives these stories.
They're still speaking.
And with fingers crossed and cautious optimism, I think the story of the I knew people is not quite over yet.
Let's hope that preservation efforts continue.
Anyway, thank you so much for uh listening. Hey, I suppose I'm one of the ones who are doing those preservation efforts, right? Me and the lads who came up with this idea for a another folklore video.
Everyone does their part.
And you do yours by just listening to this and liking, subscribing, commenting, and telling your friends.
And thank you to everybody supporting on the Patreon, YouTube memberships, merch store, and donation links. Keeping everything ad free.
Yeah, a different kind of hero.
Anyway, that's enough from me for tonight and I will see you in the next exciting video. I hope you enjoyed our time together and I look forward to the next time you pay us a visit. So, for now, good night and farewell.
On the 2nd of November, the dead come back.
But they don't come back as ghosts or horrors.
But as guests, families scatter maragold petals from the cemetery gate to the front door to show them the way. They build altars stacked with photographs, favorite foods, bottles of mezcal, packs of cigarettes, whatever the dead loved in life. I believe still crave in death.
The kids arrive first on November the 1st. the Angelitos, the little angels, and their altars get toys and candy. The adults follow the next day. Their altars are a bit more robust, and then the cemeteries fill. There's music, laughter, weeping, tequila.
The dead and the living spend the night together, and in the morning, everyone goes back home. See you again next year.
This isn't Mexican Halloween. It's the Day of the Dead. That's something far more radical. A culture's flat refusal to accept that death just ends a relationship.
And that's only one thread in one of the richest folklore traditions on Earth.
Today we go to Mexico.
Welcome to the channel. Any newcomers?
Hello to everybody coming back. Thank you to those keeping everything ad free by following the links in the pinned comment in description to Patreon merch store and uh other links. And if you're not inclined to do that, give it a like, comment, and subscribe. That's good enough for us. Now, with all of that being said, let's begin our guide to Mexican folklore.
Of course, we have to go back quite a long time because the Mesoamerican civilizations that preceded the Spanish conquest, themech, Maya, Zapc, Toltech, Aztec, and dozens of others, produced some of the most complex mythological systems in human history. Now, to reduce all of these down to a single tradition would be quite a uh impolite disservice to their diversity.
But that being said, there are certain shared features that are essential for understanding the folklore that survived them. So let's build our foundation from here. The first is the concept of cyclical recreation.
The Aztecs or more properly the Mexica believed that the world had been created and destroyed four times before the current era.
Each previous world or son had been ruled by a different god and populated by a different kind of being and each had ended in quite a catastrophe.
You see, the first time ended by jaguars, the second by wind, the third by a rain of fire, and the fourth by a flood.
We live in the fifth sun, the sun of movement, and it too will end one day. They say it'll be destroyed by earthquakes.
Well, it all remains to be seen. But this is not pessimism. It's not a bad thing. It's just a cycle of death and rebirth, cosmology.
And well, it's irrelevant how we feel about it.
The universe is a cycle of creation and destruction and the role of humanity is not to prevent the end because the end is inevitable but rather our role is to delay it through the proper performance of ritual.
The fifth sun was created at Totakan when the gods themselves sacrificed their lives in a great bonfire so the sun could be born. The sun required blood to move across the sky, human sacrifice, the aspect of a Aztec religion that most horrified the Spanish and pretty much everybody else. And that has dominated Western perception ever since.
Well, that was understood not as cruelty, but rather as reciprocity.
The gods gave their blood so we could live. So we had to give a little blood back to make sure the sun could still move.
The logic is internally consistent even if it is uh devastating in its conclusion.
The second shared feature is the centrality of corn or maze.
Horn is not really a crop in Mesoamerican thought. It is the substance of humanity itself. The Populv, the great creation narrative of the Giche Ma written down in the 16th century but drawing on far older oral traditions tells how the gods tried three times to create human beings.
First they tried mud but that dissolved.
Then they tried wood but that lacked a soul.
Finally they tried corn dough and lo and behold that one worked.
So we are corn people. Our flesh is corn. And it's not a metaphor in the way that modern people might use the word metaphor. It's rather ontology.
The identity of corn and human flesh is real and it produces a relationship with the crop that goes far beyond agriculture.
Corn growing is an act of creation in itself. Eating corn is basically like a communion.
and wasting corn. Well, that's a big no no. A kind of sacrilege.
This belief persisted and it does persist across indigenous Mexico and it gives Mexican food culture a spiritual dimension that is invisible to outsiders but unmistakable to anyone raised within the tradition.
Now the third feature of the figure of Quzo that is the feathered serpent. It's quite interesting. One of the most important and perhaps misunderstood deities in Mesoamerican tradition.
Guotil was not a single god with a single story but rather a complex of overlapping figures. a creator deity, a wind god, a cultural hero, a historical ruler of the Toltech city of Tula, and a symbol of the union of the earth and sky, the serpent earth with the feathers of the quitzel bird sky.
His worship predates the Aztecs by centuries. Fathered serpent imagery at Teuakan, which flourished from roughly 100 BC to 550 CE.
The myth of Guottoil's departure driven from Tula by the trickster god Dexile sailing east on a raft of serpents promising to return has been endlessly discussed in relation to the Spanish conquest with some scholars arguing that Mogazuma might have initially identified Hernand Cortez with the returning god.
Now, that's a fancy story for sure, but we don't know if that is historically true, and uh many modern scholars are deeply skeptical.
The myth of the departed god who will return is one of the great narrative structures of Mexican folklore and it echoes through the culture in ways both obvious and subtle in messianic movements in political rhetoric and in the folk belief that old powers are not dead but just somewhere sleeping waiting to wake up.
There are two other figures from the old pantheon who persist in folk consciousness even if their names have been forgotten.
Talok the rain god with his goggle eyes and fanged mouth was one of the most important deities in central Mexico for over a thousand years. His image appears at Teotiwakan centuries before the Aztecs.
The rituals performed by farmers in rural Mexico to bring rain. The placing of crosses on hilltops, the offering of food as springs and processions to sacred caves contain elements that scholars have traced to to la worship.
Elements that survived the conquest by being attached to Catholic saints associated with water and agriculture.
Sanedro Labrador, the patron saint of farmers, inherited many of Dalok's ritual functions, such as the festival of San Eidro in rural Mexico. It's often indistinguishable in practical details from the pre-Colombian reign ceremonies it replaced.
Guatil, the serpent skirt, the earth mother, the goddess of life and death together. That's another figure whose presence persists beneath the Catholic surface.
The great stone statue of Kuatilke uh discovered in the Zokalo of Mexico City in 1790 and now housed in the National Museum of Anthropology is one of the most powerful works of sculpture ever created.
A great figure with a skirt of writhing serpents, a necklace of human hearts and hands, two serpent heads meeting to form her face.
somewhat terrifying but also maternal.
The earth that gives life and the earth that devours.
The Mexican attitude towards death, the comfort with skulls and the humor in the face of mortality.
Well, the refusal to separate the beauty from the terrible. All of this owes something to Koalitquay, to the Mesoamerican understanding that creation and destruction are not opposites, but the same force viewed from just different angles.
Now, there's no figure in Mexican folklore more feared, famous, or argued about than La Lorona, the weeping woman.
Now she is a ghost, a warning, a metaphor, and a bit of a cultural obsession. She'd been the subject of films, operas, novels, academic dissertations, and the terrified whispers of children across the entire Spanish-speaking Americas for over 400 years. And her story in the most common form is devastatingly simple. Of course, there's regional variations, but we're going to boil it down to a generality. Cuz if we were going to tell every regional variation, well, we'd be here for hours.
Now, a beautiful woman, sometimes named Maria, sometimes unnamed, falls in love with a man often described as wealthy, Spanish, or of higher social status.
They have children together, but the man abandons her.
Not cool. Or he marries another woman.
or perhaps he reveals that he never intended to stay in the first place. In her grief and rage, the woman drowns her children in a river.
Immediately, she is consumed by horror at what she has done. She dies of grief or taking her own life or perhaps divine punishment and is condemned to wander the waterways of Mexico for eternity, weeping and searching for her children.
I must all my children. That's her cry.
You can hear it at the night near rivers, canals, lakes, and irrigation ditches. And if she finds you, especially if you're a child or a man who resembles the lover who betrayed her, she will get you, mistaking you for the children she lost and dragging you into the water to share her fate.
The Laona story is told across all Mexico and throughout Latin America with countless local variations.
In some versions, she is a Mexican noble woman who killed her children rather than let the Spanish take them.
In some she is La Malinkke the Malantin the indigenous woman who served as Cortez's translator and lover and has been both revered and reviled in Mexican history as the mother of the uh mystizo nation and as the ultimate traitor.
In some versions, she is simply a village woman, poor and desperate, betrayed by a man who promised everything but delivered nothing. The multiplicity of versions at this point is quite interesting. You see, Laorona is a figure capacious enough to contain the grief of an entire civilization.
She's a mother who lost her kids. She's the indigenous world that was drowned by conquest. the woman destroyed by a man's betrayal.
She's all of these things at the same time. And the reason she has endured for centuries is that her grief is inexhaustible because the conditions that produced it have never been resolved.
Scholars have traced possible pre-Colombian roots for Laona, the Aztec goddess Kia, the serpent woman. Uh, that's Kiwa Kotil, excuse me, who was said to wander the streets of Tinoidlan at night, weeping and crying out, dressed in white, sometimes carrying the body of a child.
She was one of the omens said to have preceded the Spanish conquest, a supernatural warning of a catastrophe to come. The Florentine Codeex compiled by the Franciscan frier Bernardino de Sahogun was the the indigenous informants in mid6th century records her appearance among the eight prodigies that disturbed Mktazuma in the years before 1519.
Now whether Lalona is a direct descendant of Kiwakoto or a colonial era creation that absorbed pre-Colombian elements is debated.
But the connection is significant because it suggests that Laerona is not merely a ghost story, but a deep cultural response to loss, a figure that the Mexican imagination has needed in one form or another for a very long time.
The practical folklore surrounding Laorona is specific and local. In communities near rivers and canals, which means most of Mexico, particularly the valley of Mexico, where canals once crisscross the landscape, parents warn children with absolute seriousness not to go near the water after dark, because obviously Larona is going to take them.
This was not a bedtime story told for entertainment, but rather a safety measure with genuine urgency.
And think about it in practical ways.
Canals and rivers were genuinely dangerous and kids playing around them drowned quite regularly.
So anything to keep the kids away from that kind of danger.
Later was at one level a pedagogical tool. The personalized form of real danger made vivid enough to override a child's curiosity.
But she was also more than that because adults believed in her too. night watchmen, taxi drivers, farmers returning late from fields. People across Mexico have reported hearing the wailing near water. And these reports continue to the present day. The anthropologist Matthew Looper has documented Laorona sightings in urban Mexico City as recent as the 2000s in neighborhoods built over old Aztec canal systems as though the weeping woman has followed the water even underground.
Ooh, she's right there beneath your feet, ready to grab you.
The supernatural beastiary of Mexico is one of the richest in the Americas, and its creatures are not the distant mythological beasts of classical tradition. They're local and immediate.
They might live in the ravine behind the village, in the tree outside the window, or even in the body of the person sitting right next to you.
This immediacy is what makes Mexican folk creatures so unsettling. They're not safely confined to that once upon a time. No, they're right here, right now.
The narwhal, sometimes spelled N A G U L, is perhaps the most distinctly Mesoamerican of all Mexican folk beliefs.
The nal is a person who can transform into an animal. Might be a jaguar, an owl, coyote, dog, turkey. But if they're really malevolent, maybe even a ball of fire.
The concept as deep pre-Colombian roots.
In natal, the word nali refers to a sorcerer or a person's animal double.
And the ability to transform was associated with specific deities. The smoking mirror, uh, Texaloka, the god of night, sorcery, and transformation.
In postconquest Mexican folklore, the Nwal became a figure of profound ambivalence.
Some nales were healers, kuranderos who could take animal form to travel the spirit world and retrieve lost souls.
Others were bruos sorcerers who used their power for uh malice transforming at night to spy on enemies, steal from neighbors, and cause illness.
In many communities, the belief that certain individuals could transform into animals persisted well into modern times. And anthropologists working in rural Mexico have documented elaborate systems of belief about how noales operated, how they could be identified and stopped. iron prayer, catching them redhanded in the act, or simply watching for the person in the village who was always tired in the morning, obviously because they'd spent the night running around in their animal form.
The concept of the tonal, the animal spirit companion that every person is born with, is closely related to the nal, but distinct from it. In Mesoamerican thought, every human being has a corresponding animal that shares their fate. If the donal is injured, then the person is injured. If the tonal dies, well, you get it. The tonal is not a pet or a familiar, though. It's rather a parallel self living in the world, connected to you by invisible bonds that you might not even be aware of.
The kurandero, the healer, might diagnose a p patients illness not by examining the patient but by journeying to find their toenail and discovering that it had been trapped, injured or lost. Not a metaphor but a diagnosis and the treatment is real medicine within the framework of a belief system i.e. the liberation or healing of the tonal.
The Chanis, also uh called Alukes in the Maya regions, are small, mischievous nature spirits who guard the forests, rivers, and wild places.
They're typically described as childsized, sometimes invisible, sometimes appearing as small children, or dwarves.
The Ches are guardians of the natural world. Specifically, they guard the boundaries between the human and the wild. If you enter the forest without permission, if you take more than what you need, show disrespect to the land, they're going to show up and punish you.
They'll steal your soul. Or more precisely, they will frighten you so badly that your soul detaches from your body, a condition known as sust or soul loss, which is one of the most widespread and persistent folk illnesses in Mexico. And you don't want to get that.
The symptoms of sust are specific.
Lethargy, depression, loss of appetite, inability to sleep, and a general wasting away.
The cure requires a kurandero who can retrieve the lost soul from the uh chanekes and restore it to the body.
A process that may involve rituals, prayers, offerings left at the place where the fright occurred and Olympia, the ritual cleansing.
Now, the Leuza, the owl witch, is another figure of particular dread. In Mexican folklore, owls are almost universally associated with death and witchcraft. The hoot of an owl near your house is a bad omen. Someone's going to die or a witch is keeping an eye on you.
The Leuza is specifically a bruer who has transformed into a large owl and who perches on rooftops or flies around houses at night. She is said to target families with newborns, men who have been unfaithful and people who have offended her and their human form.
In some regions of northern Mexico and the Texas borderlands, the lacuzza is enormous, the size of a person, and her eyes glow red. The remedy is to hang scissors in the shape of a cross above the door, or to throw salt toward the owl, or to curse at her in specific terms that break the transformation.
The Leuza belief it's a living tradition and it is reported with complete sincerity by people in rural and semi-ural communities throughout Mexico and the diaspora to this day.
The Alabriz deserve mention here though they occupy a peculiar space between folklore and modern folk art.
The original Alabriz were fantastical creatures dreamed by the Mexico City artist Pedro Linares in 1936 during a fever induced delirium. Brightly colored chimas with the bodies of dragons, the wings of butterflies, the heads of roosters, each one different, and each one shouting the word alabri in his dream.
Leonard began making them as paperiermâé sculptures and artisans in the oascan village of San Martin Telka Telkayete adapted the concept into carved wooden figures painting them in dazzling psychedelic colors that have made them quite famous.
The Alabri are not traditional folk creatures in the way that the Nals and Chanakees are. They're more modern, barely a century old, but they have been absorbed into the folk imagination so completely that they now appear in the Day of the Dead celebrations in popular culture and in the folk understanding of the spirit world, just as though they'd always been there.
And you see, that's how folk law works.
It's not a closed cannon. It's rather a living tradition that always absorbs new material and sometimes just makes its own.
The Cado, a spectral dog that appears to travelers at night, is another figure.
Now, there are two Cadillos, one white and one black. The white Cado is a protector sent by God to guard drunkards and lost souls wandering dangerous roads at night. But the black cado is a demon sent to lead you astray and devour your soul. The two Cadillos sometimes fight over a human charge and the outcome determines whether you make it home alive.
The Cado tradition is strongest in southern Mexico and Guatemala. And it is a folklore of the road, you see, of the dark stretches between villages, the dangers of traveling alone and after too many drinks, of the belief that even in the most dangerous moments, protection and destruction are both possible, and that which one you encounter sometimes depends on forces beyond your control.
Well, moving on from that, let's return to the beginning. You see, in the introduction, we mentioned the Day of the Dead, dear de los Muertos, and now we got to return to that in a bit more depth because, well, it's pretty cool, layman's terms. But it's also a way of understanding the relationship between the living, the dead, and the divine that draws on both Catholic and Mesoamerican traditions while producing something that belongs entirely to neither.
Let's start with the ofenda. That is the altar built in the home for the returning dead, the centerpiece of the celebration. And it is constructed with extraordinary care according to specific principles. A traditional orphenda has multiple levels, two, three, or seven depending on the region and the family's tradition. The levels represent the layers of the cosmos, earth, sky, the underworld, or in more elaborately Catholic interpretations, the stages of the soul's journey.
Each element on the offender has a specific function.
The maragolds are not decorative. Their intense color and scent guide the dead to the altar, and their spirits follow the fragrance. [clears throat] The cobalt incense, another of a pre-Colombian element, purifies the space and creates a path between the worlds. The candles represent the light that guides the dead. The water quenches their thirst out a long journey uh journey rather from Miklan, the Aztec underworld. The salt purifies the bread, the pandem.
and the photographs, the personal belongings, the food and drinks. These are the proof that the dead person is remembered, which is the only thing that the dead really want.
The Aztec concept of death in the afterlife was radically different from the Christian one. And this difference is visible in the day of the dead. Even today, in Aztec theology, your fate after death was determined not by how you lived, but rather how you died.
Warriors who fell in battle and women who died in childbirth, which was considered a form of combat, went to the house of the sun, accompanying the solar deity across the sky. Those who died by drowning or by lightning went to Tlukan, the paradise of the rain god Tlalok.
Everyone else, the vast majority, went to Miklan, the land of the dead, a cold, dark, and quiet place ruled by a skeletal god. Now, Miklan was not punishment. It was simply where the dead went. It was not hell. It was just the destination, and reaching it required a journey of four years through nine levels of increasingly difficult trials.
The living helped the dead complete this journey by providing offerings, yet food, water, tools, companions, all at specific intervals after death.
When the Spanish imposed Catholicism, they moved the indigenous celebrations of the dead, which had been originally observed in August, to coincide with All Saints and All Souls Day, November the 1st and 2nd.
The overlay was imperfect and the imperfection is what makes the day of the dead so culturally distinctive.
The Catholic theology of the dead, purgatory, intercession, the communion of saints, merged with the Mesoamerican theology of the dead, miklan, the journey, the obligation of the living to feed and guide the departed.
And all up they produce something that is both and neither. A celebration that uses Catholic dates and Catholic prayers, but that operates according to a logic that is fundamentally indigenous.
The dead are not in purgatory waiting for prayers to release them. They are rather on a journey and in need your help. They need food, drink, light, and love.
They can't do it on their own. So go and build that altar, not as a memorial, but as a supply station.
Next up, we have Mexican folk medicine.
Kuranderismo is one of the most elaborate and internally consisting healing traditions in the Americas. And the special thing is it is very much still alive.
Kuranderismo is not a historical curiosity or a marginal practice combined to remote villages. It's used by millions of people across Mexico and the diaspora often alongside not instead of modern biomedical care. The kurandero or kurandera is a healer, a herbalist, a spiritual practitioner and a community counselor. and their role in Mexican life is pretty difficult to overstate.
Guranderismo operates in the principles that illness has three possible causes: natural, spiritual, and emotional.
Natural illness, a broken bone, or an infection. Well, you best go to a doctor for that. But many illnesses are not natural. They're caused by spiritual imbalance, by supernatural aggression, or by emotional shock. And these require a different kind of treatment. The most important folk illnesses in the Mexican system are sust and malair.
Sustto, a soul loss caused by fright, is treated going through a ritual called a bida or limpia in which the kurandero sweeps the patients body with herbs, often rosemary, basil or rue, while reciting prayers and calling the soul back to the body.
The patient may also be told to return to the place where the fright occurred and to call out their own name.
Maldo, the evil eye, is caused by a strong or envious gaze and is treated by passing an egg over the body and then cracking it into a glass of water. The shape of the egg white reveals the uh nature and severity of the affliction.
Empo, a kind of spiritual or physical blockage in the stomach, is treated by massage and by pulling the skin of the lower back, a technique called trona elmpacho.
Malair or bad air is an illness caused by exposure to harmful spiritual winds, particularly in cemeteries, ruins or other haunted places, and is treated with limpia's herbal baths and the burning of copal. Now speaking of limpia, the ritual cleansing, that is perhaps the central practice of the kurand, excuse me, kuranderismo.
It can take many forms. Sweeping the body with herbs, passing an egg over the body, spraying the patient with mouthfuls of holy water, passing candles over the body, or smudging with copal smoke.
The logic of the lympia is simple and powerful. Illness is a contamination, a spiritual dirt. And the limpia cleans it away.
The herbs, the egg, the smoke, the water, these are the sponges that absorb the negative and carry it away in the body. The kurandero then disposes of the contaminated materials. The herbs are burned. The egg is broken. The water is poured out at a crossroads ensuring that the illness is not merely removed but completely destroyed.
The herbal knowledge of kuranderos is genuinely vast. Mexican folk pharmacopia includes hundreds of plants many of which have been in continuous use since pre-Colombian times and many of which we have demonstrated have pharmacological activity in modern studies.
Episote for intestinal parasites.
Damiana for depression and anxiety.
Arnica for inflammation. Yerba buena for digestive complaints. Fmanita for cardiac conditions and so on. The banana manuscript the lielis de medicabilus indorum herbis excuse me. Let me do that one again. Libelis de Medicicanalus Indorum Erbis, excuse the Latin, compiled in 1552 by the Aztec physician Martin de la Cruz and translated into Latin by Juan Pandiano is one of the earliest pharmacapers of the Americas and documents a medical tradition of extraordinary sophistication.
The kuranderos of today are the interiors of this tradition, modified by centuries of interaction with Spanish herbalism, Catholic prayer, and the practical demands of communities that often have limited access to modernized healthcare facilities.
The spiritual dimension of the Kuranderismo also includes the use of Tascal, the Mesoamerican sweat lodge, a dome structure heated with volcanic stones onto which water and herbs are purred on to create a dense and fragrant steam.
Now, it's not merely a bath. It's more a ritual of rebirth. The dome represents the womb of the earth goddess and entering it is a symbolic return to the womb from which you emerge purified, renewed, and reborn.
Sounds like it's worth a try, right?
Deascal ceremonies were documented by the Spanish in the 16th century and were initially suppressed as pagan, but they survived as so much really did survive in Mexico by going underground and reemerging when the pressure was off.
Today, Damascow ceremonies are practiced across Mexico by kuranderos, midwives, and increasingly by urban Mexicans seeking spiritual and physical healing.
And they represent one of the most direct unbroken connections to pre-Colombian ritual practice in the Americas.
On December the 12th, 1531, according to tradition, a recently converted indigenous man named Juan Diego saw a vision of the Virgin Mary on the hill of Tepayak, just north of Mexico City.
She spoke to him in Noatil. She appeared as a dark skinned woman dressed in a mantle covered with stars. She asked that a church be built on the spot. the same spot where before the conquest a temple of the Aztec mother goddess Tonantin had stood.
When the bishop demanded proof, roses appeared on the baron hillside in December, and when Juan Diego opened his cloak to show the bishop the roses, the image of the Virgin Mary was miraculously imprinted upon the fabric.
Now that cloak, the tilma, still hangs today at the Basilica of Our Lady of Guadalupe in Mexico City. The most visited Catholic site in the world, by the way.
The Virgin of Guadalupe is the most important religious figure in Mexico.
More important in practice than Christ himself, some might say. She is on the flag of the Mexican Revolution. She is tattooed on the arms of gang members and embroidered on the vestments of archbishops.
She hangs from the rear view mirrors of taxis and is painted on the walls of the cantas.
She has invoked baptisms, funerals, soccer matches, and at political rallies. She's both Orthodox Catholic and folk religion bound in one. But she's also the boundary between the two.
But in the Mexican context, it's kind of impossible to draw that.
The folklore surrounding Guadalupe is vast. Her appearance on the hill of Teayak, the same hill where Tonansin was worshiped, is key to her power. She is the point of fusion between the indigenous and the Catholic, the mother goddess who speaks Noatil and wears a mantle of stars.
The great Mexican poet and essaist Octavio Paz argued that Guadalupe is the true spiritual mother of the Mystiso nation. The figure who makes it possible to be both indigenous and Catholic, both conquered and faithful without any contradiction.
the folk practices surrounding her feast day, the serenades at midnight, the pilgrimages to the basilica, roses and candles, and uh the dancers in their feathered headdresses performing the indigenous influence choreography on the steps of the church. They're a demonstration of that fusion that defines Mexican culture, the indigenous and the European, pagan and Christian, ancient and modern. It's held together. Perhaps not by logic, but by devotion.
Logically, the Catholic Church would have stamped all this out. I mean, they're not known for their uh inclusion of indigenous religious practice, but like we said, things go underground.
The folk practices surrounding Guadalupe extend into every corner of Mexican life. Truck drivers paint her image on their vehicles for protection on the road. And you'll see plenty of boxers with their images uh with her image on their shorts, too. Mothers even named their daughters Guadalupe, Lupita, more than any other name in Mexico.
The manas perfect day serenades sung to her on December 12th at the Basilica beginning at midnight draw millions. And the exit photos, small painted tin panels thanking her for miracles, are a folk art form of extraordinary power.
Painted by ordinary people, often uh a little naive in style, but devastating in emotional impact, depicting the accident survived the illness cured a child save. each one accompanied by a handwritten inscription expressing gratitude in the most direct unadorned language imaginable.
The exotos are displayed in churches and shrines across Mexico, and they constitute a collective autobiography of the Mexican people for all their fears, suffering, faith, and their conviction that the dark-skinned mother on the hill of the Deayak is still listening.
Mexico also has a thriving tradition of folk saints, figures who are venerated as saints by popular devotion, but who have never actually been canonized by the Catholic Church and in most cases never will be. These folk saints occupy a fascinating space between the official religion and popular folklore. Their cults tell us something important about Mexican spirituality and how it actually works on the ground level.
First off, we've got Jesus Malverde, the so-called Narco saint, venerated primarily in the northern state of Sinaloa.
According to legend, he was a bandit in the early 20th century who stolen the rich and gave to the poor, a kind of Mexican Robin Hood who was hanged by authorities around 1909.
His shrine in Kulyakan is often visited by drug traffickers, migrants, the poor, desperate, and the merely hopeful. They leave offerings of cash, personal objects, prayers, and believe it or not, sometimes drugs.
Mel Verde is not in any way endorsed by the church, as you can imagine.
He may not even be in existence a historical person at all, but still he's venerated with complete sincerity by those people who feel that the official saints do not really understand their situation. These people who live outside the law, or at least on its ragged edge, and they need a saint who understands, who's been where they've been. After all, they just feel like they're talking to a stuffed shirt if it's someone else.
And then there is Santa Muerte, holy death, the skeletal saint, the most controversial and fastest growing folk devotion in the Americas.
Santa Muer is depicted as a female skeleton, often wearing a long robe and carrying a scythe and a globe. and she is venerated by an estimated 10 to 12 million people in Mexico and the United States. The Catholic Church has condemned her cult unequivocally, calling it a blasphemous one, a satanic one, incompatible with Christianity.
And yet her devotees are in many cases sincere Catholics who don't see any contradiction whatsoever in praying to both the Virgin of Guadalupe and to holy death.
Santa Muerte is the saint of last resort. The one you turn to when everything else has failed. When the church has kicked you out. When society doesn't want you. She doesn't judge or discriminate. She accepts everyone. The sex worker, the drug dealer, prisoner, migrant, a queer person, someone with AIDS, the person who has been told that they are beyond salvation.
Her appeal is precisely her lack of moral conditions. I mean, she's death and that is the great equalizer.
The roots of Santa Muerte are debatable.
Some scholars see her as a direct descendant of uh the Aztec goddess of death. Others argue she's an ex-colonial era figure derived from European personifications of death that were brought to Mexico by the Spanish.
The truth is probably a bit of both.
She's a figure that draws on Mesoamerican comfort with skeletal imagery and on European momento mory traditions fused in her crucible of Mexican folk religion into something that belongs entirely to Mexico.
her rapid growth in the last two decades from a hidden marginalized cult to a visible public and increasingly mainstream devotion. It's one of the most significant developments in the religious history of the Americas.
And it is at its core a folk phenomenon.
It's not driven by priests or theologians, but by ordinary people who have found her bony embrace, a kind of spiritual acceptance that the priest wasn't really handing out on the Sunday morning service.
The Mexican ritual year is one of the most densely packed festival calendars in the world.
There are an estimated 5,000 distinct annual fiestas celebrated across the country and that includes patron saint days, harvest festivals, carnival celebrations, holy week processions, day of the dead observances and virtually all of them contain elements that blend Catholic liturgy with an indigenous ritual in ways that are locally specific and endlessly inventive.
The danza delos bolodaradarees, the dance of the flyers, is one of the most spectacular survivals of pre-Colombian rituals.
Five men climb a 30 m pole. One sits on top playing a flute and drum. The other four, tied to the pole by ropes wound around their waists, launch themselves into the air and spiral slowly down, hanging upside down, the ropes unwind.
Each flyer makes 13 revolutions and 4 * 13 is 52, the number of years in the Mesoamerican calendar cycle, a sacred count that govern the rhythm of Aztec and Maya time.
The Danza delos volarees is performed today in Papatla Ver Cruz and other communities and it was recognized by UNESCO as intangible cultural heritage in 2009.
Now, it's not really a show. It's more of a prayer. A prayer for fertility, for rain, for the continuation of the cycle performed in the air between earth and sky in the space where human and divine meet.
Simana Santa Holy Week is observed across Mexico with a fervor that is both deeply Catholic and unmistakably Mexican.
In the town of Tusco, Guer uh Guerrero rather, penitants carry enormous bundles of thorny branches on their bare backs through the streets, their feet bleeding on the cobblestones.
In the Tara communities of the Sierra Madre, Holy Week is a ritual drama in which the community divides into two groups. The Pharisees representing evil and the soldiers of God representing good who enact the cosmic battle through days of dancing, drumming, and ritualized combat that owes as much to indigenous ceremony as to Catholic liturgy.
in Ista Palapa, a workingclass neighborhood of Mexico City. The Passion play is performed with a cast of thousands and the man chosen to play Jesus Christ is considered to be genuinely blessed and he genuinely suffers. He's tied to the cross for hours in the sun.
Well, they are proper participations of many people. The line between representing Christ's suffering and experiencing it dissolves and theology of identification of literally taking the pain into your body is felt not theorized.
Next we have laada celebrated for nine nights before Christmas from December 16th to December 24th.
Another distinctly Mexican folk Catholic tradition.
Groups of neighbors process through the streets carrying figures of Mary and Joseph, singing a litany in which they request pada shelter at each house.
The householders refuse, singing back that there is no room. Finally, at the designated house, the door opens and the pilgrims are welcomed in. And when they are, the party starts. pinatas, punch, tamales and the breaking of the pinata that is itself a ritual of complex symbolism.
The traditional pinata is a seven-pointed star and the seven points represent the seven deadly sins.
The blindfolded person swings the stick and represents faith. The breaking of the piata represents the triumph of faith over sin. And the candy that falls, well, that's the rewards of God.
This is a folk theology, never officially promagated by any catechism, but it transforms a children's party game into a almost cosmological drama.
And the nine nights of Laosada mirror the nine months of Mary's pregnancy, the nine levels of Miklan, and some scholars argue the nine levels of the Aztec underworld through which all of the dead must pass.
The numbers align in ways that are probably not coincidental.
Finally, there is Kibal celebrated just before Lent. It takes wildly different forms across Mexico.
In Pueebla, thousands of participants reenact the battle of Puebla in the story of the bandit Augustine Lorenzo, firing real musketss loaded with gunpowder blanks in a cacophony of smoke and noise that shakes the ground.
In Takcala, Carnival features the werewest, groups of dancers wearing elaborate masks and costumes, including the Katrines, figures dressed as 19th century European dandies, which is itself a commentary on class colonialism and the absurdity of cultural imitation.
In Veraracruz, Carnival is a Caribbean influenced one with comparas and floats.
Each regional carnival is a panel set of local history, indigenous ritual and colonial imposition, but also a bit of popular creativity telling a different story about what it means to live in a particular place with a particular past.
Now, just before we finish up for today, it's important to remember that Mexican folklore is not receding, it's expanding.
one of the most dynamic, productive, and globally influential folkloruric traditions in the world today. That's for sure. And its influence extends far beyond the borders of Mexico itself.
The Mexican diaspora, over 37 million people of Mexico, living India, United States alone, has carried the traditions northward.
The Day of the Dead celebrations are now held in cities across the United States and increasingly around the world. Also, Kuranderismo is practiced in Los Angeles, Houston, Chicago, and New York.
The Virgin of Guadalupe is venerated wherever there are Mexican communities.
The corridor, the narrative folk ballad that has been Mexico's primary form of popular storytelling since the 19th century, has evolved into the narco corridor, a controversial but wildly popular genre that narrates the exploits of drug traffickers with the same formal structure and moral complexity that earlier coridos brought to revolutionaries and bandits.
The tradition is not preserved in amber, but it is alive, and like all living things, it changes.
And the corido is worth dwelling on. You see, it's a narrative ballad, a story told in song that has served Mexico's popular newspaper, its oral history, and moral commentaries since the 19th century.
The great corridors of the revolution, La Kukaracha, Adelita, corridor deanchovia told the stories of the revolution as the people re uh experienced them, not as the governments narrated them. They celebrated bandits, mourned martyrs, mocked the pitiful, and immortalized the defiant.
The Gorido form is deceptively simple, stroic, usually in Walt's time, with a narrator who addresses the audience directly, but it has this intense power to it. In a culture where literacy was limited, and official history was controlled, the corido was the people's medium, and its truths were often more durable than anything published in a newspaper or decreed by a president.
Well, at the heart of it all, there is this collision that continues. The ancient violent creative collision between the indigenous and the European, between the pyramid and the cross, and between the corn and the wheat, the skull and the flower.
Mexican folklore is an ongoing negotiation of that collision and has produced one of the richest, most resilient and emotionally powerful cultural traditions on Earth. As a matter of fact, the last Mexican thing I attended was Mexican Independence Day celebration at a Mexican restaurant in Guangjo, China. That's how far it goes.
They had a band playing lukar and everything. Everyone was dressed up in sombrero and we all danced and drank till the morning.
It was fantastic.
The time of my life. Met a pretty girl too. No.
Anyway, good memories.
In any case, Mexican folklore has a lot to offer. So, you should go down south and check it out. or depending on where you are. I know that about 56% of you are from the US. So, why not go and check it out south of the border cross the Rio Grand and uh see what's going on. You might have fun. Anyway, thank you for joining me. Another addition to our ever growing folklore playlist. It's good that it's filling out her. certainly making something worth preserving here on YouTube.
Thank you for joining me. See you next time. And uh there tell your friends.
We'll all be here waiting for them to join the club. Farewell for now.
Many a ruler and empire walked through Palestine.
Egyptian, Mesopotamian, Roman, Byzantine, Arab crusader, Ottoman. They all crossed that same piece of land between Africa and Asia.
And every one of them left a little something behind.
Not just ruins, but songs and stories and rituals.
Layer upon layer of cultural sediment deposited over millennia, forming a single living tradition.
A Palestinian wedding custom might carry some trace of a Canaanite fertility, right? A harvest song might echo pre-Islamic Arabian poetry.
An embroidery pattern might encode information about a woman's village, her family, her status, her life. A visual language passed from mother to daughter across generations.
It's not confusion or borrowing. It's just what happens when a culture occupies the same landscape for thousands of years.
It seems to accumulate extraordinary depth.
And we are diving deep into those depths today with our guide to Palestinian folklore.
Good to see you all here. Just before we start, thank you to everyone keeping this ad free across the entire library of the channel. Uh those supporting on Patreon, YouTube memberships, the merch store and donations, links in description and pinned comment. If you can't do that, give it a like, comment, and subscribe, and share it around with your friends. Anyway, that being said, let's get started.
Palestine is one of the most continuously inhabited landscapes on Earth. Jericho has a credible claim of being one of the oldest continuously occupied cities in the world with evidence of settlement going back over 10,000 years.
The Canaanite civilization that preceded the Israelite period left traces in place names in agricultural practices and as scholars now believe in folk rituals that persisted in the countryside for thousands of years after the Canaanites themselves ceased to exist as a distinct political entity.
The Finnish Palestinian scholar Tafi Kanan, a physician and ethnographer who spent the first half of the 20th century documenting the folk beliefs of Palestinian villages, was particularly attentive to these survivals.
In his landmark study, Muhammadan saints and sanctuaries in Palestine, published in 1927, Kanan documented hundreds of local shrines called Makamat scattered across the Palestinian landscape.
small domed buildings, sacred trees, springs, and hilltop sites where villagers came to pray, make vows to tie rags to branches, light candles, and seek the intercession of a local holy figure called a war.
Canaan recognized that many of these sites predated Islam and in many cases even predated Christianity.
The sacred tree on the hilltop, the spring with healing powers, the stone that women touched for fertility.
Well, these were all patterns that reached back into the Canaanite religion, into the worship of Bal and Asher and the local deities of that longgone bronze age.
Well, as for the villagers who visited these sites in the 1920s, they might have had a little bit of an idea that these places were significant, but they didn't know that they were performing rituals with 3,000year-old roots.
As a matter of fact, they didn't really need to know. The landscape remembered enough for them, even when the people had forgotten.
This deep continuity is one of the Palestinian folklor's roster remarkable features. The anthropologist Shellag Weir writing about Palestinian village life observed that the agricultural calendar of Palestinian peasants, the Felaheen, followed rhythms that had been established in the region long before Islam, long before Christianity and anything else, reaching back into the seasonal cycles of the ancient near east.
the timing of planting and harvest, the festivals that marked the solstesses and equinoxes.
All of these had pre-monotheistic origins that were later absorbed into the Islamic calendar and given Islamic explanations, but whose underlying structure remained to be fundamentally ancient.
the Thursday visit to the cemetery, the springtime picnic at the Wally Shrine, and of course, the certain nights of fire lighting.
These were not inventions of Arab conquest, rather inheritances from a world so old that its origins had been lost even to memory.
But one of the most striking survivals was the veneration of sacred trees.
Kanan documented dozens of sacred trees across Palestine. Oaks, terabins, carobs, sycamores, a little bit of everything. They were believed to be inhabited by aliyah saints or by jin or simply by a numinous power that had no name.
Rags were tied to the branches by supplicants. Nails were hammered into the trunks as part of healing rituals, transferring the disease from the body into the tree.
Oil was poured on the roots. Sick children were passed through hollows in their trunks to be healed.
And these practices are attested in Canaanite religion. The worship at high places under sacred trees that the Hebrew Bible condemns repeatedly is in all probability the ancestor of Palestinian tree shrines.
The condemnation itself is evidence of continuity. You don't need to repeatedly forbid something that nobody is doing right.
But let's move on from that. Let's talk about the gin.
Now, the jin in Palestinian folklore are not exotic.
Rather, they are domestic.
They are your neighbors, albeit invisible neighbors, but neighbors nonetheless, living in the same landscape, sharing the same water sources and ultimately subject to the same God.
The Palestinian relationship with the Jin is one of the most richly documented in the Arab world, largely thanks to Canaan's meticulous fieldwork. And it reveals a world view in which the boundary between the seen and unseen was porous, negotiable, and absolutely central to daily life.
Palestinian jin had addresses.
They lived in specific places, abandoned houses, ruined buildings, maybe an old well or a cave, not to mention the corners of bathrooms and most importantly beneath certain ancient trees.
The bum tree, the Atlantic terabin, was particularly associated with gin habitation, as were the very old oaks and carob trees and carob trees. Now these trees were not cut down not because uh of environmentalism in a modern sense but because cutting down a gin's tree would well that would bring a terrible retribution might be illness madness miscarriage or death of livestock things like this.
Kanan recorded cases in which villagers attributed specific misfortunes to the felling of a particular tree, even one decades earlier.
You see, the problem is the jin are kind of like elephants. They have long memories, and they're not known for their forgiveness.
They tend to hold a grudge a little bit.
The rules for coexisting with jin were elaborate and strictly observed. You said bismillah in the name of God before putting hot water down a drain because a gin might be in the pipe. You said dasur permission before entering a ruin or an unfamiliar building. You didn't throw stones at night. You might hit a jin by mistake.
And you didn't whistle after dark. You also didn't linger at a crossroad at twilight. The Mrib hour, the hour between day and night, that belonged to the jin. The time when they were most active and most dangerous.
Children were bought indoors at McGribb.
Laundry was taken off the line. The doors were closed. The transition from day to night was not merely a change in lighting. It was rather a change in sovereignity.
Sure, the humans ruled in the daylight.
But when the dusk came and night fell, the time belonged to the jin.
Now certain jin were known by name and reputation. The karina, sometimes called um al-uban, mother of children, was a female jinny who attacked newborns and new mothers.
She was the Palestinian equivalent of the Persian owl, and the uh precautions against her were remarkably similar.
Iron objects placed around the birthing broom, blue beads hung on the baby, amulets containing Quranic verses sewn into the infant's clothing. The fear of the karina was not abstract because well in practical terms infant mortality in Palestinian villages was devastatingly high well into the 20th century.
The karina provided an explanation.
A name for the nameless terror of losing a child, but more importantly a set of actions that you could take.
You couldn't really prevent a disease that you didn't understand, but you could hang up an amulet. You could burn some incense. You could recite some protective sutras.
Do what you can with what you understand.
The karina gave you something to fight against. And that in terms of psychologically was a lot better than just being helpless.
But there was also the ghoul that is G H U L which is basically ghoul, right? A word that has entered English but lost most of its original meaning. In Palestinian folklore, the ghoul was a shape-shifting gin of the wilderness, the bar, open country beyond the village.
Well, it appeared to solitary travelers, often in the form of a beautiful woman or a friendly stranger, luring them away from the path. And once you followed the ghoul into the wilderness, you were lost spiritually and literally, the ghoul might then devour you, or it might simply lead you in circles until you died of thirst and exhaustion.
The remedy was the adan, the Islamic call to prayer. which was powerful enough to cause the ghoul to flee, or the striking of iron, which all jyn feared.
The ghoul stories are, among other things, a folklore of the desert edge, the borderland between the sown and the unsung, between the village and void that defined much of the geography of southern Palestine.
Palestinian folklore also knew the Afarit, a more powerful and well malevolent category of jin.
Now the Ephrit was bigger, stronger and uh more dangerous than an ordinary gin, and encounters with the Aferit were narrated by the particular dread. They were there to inhabit ruins and Palestine with its layered archaeological history was full of them.
You had the Roman columns, the crusader walls, Ottoman kms, all half buried in the landscape and all potentially home to supernatural occupants who didn't take visitors.
The most feared ruins were those that contained underground spaces, sistns, sellers, burial chambers because the afarit preferred darkness and depth.
Shepherds gave wide birth to certain ruins and children were absolutely forbidden from playing in them, not because of the danger of falling stones, though that was real enough, but because an apherit might seize them.
But if you know about kids, they probably played in them anyway.
Anyway, the practical and uh supernatural dangers were in the Palestinian world view, not separate categories. They were the same danger, but just viewed from a different angle.
And then there were the Silar, a female jin of extraordinary beauty, who appeared to men traveling alone, often near water sources.
She would ask for help, a ride, a drink, directions, something like that. And if the man complied, she would reveal her true form and devour him. The silar could be identified by her feet, which were sometimes described as hoofs or turned backwards.
The detail about the feet is widespread in Jin folklore across the Arab world.
And it shows a practical message. You have to look at the details. Look carefully.
Beauty can be deceiving, and the truth is often found in those details that the illusion cannot quite get right.
Palestinian folk narrative was overwhelmingly a woman's art. The stories were told by women, two other women and children in the domestic space of the home, usually in the evening after a day's work had been done.
The storyteller, the uh Hakawatia as it's called, was often an older woman, a grandmother or an aunt, and her authority was absolute for the duration of the tale.
The opening formula was specific and beautiful.
It would be uh something like there was or there was not in the oldest of times, things like that. Now, this formula is shared across the Arab-speaking world.
But what followed was distinctly Palestinian in its setting character and concerns.
The Palestinian Hikay which is their oral tradition as studied by the scholar Ibrahim Muhawi of the folklorist and the folklorist Sharif Kana in their essential collection speak bird speak again published in 1989 based on stories recorded in the West Bank and Gaza reveals a narrative tradition of remarkable sophistication.
The tales were not just simple moral fables. They are complex explorations of social power, gender relations, family dynamics, and the tension between individual desire and community obligation.
A typical hikay might concern a young woman who is mistreated by her stepmother. Once again, evil stepmothers across the whole global breadth of folklore. Or a younger son who might prove himself against his older brothers. Perhaps a girl who is transformed into a bird and must find her way back to human form.
The structures are familiar from the folk narrative worldwide.
Cinderella types, quest narratives, transformation tales, but the details are where they become consistently local.
The food is Palestinian food. Muchadara mansaf musakan. The landscape is a Palestinian landscape. the olive grove threshing floor.
The social tensions are Palestinian tensions, the dynamics of extended families, the power of the mother-in-law, and the vulnerability of the bride in her husband's household.
Once again, these may be globalized concerns.
Muhawi and Kanana made a crucial observation about the gendered nature of these tales. The hikay functioned in part as a space in which women could articulate truths about their lives that they couldn't really state directly.
A woman who could not publicly criticize her husband's family could tell a story in which a cruel mother-in-law was punished by supernatural forces.
A young woman who dreaded an arranged marriage could listen to a tale in which the clever heroine outwitted an unwanted sutor. Now these tales were not really escapism. They were more of a parallel discourse, a way of speaking about real power relations through a safe medium of that once upon a time.
The closing formula of the hikay acknowledged this specifically.
Basically, that's the end of the story.
The bird has flown to its nest, and ours is the best of all. Something like that.
The story was over, but those truths lingered in the room.
Certain tale types were distinctly Palestinian in their emphasis, the clever maiden stories, in which a young maiden outsmarts a king or a wealthy man through wit and linguistic skill.
They're particularly prominent in the Palestinian repertoire. Muhawi and Canana argue that these stories reflect the real social intelligence that Palestinian women needed to navigate a patriarchal world in which their formal power was limited, but their informal influence was quite considerable.
The clever maiden doesn't really rebel.
She doesn't overthrow social order. She works within it using its own rules, language, and values, and she wins.
The stories are not revolutionary.
They're strategic. They teach survival through intelligence. And they suggest that the deepest form of power is the ability to understand a system so thoroughly that you can turn it to your advantage without appearing to challenge it at all.
Animal tales, kurafiat, were another important genre, told especially to children, but enjoyed by adults as well.
The hyena appeared frequently as a figure of stupidity and brute force, easily outwitted by smaller and more clever animals.
The fox, the talab, that was the trickster, the clever one, the eternal survival.
The gazelle, beauty and grace, the tortoise, patience.
These animal tales functioned as a moral education teaching children that values that the uh immunity prized like cleverness over strength and patience over haste. They were uh also entertainment sure but they were performed with voices, gestures and sound effects by storytellers who were in their own way consumate performers.
Palestinian proverbs amal are another vast reservoir of folk wisdom and they are among the most vivid in the Arab-speaking world. For example, the eye cannot re uh rise above the eyebrow, meaning know your place, do not overreach. And also, he who wants to marry my mother, I'll call him uncle, meaning be pragmatic and accept what you can't change.
Next one. The world is never free of traitors, which well doesn't really need much explanation.
The proverbs are durmic, often darkly humorous, and they encode a worldview that's deeply realist, unscentimental about human nature, skeptical of power, and uh well committed to the family unit as the basic structure of social life.
They were used constantly in daily speech by both men and women. And a person who could deploy the right proverb at the right moment commanded a specific kind of social authority, the authority of the tradition itself, speaking through them.
But if there is a single art form that embodies Palestinian folklore more completely than anything else, it's Tatre. The crossstitch embroidery that adorned the traditional thong dress worn by Palestinian women.
Tatre isn't a decoration. It's more like a language of sorts, a visual communication tool, a system of communication so precise and so deeply encoded that a knowledgeable observer could look at a woman's dress and tell you where she was from, whether she was married or unmarried, how wealthy her family was, and what regions aesthetic traditions she belonged to.
All from those little patterns stitched into fabric.
Each village, and Palestine had over 800 villages before 1948, had its own distinctive embroidery patterns, its own preferred color combinations, its own characteristic chests, panels, and sleeve designs. The women of Raala favored bold geometric patterns in deep red and maroon on white linen with a wide, heavily embroidered chest panel called the cabair.
The women of Bethlehem used couching techniques with gold and silver thread, producing a shimmering luxurious effect that reflected the town's relative prosperity and proximity to the markets of Jerusalem.
The women of Galilee used bright colors, greens, yellows, oranges, and their patterns tended toward the floral and the curvalinearia.
The women of the Nab desert, the Beduin, used indigo dyed fabric and bold geometric patterns could be read at a distance across the open landscape.
To a train died, the dress was more of a map, a declaration of identity, kind of like a uh a passport of sorts.
The motives themselves carried meaning.
The cypress tree als symbolized longevity and resistance. The moon alamar symbolized beauty.
The eight-ointed star was a ward against the evil eye.
Birds in pairs represented marital harmony.
The zigzag pattern of the baker's path evoked the daily rhythms of village life.
Some motives were ancient. The triangular pattern that scholars have identified in Canaanite pottery appears barely changed in Palestinian embroidery 3,000 years later.
Others were a bit more modern. By the early 20th century, women were incorporating new images. The British flag during the mandate period, sometimes mockingly, the map of Palestine after 1948.
Defiantly, the embroidery was a living tradition, absorbing new content without abandoning old forms.
After the Nakba, Patre took on an additional dimension. It became an act of memory. Women in refugee camps continued to embroider and the patterns they stitched were the patterns of the villagers they had lost.
A woman from Lifa living in a camp near Aman would stitch the patterns of Lifter, not because she needed a dress in the old style, but because a pattern was a record. It was proof, a way of saying this village existed. I was born there. I came from it and I carry it with me.
Palestinian embroidery became in the decades after 1948 one of those symbols of Palestinian cultural identity displayed in museums worn at political gatherings and taught to daughters and granddaughters as a form of intergenerational transmission.
The thread literally connecting the present to the past.
The colors of tat trees were themselves a language. Red, the dominant color in most Palestinian embroidery, was associated with life, with blood, with the earth itself, specifically the red soil of the Palestinian hills. A married woman's dress was a heavily red one. An older woman's dress shifted toward darker tones, indigo, black, deep maroons. It reflected her change status.
A woman in mourning wore blue.
The green of Islam appeared in some patterns, and the gold thread of Bethlehem work signaled wealth and urban sophistication.
The thread itself, originally handspun and hand dyed with natural pigments from pomegranate, skin, sumac, and indigo, was by the early 20th century increasingly imported European floss.
And the shift in materials brought new colors and new possibilities.
But the grammar of embroidery, the relationship between pattern, color, meaning, and placement had all remained intact, even as the vocabulary expanded.
A woman who understood tatre could read a dress the way a scholar reads a text, with attention to structure, nuance, and what is said between those lines.
The Palestinian wedding aloo was more of a production than an event.
It lasted days, sometimes a full week, and every single stage was ritualized.
Every song prescribed and every gesture had this uh meaning laden to it. The wedding was the supreme social performance of village life. the moment when families displayed their wealth, their alliances, their generosity, adherence to tradition, and it was saturated with folklore from beginning to the end.
The process began long before the wedding day itself, with the Ja, the formal delegation of men from the groom's family, who went to the bride's family to ask for her hand. The Jawa was a highly ritualized negotiation conducted through intermediaries governed by precise etiquette and of course lubricated by coffee. The offering and acceptance of coffee was itself a coded communication.
If the bride's father served coffee, the negotiation could proceed. If he didn't, well, the answer is no. And no means no.
The mar the bride price that is was agreed upon and the engagement would be formalized.
The night before the wedding was the leilat al-henna, the henna night.
The bride's party, a woman's celebration of extraordinary richness would take place.
The bride's hands and feet were decorated with intricate henna designs applied by a specialist the hanana while the women of both families sang olated danced and performed the zakarit the high-pitched trill of joy that is one of the most recognizable sounds in Palestinian culture.
The henno itself was believed to have protective properties.
It was not merely cosmetic, but apotropeic, a ward against the evil eye, and against jin who might be drawn to the bride's vulnerability on the threshold of her new life.
The songs sung during the henna night were specific to the occasion. They praised the bride's beauty, teased the groom a little bit, lamented the bride's departure from her family, and affirmed the bonds between the two households.
Many of these songs have been recorded by ethnographers and ethnomusicologists and they constitute one of the richest bodies of women's oral literature in the Arab world.
The wedding procession was the crescendo.
The groom accompanied by his male relatives and friends proceed through the village to claim their bride accompanied by music, the toddler drum, the flute, the double pipe, and the dubkare. The line dance. It is perhaps the most iconic element of Palestinian folk culture.
The dubcare is not merely a dance. It's a statement of identity. A line of men, arms linked, stamping the earth in unison, led by a lei who improves variations while the line maintains the rhythm. The stamping is deliberate.
You're marking the ground, you see, claiming it, pressing your presence into the earth.
In the context of a people whose connection to their land has been systematically contested, the dubare carries a weight that transcends entertainment. It is an assertion. We are here. This is our feet on this ground, and we're not bloody leaving.
Well, the music of the wedding and of Palestinian folk life more broadly, was built around a small number of instruments with enormous expressive range.
The midwiz, a doublepipe reed instrument played with circular breathing, produced a dense buzzing, insistent sound, was the signature of Palestinian folk music, immediately recognizable and profoundly tied to place.
The shabbab, a simple uh end blown flute, was the shepherd's instrument played in the hills. Its sound carrying across valleys.
The tableau and the darbuka provided rhythm and the voice. Above all, the voice carried the poetry.
The wedding singer, often a man, the poet singer called the bada, would improvise verses praising families, teasing the groom, and uh complimenting the bride's beauty, and weaving in proverbs and folk wisdom as he went on.
A skilled bother was a celebrity, hired from village to village, and his improbational ability was judged with the same critical attention that a jazz audience might bring to a uh piano solo.
The quality of the wedding singer was a direct reflection on the family's social standing. A great ba means a great wedding, and a great wedding means you're off to a pretty good start.
Now, after the wedding itself, the bride entered her husband's household, and a new set of rituals would begin. Rituals designed to ease the transition and protect the new couple from supernatural harm.
A piece of bread dipped in olive oil was placed above the door for the bride to touch as she entered. The bread and oil, the two sacred substances of Palestinian agriculture, would bless the threshold.
The groom might break a clay pot at the entrance, the shattering driving away any jin. And in some villages, the bride would step over a trail of water poured from the door to the bed. Water as purification, as blessing, as the element that sustains life.
Every little gesture layered with meaning. And the meaning was always double, practical and protective, social and supernatural.
The olive tree is to Palestinian folklore what fire is to Persian folklore or what water is to Polish folklore. It is the sacred center, the organizing symbol and the thing around which everything else arranges itself.
Palestine's been an olive country for at least 5,000 years.
And well, the archaeological record shows olive cultivation in the region from the early bronze age.
And the olive tree has accumulated layers of meaning that are almost impossible to disentangle.
Economic, spiritual, familial, national, the olive has it all.
An olive tree can live for hundreds of years. And in Palestine, many trees are genuinely ancient, nullled, massive, their trunks split and hollowed by time, but still producing fruit.
These trees were not merely property.
They were ancestors. A family's olive tree with their most valuable possession, more valuable than the house sometimes, because the house could be rebuilt, but the tree could not be replaced, at least not in a human lifetime.
The inheritance of olive trees was governed by specific customs, and disputes over olive trees were among the bitterest feuds in village life. To uproot an olive tree was an act of violence equivalent of destroying a house. Worse in some respects, because you see the trees alive, and killing it a kind of murder, certainly. And that's not a metaphor. Palestinian farmers spoke of their trees as family members.
They gave them names. They mourned when one of them died and celebrated when a young tree bore its first fruit. Kind of like when you watch your own child take its first steps or speak its first words. That's how important they were to them.
The olive harvest was the central event of the agricultural year and it was saturated with ritual and song. The harvest began in October and could last through December depending on the size of the family's groves. Entire families participated, men, women, children, grandparents, and the harbor songs that accompanied the work were among the most beautiful in Palestinian repertoire.
These were work songs. Their rhythm matched the rhythm of picking, of beating branches with sticks, salting olives on the ground. But there were also songs of love, longing, and praise for the land and the tree.
The olive tree was addressed directly, praised and thanked, as though it were a person who had chosen to give gifts voluntarily.
Olive oil was used in virtually every aspect of Palestinian life. It was food, the basis of cooking, the dip for bread, the preservative for cheese and vegetables.
It was medicine applied to wounds massaged into skin used to treat ear infections and stomach ailments.
It was also fuel. Olive oil lamps lit Palestinian homes for millennia.
Soap, too. The famous Nebula soap made from olive oil and lie was one of Palestine's most renowned exports back in the day.
And it was sacred, used to anoint the sick, to bless the dead, to fill the lamps in the mosques and churches.
The olive tree connected the mundane and the spiritual, the kitchen and the shrine, the family and the land, all in this unbroken chain of meaning.
Other agricultural customs were equally rich. The wheat harvest had its own songs and rituals. The threshing floor was a communal space where grain was separated from chaff using a wooden sled dragged over the stalks and the bed was a social space, a place of gathering gossip and courtship.
The first reign of the season, the wasme was celebrated with special prayers and with the firing of guns into the air.
The planting of the first seeds was preceded by a prayer and by the invocation of God's blessing upon the soil. The entire agricultural cycle was in effect a liturgy, a continuous conversation between the farmer and the land mediated by God and by the accumulated wisdom of generations past.
The Palestinian agricultural calendar was also marked by specific folk observances tied to the weather and stars. The Seda, the 40 coldest days of the winter, beginning in late December, were a period of particular danger and ritual caution.
The elderly villagers tracked the Sedo with quite a bit of precision, counting the days and observing specific signs.
The flowering of the almond tree marked the midpoint and the end of the seda meant that the worst was finally over.
The kamsin, the hot desert wind that blew up in spring, was feared not only for its physical effects, but for its supernatural associations.
You see, the gumsin was believed to agitate the jin and people were advised to stay indoors and avoid conflict during comes in days because tempers were frayed and the supernatural world was restless.
Even the weather in the Palestinian worldview was not merely meteorological.
It was spiritual and moral, connected to a web of meaning that linked the sky, soil, spirits, and community into this single living, breathing system.
Palestinian beliefs about death and the dead reveal a worldview in which the boundary between those two was not a wall, but a curtain, and a pretty thin, permeable one that occasionally gets parted.
The dead were not gone. They were nearby. They could hear, see, they could be pleased or not so pleased. And they retained a connection to living that required active management.
The rituals surrounding death were precise and immediate. When a person died, the body was washed by family members of the same gender, wrapped in a white shroud and buried before sunset, if possible, or at least by the following day at the latest.
You could not delay this. The dead person's soul was believed to remain near the body until burial, and prolonging its weight was a unimaginable cruelty.
At the grave, prayers were recited and those present addressed the deceased directly.
This is your new home. May God make it spacious for you.
The language was intimate and conversational.
You spoke to the dead person as though they could hear you because you believed they could.
The morning period, the Alza, lasted 3 days, during which the bereaved family received condolences in a dedicated space, often a 10 d erected near the house. Coffee, always unsweetened because sweetness was inappropriate to grief, was served to visitors. Meals were brought by neighbors and extended family because the bereaveved were not expected to do the cooking. They had been through enough already.
The social architecture of mourning was a communal support system of considerable sophistication.
The burden of grief was distributed across the community. And the bereaveved were never never really left fully alone.
The dead returned too on specific occasions.
Thursday nights, the eve of Friday, the holy day, were particularly associated with the visitation of the dead.
Incense was burned, candles lit, and food sometimes left out or distributed to the poor in the name of the deceased.
During the last 10 nights of Ramadan, the dead were believed to be especially close, and families visited cemeteries, cleaned graves, and recited the fatiha.
The Arbain, the 40th day after death, was marked by a special gathering because the soul's final departure from the earthly realm was believed to occur on this day.
Until the Arba, the deceased was in a kind of liinal state, not fully departed and not completely alive either.
And the living bore responsibility to ease that transition through prayer, remembrance, and a bit of charity.
Dreams of the dead were taken with utmost seriousness. If a deceased relative appeared in a dream and asked for something, whether it be water, food, or bit more uh prayers, the request was fulfilled immediately upon waking. If the disease appeared unhappy, it was a sign that something was wrong.
A debt unpaid, a grudge unresolved, a grave being untended.
The dream was a communication and ignoring it was both disrespectful and dangerous.
Kanan recorded numerous cases in which villagers changed their behavior on the basis of dream visitation from a deceased relative. They might have made pilgrimages or uh paid off their debts, things like this.
The dead were in no way passive. They were participants in the ongoing life of the family and their wishes carried authority that the living could not easily refuse.
The cult of the aliyah the saints was closely related to the relationship with the dead.
Across Palestine the landscape was dotted with machm shrines to local holy figures, some historical, some legendary, some whose origins had been entirely forgotten.
These were not mosques, not really. They were more sites of folk devotion that existed alongside formal Islam, sometimes uneasily. So at a makam, you could make a vow, a nadir, promising a saint a sacrifice, a donation, or a specific act of piety in exchange for the fulfillment of a prayer.
Women visited Makamat for fertility.
Mothers bought their sick kids. Farmers prayed for rain. Pretty practical concerns.
The saints were intermediaries, was to use the Arabic term for mediation, between the human and the divine, figures who could carry your petition upward because they were closer to God than you.
The practice was and is theologically controversial within Islam. Purist scholars always objected to Saint veneration as a form of sherk, the association of partners with God.
But the practice persisted because it met a need that formal theology could not. The need for personal, local, accessible points of contact with the divine. Someone who knew your village, family, and your particular suffering.
Hilmer Granbist, the Finnish anthropologist who spent years living in the village of Ardas near Bethlehem in the 20s and 30s, produced some of the most detailed accounts ever written of Palestinian death customs.
She documented the keening, the ritual wailing performed by women over the body, a formalized expression of grief that followed specific melodic patterns that included direct addresses to the deceased, praise of their virtues and laments for those they left behind.
The keening was not private. It was public, performative, and communally understood as both an expression of genuine grief and social obligations.
You wailed for the dead because silence was an insult. Because the quality of your mourning was measured by your love and because the dead person's soul needed to hear that they were mourned before they could fully move on.
Next, we have the evil eye, alin or ain al-hass, the eye of envy. The single most pervasive folk belief in Palestinian culture, cutting across every social boundary, Muslim and Christian, urban and rural, educated and literate, everyone knows about the evil eye. The conviction that the look of envy, whether conscious or unconscious, could cause real physical harm to its objects, was so deeply embedded that it shaped daily speech, social behavior, and material culture in ways that are quite difficult to overstate.
The protections against the evil eye were layered and redundant. Because the danger was omniresent, a single defense was never enough. The first line of defense was verbal. You did not praise a child's beauty or health without immediately adding martial art what God has willed, which deflected the envy by attributing the good fortune to God rather than to the child itself.
If you forgot to say martial art, you were expected to spit lightly, symbolically to avert the evil eye you had just cast.
Mothers were particularly vigilant. A beautiful child was often deliberately left slightly dirty or a little bit disheveled so it would not attract too much admiration and therefore dangerous glances.
Some mothers gave their children ugly nicknames, calling a beautiful girl the dark one or a healthy boy the sickly one. Deceive the evil eye into thinking that the child was not worth envying.
The second line of defense was material.
Blue beads were hung on babies, animals, and doorways of houses, even on the dashboards of cars.
The color blue was believed to deflect the evil eye, though the reason for this specific association is still a bit debated.
The hand of Fatima, the Kamza, was another ubiquitous protective symbol. An open hand, sometimes with an eye in the palm, hung above doors worn as jewelry, painted on walls. Aloom. A shab was burned over coals to diagnose and cure the evil eye. The smoke was wafted over the inflicted person, and the shapes melting shape, excuse me, the shapes the melting alum formed on the coal were read as indicators of who had cast the eye and how to remove it.
Amulets, hijabat, were another crucial element. These were small pouches containing written verses of the Quran, specific prayers or mystical number squares sewn shut and worn around the neck or pinned to clothing.
Amulets were prepared by men, typically a shake or a religiously learned person, but they were commissioned and deployed by women who manage the protective infrastructure of the household.
A newborn child might wear three or four hijabs simultaneously.
One against the evil eye, one against jin, one for health, and one for a general blessing.
Sort of like a spiritual multivitamin, I suppose. The amulet was a technology of protection, and like any technology, it had its specialists, regional variations, and ongoing debates about efficacy and best practice.
Palestinian folk medicine. Tib shari was another domain where the uh where the seen and the unseen intertwined.
Herbal remedies were the first resort for most ailments. Sage was brewed for stomach complaints and sore throats.
Thyme mixed with olive oil was both a food and a medicine believed to sharpen the mind and strengthen the body.
Chamomile was used for calming nerves and settling digestion.
Black seed was considered a cure for virtually everything.
Well, a belief supported by a hadith that black seed cures every disease except death.
But when herbal remedies failed, the explanation was often supernatural.
The illness was caused by the evil eye, by a gin, or by sorcery, and the remedy shifted from the botanical to the spiritual.
Bring back the amulets. Quranic recitations, burning of incense and perhaps the intervention of a healer who could see what ordinary eyes could not.
Of course, there is a before and after in this story and that is the year 1948.
This catastrophe of the Nagba shattering the world in which Palestinian folklore had lived.
Over 700,000 Palestinians were expelled or fled from their homes. Over 400 villages were destroyed or depopulated.
The physical landscape of Palestinian folk life, the olive groves, the threshing floors, the shrines, the ancestral houses was in vast areas simply erased. The bulldozers came in and just destroyed everything.
The fellow heen who had maintained the agricultural rituals, the women who had sung the harvest songs or those grandmothers who had told the hikayat, they found themselves in refugee camps in Gaza and the West Bank in Lebanon, Jordan and Syria, now living in tents and then in concrete block shelters while their old homes were occupied by these strangers, completely cut off from the land that had given their traditions and lives meaning.
But the folklore survived. It survived because it lived in people, not in places. The women in the camps didn't stop embroidering. The grandmas continued to tell stories. They said their tales in landscapes their children had never seen, but they could describe them in precise detail.
The songs were still sung, the proverbs still spoken. The recipes were cooked with whatever ingredients were available, modified but recognizable.
The dub care was danced. The zagarit rang out at weddings. The hijabat was sewn.
Folklore was preserved not in a museum but in the heart.
The scholars who documented this survival deserve quite a bit of recognition.
Mkhawi and Cananana's speak bird speak again rescued the Hikaya tradition from oblivion.
The work of Palestinian folklore society inash founded by Samya Kalabi and the popular art center at Alir collected, archived and displayed embroidery, pottery, costumes and oral traditions.
The ethnomusicologist Nadia Yakub documented Palestinian wedding songs.
The historian Roshelle Davis recorded the village memory books that Palestinian refugees compiled to preserve the details of their lost communities. The names of every family, the location of every well, the pattern of every dress.
They're not really academic exercises, but more acts of salvage performed with the urgency of a people who knew if they did not record these things now, they would be taken away from them forever.
And so today, Palestinian folklore exists in a state of dynamic tension between preservation and transformation, between a diaspora and the homeland, between the rural past and urban present. Young Palestinians in Ramala and Hifa learn tatre in workshops.
And there's even a few hip hop artists in Gaza that sample traditional midwis melodies. Restaurants in Aman and Beiruts uh Beirut rather serve musakan and mukl as contra acts of cultural assertion.
The duck bay is performed in solidarity rallies in London and Chicago and Sa Paulo.
The olive tree remains the central symbol, a living metaphor that what has been cut down can grow back again and again. And those roots go a lot deeper than anyone expected.
But perhaps this is the most important thing to understand about Palestinian folklore.
It is not a relic, not a museum piece or object of nostalgia, but still a living practice. But it is maintained under conditions of extraordinary difficulty, adapted to circumstances that its creators could have never imagined, and charged with significance that goes far beyond entertainment or cultural curiosity.
Every story told, quiet, persistent, and unyielding, shows that this culture exists, that it has depth, beauty, and history, and it will not allow itself to be erased.
The bird has flown to its nest and ours is the best.
Thank you so much for listening everyone. I hope you've enjoyed this uh exploration of Palestinian folklore and I hope you've just enjoyed the series in general we've been doing on folklore. We've done quite a few of them now. That playlist is filling out.
Anyway, I would like to thank you for liking, commenting and subscribing, telling all your buddies and uh for those who supported financially, keeping everything ad free for everyone else.
So, thank you very much to you good people.
Good night everyone and I will see you in the next exciting episode.
Good night for now and farewell.
It is a warm evening in an oasis village of the Tim Basin and a circle of weaguer villagers gathers under the grape vine trellis.
Standing in the center is an elderly man recounting a beloved tale. A mother sheep and her lamb outwit a ravenous wolf on the summer pastures.
As the wolf licks his chops, the clever sheep persuades him to wait a little while until their return journey where they'll be a little bit fatter and better to taste.
Months later, with the wolf lying in ambush, a quickwitted hair appears, claiming they be an envoy of the Chinese emperor sent to collect wolf skins.
while the wolf flees in terror and the audience upon hearing the crescendo of the story erupts into laughter.
It's a lively scene and while it's uh made up for dramatic effect for the introduction, it captures the essence of weaggo folklore.
That is that rich tapestry of oral literature brimming with its talking animals, clever tricksters, mythical creatures, and of course, moral lessons.
In this folklore, it's a world where humor and wisdom help the weak triumph over the powerful, and where centuries of history and cultural influence are preserved in stories with much deeper meanings.
And so today, continuing our folklore series, we're talking about the culture of the Weaguers. It's going to be an interesting one today, I think. I hope you're enjoying following along with the playlist.
So, before we begin, allow me to just welcome you to the channel. If you are new here, perhaps you'll click that subscribe button. A like and comment also help push us out in the algorithm.
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So first of all, like many ancient cultures, the weaguers possess a body of myths that seek to explain the origins of the world, humanity, and of course their own place within global history.
And while much of this mythology was transmitted orally and only written down much later, scholars have identified a few recurring themes that align with broader Turic mythological traditions and echo with the religious history of the region which well is admittedly quite complicated.
In fact, the very concept of mythology was recognized by weager scholars over a thousand years ago. The 11th century lexographer Mahmud al- Kashgari noted in his compendium of the Turic dialects that the Turk word Koshmak or Kam referred to an ancient oral narrative and stories of deified heroes.
Well, this early acknowledgement reminds us that weaker mythic storytelling certainly has deep roots.
And of course, weaker creation myths exhibit patterns found across central Asia.
One common motive is the earth diver theme.
Now, this was basically the theme where the world was initially a vast sea until a divine or heroic figure helped form the more solid parts of it.
In some variants, a deity sends an animal, often a water bird, to dive to the depths and fetch mud or sand that expands into the continents.
Other versions speak of the sly uh the sky rather and earth once being joined until a primordial being split them apart to form up the larger universe.
But these tales are only fragmentaryarily recorded which is unfortunate but still they carry echoes of the ancient tenurist beliefs of the early Turic tribes centered on the sky god Tang and the sacred union of the sky and the earth. So we can only imagine early weera shamans reciting such cosmogenic stories around campfires imparting a sense of that cosmic order and divine origin into their nomadic world.
Now one particularly important mythic narrative is the legend of Agus Kagan semi- divine warrior ancestor.
This epic legend known in various Turk traditions holds special significance in weaguer folklore as well. Oguz Kagan is depicted as a predigious hero born with mysterious marks and extraordinary abilities.
And there's an old legend that says he spoke his first words as a mere infant and was hunting wild beasts by the time he was 3 years old.
As a young man, Oguz undertook heroic quests, fighting monsters, uniting the tribes under his leadership, this kind of thing.
The saga describes how he divided his domain among his six sons who became founders of the greater Turic tribes.
In one poetic wig rendition of this tale, the birth of Aguz is described in pretty striking imagery.
The infant hero's face, bluish sky blue with eyes glowing like coals, who after only 40 days could walk and speak with the wisdom of a fully grown adult.
Now, this origin story has been called one of the great poetic epics of the Wego tradition, linking Weagos to a prestigious lineage that includes distant Turk and even Mongolic relatives.
Notably, an old manuscript of the Agus Kagan epic in the Weaguer script was found in Turan, suggesting that the Weaguers had adopted and localized this legend by at least the medieval era.
Well, through this legend, the Weaguers assert a proud identity as descendants of a divinely sanctioned ruler.
A pretty powerful narrative, especially when one considers that uh the real weaguer states rose and fell over the centuries.
In any case, before the advent of world religions, the weaguers and their predecessors practiced forms of shamanism and nature worship.
Traces of these early beliefs survive in the folklore.
We have things like sky gods, sacred mountains, and animistic spirits.
The old Turk belief that wolves were ancestral protectors, for example, is reflected in the legends of wolves guiding or nurturing progenitors of Turk clans, i.e. the greywolf legend. We'll get to that uh a little later, but one weaker myth tells of a young boy who survived of a great battle. A she wolf nourished him in a hidden valley and from their union sprang the forefathers of various tribes.
Now this is just one of the stories at least surrounding wolves and such may have served to sacriize the lineage of clans connecting them symbolically to the vitality and cunning of the wolf a reverend a revered tomic animal of gods.
Additionally, reverence for the sun, the moon and the stars also appear in some stories. For instance, in certain folk songs and tales, the sun and the moon named Kun and I are personified as benevolent forces guiding the people.
Of course, in later times, Islam became dominant and it remains so in weaker cultures today. But these older mythic symbols did not vanish overnight.
Instead, they often blended into new narratives or lived on as folk superstitions.
As for the weaker homeland, it is historically known as Turkiststan and it saw an overlay of multiple religions.
Shamanism, Buddhism, Manakeism, Islam, Ntorian, Christianity.
Each one of them of course left quite a mark on the folklore.
Let's take for example from the Buddhist period as around the 9th to 12th century when weaguers in the Turban region were predominantly Buddhist. We have an intriguing tale.
Things like magical monks, nagaike dragons and concepts of reincarnation show up in weaker folk stories long after Buddhism waned.
A character known as Pashan, from the word bishu for a monk, appears in several tales as a hermit or sorcerer with supernatural powers.
A likely remnant of Buddhist lore, later understood through an Islamic lens, even as a kind of mystic or a wizard/m.
Similarly, manacayan influence possibly survives in the moral dualism of certain legends where cosmic battles of light and dark are hinted at.
In any case, after the 10th century, Islamic cosmology and legendary took center stage.
Weiss began to incorporate prophets and saints. Creation stories might be retold a little to align with Islamic teachings referencing Allah shaping Adam from clay etc. And flood myths merged with the Quranic story of Noah.
Well yet intriguingly even as these global religions were adopted the weaguers often localized them. One local legend claims that at the dawn of time, Eden itself was located in the lush oasis of Kashgar, a way of placing weager land at the heart of the sacred geography of the world.
But like many cultures, we folklore has tales of ancient disasters, floods, droughts, celestial events, and the heroes who once rescued humanity. If you want to know a little bit more about the flood myths, I did a whole video on global flood myths a couple months ago, depending on when you're watching this, I suppose. In any case, one popular myth recounts a massive flood that once covered the Tarim Basin completely.
But humanity, they got lucky. They were saved by a benevolent figure. In Islamic versions, it's Noah or No. in older versions, perhaps some kind of shaman king who built a great vessel just in the nick of time.
Of course, some renditions localize the story. A high mountain in the region is pointed out as the place where the ark finally came to rest and life had a chance to begin a new.
And then there's another legend that speaks of a hero archer who shot down extra suns in the sky when a calamitous heat threatened the world.
A pretty obvious parallel to the well-known Chinese myth of Ho Yi, indicating how crosscultural contact on the Silk Road could introduce foreign mythic motives into Wego oral tradition.
Over time, these disaster myths likely serve to impart both a warning about human folly, but also a hopeful message that exceptional heroes or divine mercy can deliver people from the catastrophe.
Now, before we move on to the next section, in analyzing the weaguer folklore and mythology, we can pretty much classify the narratives into different categories. that being creation myths, flood and catastrophe myths, origin of civilization myths and time and space origin stories and so on.
Now the broad range of themes shows that we mythic law though not as extensively recorded as Greek or Indian mythologies is indeed comprehensive in its scope.
These myths provided early weaker societies with a framework to understand the natural world and of course their destiny within it. And even in modern times, echoes of these ancient myths persist in festivals, idioms, and archetypes of later folk tales. And there's plenty of festivals going on in Shinjal, especially in Urumchi.
Yes, they seem to have them going all the time. It's one big party over there.
Well, studying them gives us a glimpse of the world view of the weager ancestors.
Certainly a world teameming with all sorts of folkloruric elements. But it also shows us how successive layers of belief were absorbed with shamanic myths giving way to Buddhist miracles and those in turn Islamicized into legends of prophets and saints. In any case, the end result is quite complex syncric mythology that is uniquely weager reflecting the spiritual odyssey of the people the very interesting part of the world the crossroads of Asia.
So let's move on from the uh primordial myths to more human scale [clears throat] legends.
These stories that we find, the epics, the legends and historical tales, often blurred a line between myth and history, real figures existed and real events happened, but they are embellished with a bit of fantastical element. While fictional heroes are treated with the reverence of history sometimes, too. The weaker epic tradition is closely tied to that of other Turk peoples, yet it has distinct flavors.
So let's consider some of the most prominent legendary narratives and figures that are cherished by weaggguers even till today.
First we have dastan and the oral epic tradition.
The weager term dastan refers to epic narratives usually long oral poems or pros tales that recount the adventures of heroes, lovers or saints. For centuries, these dastans were performed by itinerant bards or story singers in bizarre squares and at communal gatherings.
Accompanied by the gentle strumming of the two-stringed dutar or the rhythmic balls of a framed drum. A skilled dust storyteller could hold an audience captivated late into the night.
The performance aspect is pretty important. melody, intonation, sometimes dancing would animate the story.
And it was this tradition, oral storytelling, that allowed epic storytellers uh stories rather, to be preserved without the need for writing and also allowing them to be adapted over time. Each generation of storytellers might add embellishments or perhaps local details, keeping the epics alive and relevant.
In the 19th and early 20th centuries, foreign scholars like the Swede Gunnar Jaring recorded portions of these epics and noted that a good dastan performer was highly respected, often invited to weddings or festivals to recite famous tales.
The existence of multiple variants of the same epic in different places that is Kashkar, Turban, Kotan, etc. shows how the oral epic was truly a living art collectively owned by the people. It was everyone's and no one's all at the same time.
Well, then we have uh Alpameish.
Among the epic heroes known across Central Asia, Alpameish stands out and is uh present in weaguer lore as well.
He is a legendary warrior celebrated for his strength, bravery, and above all loyalty to his people. In the epic of Alpameish, he must rescue his betrothed bride from an enemy tribe, undergoing trials of combat, imprisonment, and separation before ultimately reuniting with her and restoring her honor.
The Alpameish tale is more strongly associated with the with the Usuzbcks and Kazaks, but weaker oral tradition also features it sometimes under local titles or with localized episodes.
Now, in terms of the weaker version, it often emphasizes communal values.
Alpameish fights not just for personal love, but to defend his clan's freedom against the oppressors.
Itinerant weaguer minstrels in the 19th century were known to sing verses of alamir as it is pronounced locally during summer pasture gatherings.
The endurance of this epic among the weaguers shows the shared Turic heritage of hero tales and has quite a lot of crossover just like there is with weager language and Persian language this kind of thing. In any case, its themes of exile and return and of upholding justice certainly resonate in a region that often faced political upheavalss.
And of course, even today, Alamish is taught as a cultural classic. Children might hear simplified pros versions of his feats, linking them to a heroic past.
But then we have romantic epics Tahir and Zurra and Garib and Sanam.
Not all stories are about war.
Some are tragic romances that have become staples of folklore storytelling.
The tale of Tahir and Zura is one such epic known in we tradition and of course among the other Turk peoples.
It tells of two lovers often portrayed as being inseparable as two halves of the same soul, but they are cruy parted by fate and family opposition.
Think about a Romeo and Juliet sort of thing.
Tahir, a talented poet or sometimes a singer in some versions and Zura, a beautiful noble woman, fall deeply in love. But Zura's father forbids their union.
Through poems, songs, and secret meetings, their affection only grows, but so do the obstacles.
In the Qashqar variant of this epic, recorded by folklorists in the early 20th century, the narrative is filled with haunting songs. The hero's loot accompanies verses comparing their love to the moth and the flame destined to unite even if it means perishing.
And the end, well, it's not a good ending. It's quite tragic to hear dies of longing and Zura upon hearing of his death dies at his graveside only for the folk legend to claim that red roses bloomed from their joined graves.
Now this story is sometimes called the weager Romeo and Juliet for obvious reasons. It emphasizes qualities admired in weaker culture too. Fidelity, devotion, and the notion that true love transcends death.
Another popular romance is Garib and Sanam known elsewhere as Ashik Garib.
In this tale, a poor youth, Garib wins the heart of the maiden Sanam through his music. But to marry her, he must embark on a journey to earn wealth and status.
After years of trials, including encounters with bandits and supernatural beings, he returns in disguise just in time to stop Sanam's forced marriage to another.
These romantic dustans often blend love stories with moral lessons and a few elements of the fantastical too, such as prophetic dreams or magical assistance, making them entertaining yet edifying.
But they also highlight the musical side of weaker folklore. The hero's song or the heroine's lament often features as a defining moment of the narrative. Again, always this integration of poetry into the story.
But we folklore also preserves legends of historical figures elevated to almost mythological status.
One such figure is Satak Bugra Khan, the 10th century prince of the Karakanid dynasty who is celebrated as the first weager or least Turk ruler to embrace Islam.
Over time, Satak Bugra Khan's biography turned into a legend with many miraculous elements. In popular law, he was guided by angels and could perform feats of strength thanks to his new found faith.
The Tazir that is archiography of Saddak Bugrahan has become part of oral literature. Storytellers would recount how as a young man, Seduk secretly converted to Islam, slew a fearsome infidel giant in single combat and eventually led the rest of his people to embrace the new religion.
This legend served dual purpose. It glorified a local hero and reinforced Islamic identity by casting the conversion as a divinely ordained thing and quite heroic.
Listeners hearing this story in a tea house in Qashqar around say 19th century or so wouldn't only just be entertained but they'd feel a kind of sense of pride in their Islamic heritage and also the sanctity of their land. And by the way his tomb in Arut near Kashgar is actually a pilgrimage site. Just a bit of trivia for you there. Now similarly the epic of Uguz Khan mentioned earlier in the mythic context doubles as a legendary history of the weaggguers.
Some weer chronicles compiled in the 17th and 18th centuries trace the genealogy of local rulers back to Ouz and his sons effectively merging folklore with royal propaganda.
Another beloved legendary character is Anoir Koja and his wife Yusf Khani from the oral epic sometimes titled Flowers of Immortality.
This tale collected from Kotan storytellers in the 1920s seems to be a mix of romance, moral allegory and adventure altogether.
It follows the brave young man Anoir and Ysef Gunni, a wise and virtuous maiden who endure many challenges, including being separated by an evil king and facing magical deaths.
In their quest to be reunited, they have to go through these trials.
Ultimately, through piety and courage, they find the mythical flower of immortality and overthrow the tyrant.
The story's fantastical journey through deserts and mountains, encountering fairies and ogres, not only entertains, but is once more another way to impart a lesson about faith and integrity.
But interestingly, it contains a few thinly veiled critiques of despotic rulers, which of course would resonate with the common folk living under capricious khans or warlords.
But what about a more localized level?
Virtually every town in Shinj Jang has its own folklore and legends, explaining particular landmarks or the town's founding.
All you need to do is ask an old man about it, or ask some kids even, and they'll be very keen to tell you.
For example, in the oasis of Turan, people tell legend of the flaming mountains, a mighty dragon slain by a hero and its blood turned into the red sandstone hills that glow under the desert sun.
In Kotan, an oft legend recounts the discovery of jade. A poor boy follows a rainbow after a storm and finds where it touches the earth, revealing jade pebbles.
Thus, Kodan's jade famed along the silk road was believed to be a heavenly gift.
And then there's another charming story, that of the fragrant concubine, Iparan, the historical weaguer woman from Qashqar, who according to the legend was so beautiful and naturally perfumed that she was born to theQing emperor's courts in the 18th century.
Folk embellishments claim she carried with her a piece of her homeland's soil and a sache of local spices to preserve her weaker identity in Beijing and that even the flowers would turn their heads toward her because she just smelled so good.
Now of course the history of Ibarhan is debated. The legend did take on a life of its own, though. Among we became a symbol of yearning for home and resistance to some new cultural assimilation.
Some versions say she tried to assassinate the emperor or refuse to smile for him. A kind of quiet defiance, I suppose. In any case, all of these heroic epics and legends, they all have a common thread emerging. First, there is an emphasis on justice and morality.
Heroes are valorous, but they're also righteous. And evil rulers or demons ultimately face defeat, reinforcing a moral universe where good eventually triumphs, even though it might seem very hopeless.
Second, faith and destiny, they often guide the outcomes. Whether it's the will of God in Islamic legends or the degree of fate in older epics, the idea that a higher power watches over the just is prevalent.
And third, we see a cultural blending.
Islamic heroes might fight alongside fairy tale-like creatures and traditional Turk warriors might voice Sufi like wisdom.
And that is the layered heritage of the weagers, absorbing various influences into their storytelling.
And just finally, these stories had a bit of a dedactic role. Beyond entertainment, they taught listeners about their history, instilled pride in cultural heroes, and transmitted values of courage, honor, and devotion.
Now, of course, all of the most epic heroes inspire a lot of admiration, but it's often the witty characters and clever tricksters that steal people's hearts in folklore. And we folklore is especially rich in humorous fables, anecdotes, and tales.
These stories usually shorter and no more than uh more anecdotal than epics, I suppose. They serve to entertain with laughter while slightly imparting lessons about human nature and the survival through cleverness.
So let's have a look at a few of them, shall we? First of all, we'll look at Nasradin Aendi.
No discussion of weaguer folklore would be complete without that.
Nestradin is a legendary witty rogue and a wise fool figure framed through the uh throughout Turic and Islamic worlds and among weaguers too. He is a superstar of folktelling.
Now dozens upon dozens of Nassin jokes and tales circulate in the weager oral tradition. typically short anecdotes where Nassradin's sharp tongue and quick thinking turn the tables on the rich and pompous. But what makes Nassradin so endearing is his dual nature. He often plays the fool or poor beggar, but through humor and paradox, he always exposes a deeper truth or cleverly achieves justice.
For the weaker audience, Nasaredin Nendi embodies a self-image of a reverence towards authority and the triumph of the underdog's wit. As one scholar quipped, "His stories reinforce a weager's selfimage of irreverence for those in positions of power, valorizing witty retorts and disdain for protocol and public life."
Well, consider one classic Nasden tale often told in weaker communities. The Aphendi and the pot. Nasrred Aendi once borrowed a large pot from a wealthy neighbor. And when he returned it, he placed a small pot inside the large one.
Now the neighbor was surprised and asked the question, "What is the little pot?"
And Nazin gravely replied, "Congratulations! Your pot gave birth while it was in my care.
While the greedy neighbor was delighted by this miraculous gain, but later eagerly lent Nasdin his prized copper cauldron, too.
But this time Nasradin failed to return it. When the man came angrily to demand his pot back, Nasradin sighed and said, "I'm sorry to tell you, but your pot has died."
The neighbor was not happy with that, but Nasradin shrugged. If a pot can give birth, surely it can die, too.
The neighbor was left speechless, and the listeners burst into laughter at the appendy's logic.
Well, beneath the humor lies a sharp critique of greed and gullibility.
Nazdin wins by using a powerful man's own absurd logic against him. In countless such anecdotes, Nasardin tricks those greedy misers, outwits tyrannical ks or crooked judges, and even pokes fun at himself to deflate others pretentions.
And each tale is quite short, often just a setup and a punchline, and that makes the story easy to remember and retell.
They function almost like jokes or parables, simple enough for children to enjoy, yet layered with enough insight for adults to appreciate.
The Nazardin tales likely entered weager folklore during the Islamic period by central Asian intermixing. They originated around the 13th century in Persia/Turkey and then spread widely by the 20th century. Nasaredin Abendi was so ingrained in Weaguer culture that compilations of his stories were printed in Weaguer and Chinese and even used for subtle social commentary.
For instance, a 1982 collection titled The Offendi and the Pregnant Pot, translated by Gigi, highlighted stories when Nashin shows the abuses of rulers and the wisdom of the common folk, aligning neatly with the socialist ideals of critiquing feudal lords.
Such tales like when Nasin visits a prison with a king, also called a padisha in weaker, and finds only one truly guilty man inside, all the others claiming innocence, prompting him to urge the king to free the one guilty man, lest he corrupt all of the innocent souls around him in jail.
using comedy again to make a rather barbed statement about justice.
Now we go have historically savored this aspect through Nasserin.
They could safely mock authority and laugh at the powerful.
A subtle form of resistance throughout the medieval and even close to modern times where descent was dangerous. You find the same too in uhQing dynasty times in China too. Now today the character of Aendi is quite iconic.
You'll find him depicted in weaguer cartoons, puppet shows and even in a theme park in Qashqar called Aandandy Land.
People still swap Nassin jokes each with that familiar setup. One day Nasrain Bendy was asked something something and then you know that a clever punchline is coming.
This popularity is a testament to the universal appeal of that same archetype of the trickster who speaks truth to power in a bit of a cheeky way.
But then we also have the animal tales and fables that often carry their own morals.
Many of these resemble Asop's fables or even Panchhatantra tales showing the influence of the broader Asian traditions of storytelling.
The story of the wolf, the sheep, and the hair was one that we saw in the introduction as a perfect example. The weak, the sheep, and the lamb, survive by their wits, and with the cooperation of another clever creature, the hair, defeat the strong, but rather foolish oppressor, the wolf.
Such tales typically reinforce values of cooperation, cleverness, and sometimes just the pragmatic lesson of work smarter, not harder.
Another common motive is the friendship or rivalry of unlikely animals.
For instance, there is a weaggoer story of the fox and the raven and the wolf.
In one variant, the fox and raven form a pact to get food. They trick a greedy wolf by making him think that the sky is falling or that a hunter is near, causing the wolf to abandon his feast, which the fox and the raven then share.
At the end, the wolf is left hungry and a little damaged of his pride.
He greed and arrogance lead to downfall.
Children love these stories, especially the ones about talking animals. But they're also cautionary lessons. A sly fox stands in for the clever poor man, while the blundering wolf or boastful bear represents a bully or an unjust ruler.
Interestingly, certain animals carry culturally specific symbolism.
The hair or the rabbit in weaguer tales is frequently the trickster hero, much like the European fox.
Well, as it noted in one review of weager folklore collections, the hair's prominent role reflects the significance of the hair as a mythological figure in many cultures. And that's not just weaguer or uh Turk cultures either. It's quite common all over the world.
Now, in contrast to that, the camel might be depicted as proud and foolish. There's a story explaining why the camel has a short tail. It was punished for its arrogance originally.
Whereas the mule often plays the long-suffering everyman character.
One humorous fable tells of a boastful donkey who insists he can sing like a nighting gale only to be beaten by villagers covering their ears.
Pretty straightforward admonition against pretending to be something you're not.
And then there are fantastical creatures, giants, dragons, and imps, that kind of thing. They occasionally appear too, sometimes borrowed from Chinese or Persian law, but once again localized in their setting. A oneeyed giant called Dev Asbab figures in a tail where he demands village sacrifice youths to him until a brave girl outwits him in a fashion that is quite reminiscent of uh Shaherad by telling him neverending riddles that drive him mad.
Well, apart from Nazidin, weaker anecdotes include other recurring comic characters.
Let's talk about the moola and everyday humor. Sometimes a foolish moola or village cleric, a stingy merchant or a henpecked husband feature in their own stories.
Jokes about bumbling religious teachers who misquote scripture or a miser who ends up tricking himself are quite popular reflecting a general skepticism towards hypocrisy and excessive piety when divorced from common sense.
For instance, one joke says a müller was asked what's more important the sun or the moon? And he answered the moon because it shines at night when we need light. Whereas the sun shines in the daytime when there's already plenty of light around.
At the silly logic pokes fun at presumably a learned man's folly. A gentle way for ordinary folk to assert their own practical wisdom over hollow erudition.
And here's another anecdote. A man asks his miserly friend to loan him a rope.
The friend says, "Sorry, I'm using it to tie up flower."
Well, he asks him, "Who ties up flower with a rope?" And he replies, "Well, if I don't want to lend it, any excuse is good enough.
It's a Ryan sarcastic humor beloved by weaguers, often delivered with a straight face, dryness, and such everyday jokes likely peppered conversations historically in the tea houses of towns like Yarkand and Yangasar.
They create a sense of shared humor and importantly to a kind of social adhesive.
Alongside narrative tales, we folklore includes a vast repertoire of proverbs and sayings, and these seem to encapsulate wisdom in a more concise form.
The proverbs cover aspects of well, pretty much all forms of everyday life, work, faith, family, human nature.
For example, a weager proverb says, "The fool of a horse uh the fowl of a horse rather plays in the dust." Meaning the children follow the example of their upbringing just as the fowl imitates its mother's habits.
Another comment saying, "The wound of the tongue does not heal." A warning about the lasting harm of saying something hurtful to somebody.
emphasizing the culture's stress on courtesy and careful speech.
So during the mid- 20th century, researchers like Gunnar Yaring collected thousands of such proverbs from different weaguer regions.
They found that while some proverbs are unique to the weaguer's environment, etc. references to dust, camels, malbury trees, things like that. Many have universal equivalents showing the common human experience between these cultures. For instance, a weager might say, "Chase two rabbits and you won't catch either of them."
Essentially the same wisdom as don't try and serve two masters. Don't try and do two things at once. This kind of thing.
Proverbs often get invoked in daily conversation and traditional storytelling as punchlines or morals.
A folktale might conclude explicitly with a proverb to drive home its point.
Or a speaker might preface it with advice such as, "As the old people say," followed by a rhyming proverb.
never really get too tired of hearing of them. As long as they're not there to beat you over the head with that kind of practical wisdom.
But what do these trickster tales and fables, all these little jokes and parables tell us about weaker culture and values?
Well, importantly, they champion the underdog.
The heroes are rarely kings or wealthy nobles. More often, they are poor peasants. tailor, shepherds, animals symbolic of the common man, like a little rabbit versus a wolf or a sheep versus a wolf, this kind of thing.
Victories are achieved not through might or magic bestowed by birth, but through cleverness, quick thinking, and sometimes even just plain cheek. It's a bit different from the Greek tradition.
We think of things like Odysius and all that sort of thing.
these great kings going out to do heroic sagas and all the rest. It's a little bit more uh grassroots level.
In any case, all traditions are equally as interesting. I think of course we have to mention that folk law is not only found in spoken or written tales. among the weaguers. It vividly manifests in dance, music, and performing arts that have been transmitted alongside stories.
Now, uh I don't know if you watch the yearly Chinese New Year performances that CCTV puts on, but pretty much every year they'll have this fantastic sort of weaguer cultural expedition that they that they put on. And usually it's a big dance thing and they wear their traditional outfits and everything will tell a short story. They'll usually have one of these at the um annual New Year gala. I always look forward to that.
Always something unique.
In any case, in weaker culture, telling a story is often a multi-ensory experience. A tale might be sung, accompanied by instruments, or acted out in this communal setting.
It's an interweaving of narrative with music and movement that has produced some of the most treasured elements of weaguer heritage such as the 12 mukam and the lively mesh gatherings.
So let's talk a bit about that now.
Starting with the 12 mukan, the crown jewel of weaker traditional music and oral art is undoubtedly the unkimukam or the 12 muk. Now the mukam is a large suite of songs uh instrumental pieces spoken interludes that together can last for hours. Collectively, the 12 mukam compromise a monumental repertoire often likened to an encyclopedia of weaguer folk music and oral literature.
And in fact, in 2005, UNESCO recognized the weaguer mukam of Shin Jang as a masterpiece of oral and intangible heritage of humanity, showing once again its great significance.
But what exactly is in these mukam?
Well, each one is essentially a musical mode or suite, often associated with a certain mood or time of the day, containing multiple sections around 20 to 30 songs and instrumental melodies that progress from slower contemplative pieces to fast dancelike conclusions, a kind of crescendo at the end. The lyrics of Mukam songs are drawn from diverse sources of course. Some are folk lyrics from ancient times. Others come from classical we poetry especially from the uh 18th century poetesses Amana Khan who's traditionally credited with systematizing the 12 muk.
And still others are snippets of love stories or perhaps moral tales.
In performance, a small ensemble plays loots like dutar or fiddles like gjac, flame drums, uh frame drums rather like dar and sometimes flutes while one or more singers alternate between singing and doing the narration.
A full mukam performance is a feat of endurance and skill. It often takes 1 to two hours per mukam suite. Performing all 12 in a cycle. Well, that could go for days.
Historically speaking, these mukam were performed at courts and elite gatherings, but they have their roots in folk weddings and communal celebrations as well. Folklore content is prominent in the lyrical narratives of the Macam.
For instance, one song in the Mukam might recount the plight of a loveorn hero separated from his beloved, echoing the themes of romantic dustans we mentioned earlier.
And another might be a playful wedding song full of a bit of innuendo and folk wisdom for newlyweds.
An instrumental section might be traditionally linked to a legend such as Mushabir, which local musicians say was inspired by the sound of a legendary horse or the ambiencece of a particular oasis at night.
Thus, while Mukam music is music, well, it's also storytelling through song, listeners are expected to catch the references to famous literary tales or beloved folk or folklore characters in the lyrics. In one Mac ballad, the singer might suddenly adopt the persona of Madnun, [clears throat] the archad mad lover from Middle Eastern law, or cite a line of advice uttered by Nasraini, weaving the fabric of shared folklore into a single performance.
While the transmission of mukan was traditionally oral master passing it on to apprentice much like the telling of folktales in the 20th century especially during the cultural policies of the 50s mukam were collected notated and formally taught to preserve them.
Even so, uh, in weaguer communities to this day in Shing Jang, a great Macanzinger is revered as a custodian of culture, someone who carries the memory and melodies of their people, the emotive soul of the culture.
When an elder musician performs a mukam at a family festival, the room often becomes hushed as the familiar strains and words evoke collective nostalgia.
It's like the ancestors are speaking right to them.
Well, alongside music, dance is a vital medium of folklore expression.
Wigger dance is renowned for its grace, rhythmic footwork, and expressive hand movements. Often dances are tied to specific stories or symbolic meanings.
For example, the samani dance, traditionally performed during the harvest or new year, is said to originate from an ancient legend of peasants stamping down grain and celebrating the bounty. Over time, this evolved into a stylized dance, imitating those motions, preserving in art the memory of an agrarian ritual.
Another beloved dance is the Dolan Mishrev dance of the Dolan weaguers which involves energetic leaps and spins. Local law connects to the old heroic tales of hunters and warriors displaying their prowess.
And even the delicate turning of wrists and swinging of the torso in a woman's dance might have narrative significance too.
Many we go dancers are meant to visually represent themes like a blooming flower, a flying dove flowing water. All common metaphors in folk poetry.
In more theatrical forms though, dancers might literally act out a story.
Marshall or torch dancers, for instance, sometimes depict a line of young women each holding a lit candle or torch representing souls or stars.
Older folk in the audience might recall a tale about guiding spirits through the darkness.
At weddings and parties, it's common for someone to perform a comical dance that caricatures a folktale character, say an old man hobbling like the foolish husband from a well-known joke to everyone's amusement.
Thus, dance isn't just entertainment, but it's a kind of folklore pantomime.
Furthermore, it's integral to one of the most important folklore social institutions, the meshep.
It's a traditional community gathering historically, especially among ye weager men. It includes dance, music, oral storytelling, games, and moral discussion.
It is part social party, part cultural salon. In a measure, which might be hosted to mark a life event, or just regularly in a village, participants will take turns in singing folk songs, playing instruments, or performing dances.
Often spontaneous and participatory.
There is typically a host or meshep bashi the leader who guides the proceedings ensuring there's a balance of seriousness and comicness of decorum and fun.
Folktales and jokes like the Nasaredin stories are recounted by skilled rackon tours between the musical numbers.
dramatic skits might be improvised where well-known local characters are gently parodyied similar to comedia del art I suppose and crucially dances serve as highlights the famous sama dance that concludes many mesh reps involves everyone forming a circle clapping and dancing with increasing tempo symbolizing unity and collective joy the mesh thus encapsulates folklore or in action. It is a living workshop where the community creates, performs and passes on its cultural stories and values. And because of its vital role in sustaining weo heritage, it was inscribed by UNESCO in 2010 on the list of intangible cultural heritage in need of urgent safeguarding.
All right. So, we folklore has also found expression in folk theater forms too. And one historic example is the Koshap and Urip storytellers.
Essentially duos who performed humorous dialogues and skits in markets.
These comic dialogues often featured one straight man and one clown. Something like Bordville acts I suppose. And their content drew heavily on folktales and daily life anecdotes.
In the early 20th centuries, traveling performers would stage scenes from romantic epics or humorous folktales in makeshift theaters accompanied by musicians.
An observer in the 1920s in Qashqar might have seen a rough stage with performers reenacting the story of Laya and Majnoon or dramatizing a local legend about a trickster deceiving a judge complete with props and costumes.
This was a way to bring stories to life visually. Although formal weaguer opera or theater in a European sense developed later under Soviet and Chinese influence, its roots lie in these folk performances.
And to this very day, elements of folklore storytelling can be seen in Mishara, a traditional onewoman comedic act where a female performer humorously lectures the crowd on morality, peppering her speech with proverbs, folk songs, and impersonations of community members.
Similarly, Darwas tightroppe walking that is a revered weager folk art that while primarily acrobatic often involves a performance with narrative elements.
The tightroppe walker might play a character say a heroic figure crossing a high bridge or exchange banter with a clownish character on the ground in between feats essentially adding a story context to the stunt.
The We also have an age-old tradition of oral poetry that often blurs song and story. The makam system we discussed is one high example. But on the different more grassroots level is also more simple folk songs or yurchi that tells short tales or moral lessons. A farmer might sing a little song while working in the field about a lazy fox who ends up hungry. a cautionary fable in melodic form.
Lullabi sung by mothers incorporate folk beliefs and small stories to soothe the child.
Some lullabies tell of cradle visited by angels or relate the tale of a baby nighting gale that will grow strong.
Work songs like those sung during communal building of an irrigation canal or at a malbury harvest often contained call and response lyrics with proverbial wisdom or references to historical migrations and ancestors deeds.
Now one unique genre of oral narrative poetry is the mashapishe.
Essentially extended humorous or satirical poems recited at mishreps or gatherings.
These could be improvised verses teasing specific people or even commending social issues in a veiled form rather commentating rather. Such oral poets had to be quickwitted and culturally knowledgeable drawing on a reservoir of folktale and references to make up clever rhymes on the spot. It's all about making the audience laugh but ultimately at the end having them walk away with something to think about too.
The key takeaway from all these performance aspects is that wiger folklore is not combined to text or simple oral narration but is rather a performative communal experience.
Music and dance in particular. They were the most powerful carriers of tradition.
They engage emotions directly.
The body movement in a dance can symbolize concepts without words, making the story accessible for those who might not even speak the language.
Of course, it's always a sight to behold if you get to see one of these performances.
But of course, beyond all the grand epics and jokes, there was also uh the beliefs about superstitions and those small little customs that shaped daily life still do. These elements of intangible culture from protective charms and seasonal festivals. There might not always be stories in a narrative sense, but they are rich with symbolic meaning and often have their own little tales and legends behind them. In weaker folk belief, the natural and supernatural worlds are closely intertwined. Many weaguers traditionally accepted the existence of invisible beings that share a world with humanity.
Inheritance from the ancient shamanistic and later Islamic cosmologies.
One common category of such beings is the jin, known in Islamic law as spirits that can either be good or evil and are made of smokeless fire.
In rural weer communities, people long held that jyn could inhabit deserted uh deserted rather places, empty buildings, or even specific large trees and graves.
If someone fell ill quite suddenly or misfortune struck a household out of nowhere, it might be attributed to offending a jin or an evil spirit.
Folklore offers a myriad preventative uh forms to uh protect yourself from these unseen forces. For example, to ward off jin, weager mothers would hang a pouch wrapped in bright colored cloth called a pawnchuck on a tree near their home or on a child's cradle. Kind of like how we'd hang up a horseshoe. This kind of thing. Inside the pouch could be found bits of incense, Quran verses on paper, or even garlic, a blend of Islamic and pre-Islamic protective symbols.
Now fire that has an especially important role in folk spirituality.
We go would sometimes use fire to purify or protect. An old custom during certain ceremonies, say uh I don't know, moving into a new house or during the spring nurus festival was to light a small fire of juniper or popular wood and have family members pass through the smoke or jump over the flames.
The folk reasoning was that fire being sacred since tangist times burns away impurity and scares off the evil spirit.
The weaker's landscape is also dotted with mazar or shrine saints, tombs of reputed saints, sufi masters or local heroes which have been focal points of pilgrimage and rich sources of legend.
Visiting these shrines and participating in their associated festivals has been an integral custom. Blending Islamic piety with folk belief in the saints intercession.
Many of the shrines carry their own legends. For example, the mazar of Imman Asim in the Taklamakan desert is honored with the annual pilgrimage and ritual circling.
The legend goes that Imam Aim was a warrior saint who fought infidels in ancient times. He was martyed in the desert and a sandstorm miraculously buried his enemies forming the sand dunes around his tomb.
Pilgrims recount how people go with pure intentions to Imam Asim's shrine often witness small miracles or have their prayers answered. A barren woman might finally conceive after praying there. A sick child might get better. That kind of thing. Another example is the Ordam Padishar Mazar near Kashgar which local law identifies with the legendary Islamic hero Ali or another early saint.
Folklore describes celestial lights or guardian owls seen around the shrine at night protecting it from desecration.
And then there is the seasonal festivals and the life cycle customs.
The turning of seasons and life milestones are accompanied by customs rich in folklore.
Take Norus, the spring equinox new year celebrated widely in Central Asia and among weaggguers as well. Nor among the weaguers historically included preparing a special stew with seven ingredients, cleaning homes and youth gathering to sing and dance the night before.
Folklore explains notice as the day when the sun smiles and the earth is reborn.
A charming local superstition says that on Nor's morning, one should go outside and step on a piece of green grass while making a wish because on that day, grass can hear your heart's desire and convey it to the spirits of the earth. Another custom is that when young girls hang colorful eggs from flowering trees and the story would be told about how those represent the eggs of a mythical bird that brings prosperity.
Similarly, harvest time in late summer had the first fruits feast. When tasting the first grapes of the seasons, people utter blessings and tell the story how a saint, sometimes Alcad, the green one, taught people agriculture and blessed the fruit of the land.
These narratives tie human activities to a sacred timeline or mythical past and it gives meaning to a recurring natural cycle.
So when it comes to weddings too, we go customs are laid with symbolic acts and sayings.
Before a bride enters the groom's house, a family might hold a mirror in front of her or sprinkle water behind her.
Folklore says this is to confuse any evil spirit trailing her and to ensure she brings light and clarity into her new home.
The practice of the bride crying in a special melodic way before leaving her parents' house known as Yiglash is a ritualized expression accompanied by improvised crying songs where she laments leaving her home.
Now, as for births, one can find a host of old wives tales and rituals, too.
After a baby is born, a knife or piece of iron might be placed by the cradle to cut off any evil spirit. A relic of the old shamanic belief in iron's protective power.
There's an endearing custom of the cradle thief, too. In some villages, an older woman from the father's side will playfully steal the newborn's cradle and hide it, demanding treats or a small ransom.
The folklore behind this is that long ago, a grandmother saved her grandchild from an actual kidnapper by hiding the baby in a basket. And now the act is just remembered as a harmless prank.
Now, of course, we can't talk about birth without death. And even in mourning, there's a little sprinkling of folklore.
Now, while the Islamic practice prescribes certain rights, weaguer folk customs added on gestures and beliefs.
For example, spilling a bit of water at the doorstep after a funeral procession, after a funeral procession leaves, rather. People say it helps the departing soul cross into the next world. Kind of like providing them with a road of water, I suppose.
Some might quietly recount a legend of the soul's journey, i.e. The soul will cross a bridge as narrow as a hair with their good deeds turned into light to guide them. Just better hope that your good deeds were enough.
This imagery is not quite directly Quranic, but it is derived from local imagination about Central Asian Buddhist afterlife concepts, just adapted to the Islamic tradition a little more.
On the 7th and 40th days after death, families hold memorial meals where aside from prayers, they ensure to tell a few anecdotes celebrating the deceased's life, effectively turning that person into just another element of folklore for the community.
Now, if the person was particularly virtuous, sometimes little legends would spring up. etc. claimed that a green bird landed on their grave, a sign of a soul's peace. Although they appeared in someone's dream, giving wise advice.
Stories like that usually help the living relatives cope and accord the death as a respected place in communal memory.
It's certainly fair to say that France has a deep and old culture, one that goes back before the days of the Romans, back to the times of Gaul.
And it's with these roots in ancient times that we find the beginnings of what is unmistakably French folklore, a tradition passed down by word of mouth by the old bards and eventually put to paper by the later generations.
But it's a bit more complex than the surface level stories we might find in the modern retellings. The magic of the old world gives us plenty of mystery to find if we are willing to take the time to look for it. So if you are willing, let's go together and take a look. Today we're continuing after a bit of a hiatus our series on global folklore and we turn to France. today. Finally, we're back.
Well, I'd like to first welcome you all.
Hello everybody. And a quick thank you to those supporting on Patreon, YouTube memberships, the merch store, and the occasional donation. Everything's ad free across the breadth of all the playlists because of that. And if you can't afford to do that, well, just give us a like, comment, and subscribe, and that helps push us out in the algorithm.
Anyway, with all that being said, let's get on with it. our guide to French folklore. I hope you enjoy.
There are a few larger than life figures across French storytelling traditions that stand out for their fame and significance, and they often straddle that line between myth and history. You'll find that too quite a lot. But they do embody the values, fears, and aspirations of the errors that cherish their tales.
In exploring the next three, which would be Melucine, Roland, and Bluebeard, we'll uncover medieval romances, heroic epics, and some cautionary tales. Each have left quite a mark on the collective French memory. So, let's get straight into the first one, which would be Melucine, the serpentine fairy of Lucen.
There are few figures that illustrate the blend of mythology and medieval lore in France as vividly as Melucine.
She is portrayed as a beautiful water fairy or a fay that is f a y if you want to look it up who transforms into a part serpent creature on certain days. One of the most famous mermaidlike beings in European legend and certainly not the only one too. Ask the Germans about that. They have their own ones. The earliest comprehensive account of Melucine appears in the late 14th century Roman de Melosine by Jean Das of 1393.
A cordly romance that intertwines fantasy with the real genealogy of the Lucin noble family.
The tale is set in Pu and begins with the knight Ramondin encountering Melucine by a forest spring. One night after he has unwittingly killed his lord, mistakes happen. You know, Melucine, a mysterious maiden of supernatural aura, offers to help him and agrees to marry him. But there is a condition. Just one rule. He must never look at her on Saturdays.
Ramondine swears to honor this condition, and with Melusine as his wife, he prospers. She magically builds the splendid shadow Delucin, and bears him many children, founding a mighty lineage.
But crucially, Melucine spends each Saturday in seclusion. For on that day, she assumes her other form. From the waist down, she becomes a serpent or a fishlike creature, and she's not keen on showing her husband that.
Now, just quickly, this motive, the halfh human fay, whose enchantment requires this periodic transformation, connects meine to a broader class of mermaid, or I suppose we could say swan maiden legends in European folklore. It symbolizes the union and perhaps a bit of tension between mortal men and other worldly wives.
In any case, for many years, Ramondine keeps his promise. But eventually, curiosity gets the better of him.
Prodded by gossip, he spies on Meloine during her private time and beholds her in this serpent form.
Though initially he remains silent, a family tragedy later drives him to accuse Melusine openly, shouting, "Away you odious serpent, contaminator of my honorable race."
Almost said horrible. Excuse me.
Well, that's pretty harsh, isn't it?
Odious serpent, contaminator. Strong words.
Well, it's at this betrayal that the fairy woman is forced to leave.
Certainly hard to come back after that.
Letting out a whale, Melucine transforms fully into a dragon-like creature. And she departs forever, circling the castle walls as she goes.
In Jeanasa's romance, her departure is pretty heart-rending.
She forgives Ramondi but must fulfill the curse that had long ago condemned her to this fate. A curse laid on her by her own mother, Precina, which declared that Melucine would be monstrous on Saturdays until winning her husband's unconditional love.
Well, Meloine's story has been read as an allegory of marriage and faith, where trust is paramount and curiosity can shatter happiness, much like the classical myth of Cupid and Psyche or uh the modern thing of uh looking at your girlfriend's phone while she's in the shower checking those Instagram messages. H I'm sure none of you do that.
And her serpentine half also invites interpretation.
19th century commentators saw in Meloine a relic of local water spirit worship or nature goddess later demonized by Christian storytelling of course indeed Melucine's connection to water and springs suggest that she may originate from pagan Celtic or gouish folklore of female lake spirits comparable to Celtic nymphs or the lady of the lake in Arththeran or which you'd know about if you watched our English folklore video. The Lucen family propagated the Melusian legend to legitimize their dynasty, claiming descent from a fa ancestors, which imbued their line with a bit of mystique. And I'm sure it's hard to prove that wrong as much as it is to prove it right.
Over time though, the image of Melusine seems to have shifted from a cursed wife in a medieval romance to a more benevolent fairy in later folk tales. In some folk beliefs, she became a bansheeike figure. It was long said that Meline's ghostly form would appear wailing at top the ramparts of Lucen whenever one of the descendants was about to die.
This element, the fairy, is a harbinger of death. once again shows her role as kind of protective but uh an eerie spirit. I mean it's nice to get a warning but uh certainly puts everybody on edge doesn't it?
Now the core meloine tale was adapted in various forms across Europe. A poetic version by the cold dret in the 15th century closely followed Jeas while translations like Thurin von Ringolding's German meloine in 1456 spread the fame around that area.
These retellings sometimes took a few liberties. They altered the motivations.
Uh for example, in one version, Meline seeks marriage to gain an immortal soul.
Akin to the later story of Unin folk variants also cropped up in rural France. Any ruined castle associated with the Lucen might claim a Melucine's tower.
Even in modern culture, Melucine endures. For example, the two-tailed mermaid logo of a well-known coffee chain is often noted to resemble Melucine.
Write in the comments if you know which one that is.
Yet for all these variations, the essential narrative remains stable. A fa woman bound by a magical condition, tragically sundered from her human love.
That's a pretty quintessential fairy tale, isn't it? It really does exemplify French folklor's capacity to blend this fairy mythology with chivalri legend and it yields a tale at once enchanting as it is filled with melancholy echoes from the ancient spring cults to medieval romance and beyond. But I suppose it all depends who's telling it.
Where Melusine is rooted in folklore, Roland lies at the heart of France's fans deest epic tradition. A semi-historical hero elevated to legend.
Roland, French Roland as they call him from the old Frankishland was actually a Frankish military commander under Charlemagne famously killed at the battle of Ronol pass in 778.
However, the medieval epic poem Lashanson de Roland, the song of Roland around the 11th century, so a couple hundred years later from the actual events, transformed this historical skirmish against the Basque ambushers into a grand saga of Christian knights versus Sariss hordes.
In French folklore and literature, Roland became a paragon of the loyal and a brave knight, the perfect hero of those early days of feudalism, as one 19th century critic noted.
Well, his legend disseminated through oral and uh manuscript copies, and it would grow with each retelling, accumulating marvels and miracles far beyond the kernel of truth recorded by chronicers like Inard.
In the epic, Roland is depicted as Charlemagne's nephew and one of the 12 peers of France, a peerless warrior indeed. At Ronzeal, Roland commands the rear guard of Charlemagne's army and is treacherously attacked by a vastly larger force.
But Roland was too proud to call for help until it was too late. He fights valiantly with his legendary sword, Durandal, and the horn Olifant.
With nearly superhuman prowess, he holds off waves and waves of foes. And when defeat is imminent, Roland finally blows his horn to summon Charlemagne.
But he blows it so loudly that literally blows up his temples as well.
He strives to break Durandal on a rock to prevent its capture. Yet the enchanted blade will not yield. It's too strong for that. Ultimately, Roland dies a martr's death under a pine tree. Soul born to heaven by angels. A scene of almost biblical grandeur, immortalized in stanza form. And yes, it is your homework. Go and read the song of Roland.
Over time, the sword Durandal actually acquired its own folklore.
According to legend, Durandal contained relics of saints in its hilt and had been given to Charlemagne by an angel.
One famous legend holds that as he lay dying, Roland hurled Durandal through the air, and by divine miracle, it flew hundreds of miles and embedded itself in the cliffs of Roamador in southwestern France.
And indeed for centuries a sword claimed to be Durandal was displayed lodged in a high rock wall at Rocomador's sanctuary becoming a local wonder until by the way it disappeared. Apparently it got stolen in 2011. So there's another historical mystery that we're waiting to figure out. Another enduring legend concerns Roland's breach.
a spectacular 40 m high gap in the Pyrenees at the French Spanish border.
Pyreneian folklore asserts that Roland in a final feat of strength cleaved this gap with Durandal, either attempting to destroy the sword after Rono or to create a pass through which he could see France one last time before dying.
The broland is a real geogra uh geological formation and its association with Roland exemplifies how legend can be mapped onto landscape. Giving natural features a heroic or sacred meaning.
Not a bad tourist attraction. I just hope they got a little cafe there, you know, always helps.
Now, in terms of the symbolism, Roland primarily symbolizes feudal loyalty, but also this Christian heroism.
In the Song of Roland, his refusal to call for help too early is portrayed as prideful, but ultimately valerous.
It turns him into a kind of martyr hero who dies for his king and his faith. Of course, this resonated strongly in medieval christrysendom. Roland's horn blast becoming emblematic of a desperate last stand.
For medieval audiences, Roland's story also reinforced the perceived righteousness of the Frankish conquests in Spain, transforming a conflict with Christian Basks into one against the Muslim sariss, and that reflected later crusading ideology, too.
In faux tradition, beyond the epic, Roland took on a more folkloric aura.
He's often cast as a giant or a superhuman figure in local tales. All across France, one can find megaliths and rock formations dubbed Roland something something. You've got Roland's footprint, Roland's chair, etc. Supposedly created by the strides of the great hero or his exploits.
In the Pyrenees, aside from the breach that we talked about, legend said Roland and his horse leapt across a chasm to escape enemies. In Spanish law of a Sto de Rolon, these anecdotes show how Roland in folklore is a culture hero whose presence sanctifies and explains the local terrain.
Anyway, the character was continually reinvented.
I mean, we're going back to the late 8th century, things are going to change over time. Over the medieval epics, Renaissance and Baroque writers like Aristo in Orlando Furioso took Roland, or Orlando, as he sometimes called, into a fantastical new adventure. Albeit those are Italian renditions.
In folk songs and stories, Roland persisted as a proverbial strong man, kind of the ideal of a knight in the French tradition.
Notably, as the enlightenment skepticism set in, belief in saints and miracles was beginning to wne. Yet, the tale of Roland remained as cherished literature rather than literal truth. It's more about the enjoyment of the story rather than any real accuracy.
At least in terms of folklore.
Well, by the 19th century, romantics rediscovered Lashanson de Roland with quite a bit of patriotic fervor, celebrating it as France's national epic.
Monuments and paintings further embedded him in cultural memory. You'd have things like Roland raising his sword or blowing the Olifant horn.
Today, his name adorns streets and schools, and he lives on through adaptations all the way from opera to graphic novels.
Though clearly a legendary exaggeration of a historical figure, Roland occupies a mythic space in French folklore.
He's pretty much what King Arthur is to the Brits. A hero at the threshold of myth and history, eternally blowing that horn in the collective imagination.
Well, the next one we've got is a little bit darker. They can't all be great heroes. That's not what folklore is about.
We turn to Blue Beard or Barb Blur, a murderous [clears throat] husband whose story is terrified and fascinated since the 17th century.
Bluebird is the protagonist of the famous French fairy tale first published by Charles Pero in 1697, though elements of the tale drew on older medieval legends. In Pero's tale uh titled Lambar Blue, Blue Beard is a wealthy but hideous nobleman. Of course, distinguished by his unnaturally colored blue beard, hence the name creative, right? Well, he seriously marries uh serially rather marries young women only for them to disappear under mysterious circumstances.
Put Do and Doo together, it's pretty obvious what is happening. He weds yet another bride, the heroine of the story, and gives her free reign of his mansion while he is away, except for one room, which she may never go in. A door that must never be opened.
You can guess what happens, right?
>> [laughter] >> Eventually, curiosity overcomes the wife. She opens the forbidden chamber, and lo and behold, she's quite rightly horrified to discover the floor drenched in blood and the corpses of Blue Beard's previous wives hanging on the walls.
Ah, so that's why he didn't want her to go in there. Makes sense.
Well, the poor wife, of course, is in quite a state when she sees this. In her terror, she drops the key, which becomes stained with blood, and the stain magically cannot be washed off, betraying her disobedience. When Blue Beard returns, Blue Beard's not happy. He's quite enraged, and he moves to execute his wife for defying him.
Only through delaying tactics and the timely arrival of her brothers does the wife narrowly escape murder. As for Blue Beard, he is killed and his fortune is inherited by the survivors.
Pharaoh concludes with an explicit uh morality warning against female curiosity in hasty marriage. But uh perhaps he could have mentioned that you probably shouldn't be killing your wife's evil. That's also not good.
Well, the Blue Beard tale, classified by folklorists as a a maiden killer type tale, is cautionary and it has widespread analoges. It resonates with the classical Eve motive of forbidden knowledge, the curiosity of the wife leading to peril, and also with the motive of the test of obedience.
Peril's version is the best known, but scholars note earlier incarnations, too.
In Britany, a legend about a sixth century villain named Conomore the shares a few striking similarities.
Conomore allegedly killed several wives upon prophecy that he would die by his son's hand. When his last wife, Trifany, became pregnant, he attempted to murder her, too. But she was saved in this case by a saintly intervention and Connor was slain instead.
This Breton legend was often cited as a real life basis for Blue Beard's character.
Another historical figure frequently invoked is Jill Duray, a 15th century baron of Britany who was convicted of heinous murders, though of children not of wives. Later, popular imagination complainted his crimes with the Blue Beard archetype. Perhaps we'll talk about him in detail in a different video. He certainly deserves it. Indeed, the Blue Beard figure may be a composite drawing on such infamous characters to personify the archetype of the serial wife killer.
Over time, the Blue Beard story was retold and, I suppose, watered down in various folk versions.
Sometimes the wives are replaced by a single previous wife or just a bloody spectre to frighten the new bride.
The forbidden chamber motive connects to older folk stories such as the white dove or fitcher's bird collected in Grim's tales of Germany where sorcerer or ogre kills curious girls indicating a panuropean spread of this narrative.
Yet Perau's telling remains the definitive French version, notable for its straightforward brutality and its clear moral.
Later adaptation like Bella Bartok's opera Duke Bluebard's Castle in 1911 go psychologically into Bluebard's character a bit more, and they portray him more as a tragic figure rather than a one-dimensional monster.
In local French tradition, Bluebird is typically located in a castle, quote, somewhere in France. But a few places lay claim to the story's setting. For example, the chatau debor in Britany or the castle of Tifer, Gilder's home.
They're sometimes touted as Blue Beard's Castle in tourist law, though with little historical basis. In any case, it helps draw crowds and they probably have a nice cafe.
Maybe. I don't know.
In any case, at its core, Blue Beard is often interpreted as a grim warning to young women entering marriage. In Burough 17th century context, arranged marriages to older men of power were pretty common. Nothing unusual to see there. And the tale, I suppose it vividly externalizes the anxieties of a young bride, the mysterious husband with a terrible, terrible secret, the loss of agency, and the life or death stakes of matrimonial obedience.
The forbidden room can symbolize the privacy, or perhaps secrecy of a spouse's past, into which one trespasses at one's own peril.
the blood stain on the key. That's also a powerful image of guilt that cannot be concealed implying that crimes will out and transgressions always leave some kind of permanent mark. Remember, it's all metaphorical. You know what I mean?
Now, it is noteworthy that Perau uh appended to Blue Beard a second moral, advising wives to be courageous and clever in their adversity, suggesting the tale's lesson was not purely this admonishment, but also an encouragement that wit and solidarity can overcome this tyrannical evil.
But in a broader folkloric and perhaps Yungian sense, if we're going to go that route, Blue Beard represents the predatory monster in domestic guys. Now, that's a theme that recurs in many don't talk to strangers type stories. Think of Little Red Riding Hood, you know, things like that. That blue beard is outwardly wealthy and cordly, but hides a blood stained chamber filled with corpses of his ex-wives.
is perhaps a commentary on how appearances can deceive. You know, don't be taken in by all of the good stuff.
You know, maybe she should have married that potato farmer down the street. H interestingly, unlike many fairy tales, Blue Beer doesn't have any magical creatures or spells, aside from the mildly magical key, but this is all in allegory.
The horror in this tale is more psychological and very just base level human instinct.
This sets it apart from the cannon of uh French cont as a proto gothic tale.
Certainly something that wouldn't be out of place in a uh let's say a 19th century or early 20th century Gothic tale. Do you think about some girl being taken away to some castle and mysterious goings on? It seems a little bit Bram Stokeresque, I think.
In any case, its endurance is seen in the way Blue Beard has become a by word for a wife murderer. Even if you look up in Miriam Webster, it notes Blue Beard as meaning a man who marries and kills one wife after another.
Thus, from Perau's literary salons to the rural Grand Mar's fireside storytelling, Blue Beard Shadow has loomed large and will continue to do so.
Well, in any case, moving on. One of the most fascinating aspects of French folklore is its regional variety.
Each province or region shaped by its own history and landscape cultivated distinct creatures and spirits. Many popular surveys of French folklore focus heavily on say I don't know Breton fairies or Burgundian loop gaos, but several areas have equally rich traditions that deserve a bit of attention on their own. And so here, let's take a look at a selection of supernatural beings and ghostly legends that form some of the under represented regions. Picardi in the north, Orville in the central highlands, Corser in the Mediterranean, and Seavoy in the Alpine East. Of course, let's start with Picard and the white beast.
From the flat fields and wooded veils of Picod comes the eerie legend of Labet Blanch Depici, the white beast of Picod.
First recorded in local oral literature by the folklorist Emilon Gilbear in 1880. This tale tells of a mysterious white creature that haunts the countryside.
As the story goes, a pigard farmer walking home at night under a full moon hears the rustling in an alalfa field as if an animal was stalking behind him.
He whistles, thinking it might be a lost dog, but gets no response and continues wearily.
Suddenly, a large white beast, sometimes described as a doglike or a wolflike but unnaturally pale being, springs out and passes between the man's legs and then begins circling him rapidly.
The man is understandably quite terrified and starts swinging at it with his stick, but he hits only air. The creature is very swift. It whirls around him without ever making contact.
He's in trouble. real trouble.
Accompanying him all the way to the edge of the village. The white beast then in a flash transforms into a man and then vanishes.
The man survives.
I mean, he's pretty shaken up, but he's physically unharmed.
Probably not going to get much sleep that night, though. Unlike typical werewolf tales, the white beast of Piccode does not maul its victim.
But it seems content just to instill fear, perhaps test the traveler's courage.
In Gilber's retelling, Logos interpreted the apparition as a kind of loop, a werewolf in enchanted form.
Yet, notably, this beast was not violent.
Now, that's a rare case where the encounter ends without bloodshed, and that leaves the protagonist thankful that the creature was not of the murderous sort and just wanted to, I don't know, give him a scare, a bit cheeky, a trickster type being.
Picard's white beast can be seen as representative of shape-shifting spirits common in French folklore. Its white color and playful menace are reminiscent of the Norman and Pickard Loop Sierra or witch wolf. Supposedly witches take on the uh shape of a wolf to a hairy travelers.
Gilburn in key rather indeed collected a companion tale of loop siier where spectral wolves pursued a drunk farmer but kept leaping back to avoid his blows vanishing at the boundary of the village.
The white beast similarly might have been seen as a sorcerer, perhaps a lost soul in the guise of an animal, bound by some rule not to follow into human settlements.
In terms of symbolism, though, white or pale ghosts often signal an unearly presence. In contrast to natural wildlife, such a creature could have been a folk explanation for unexplained frights in the night, perhaps inspired by real encounters with albino animals, or the play of moonlight and mist giving ordinary beasts this kind of ghostly appearance.
Of course, think about it. When you go on those night walks, I don't know about you, I'm a night walker. I love it.
Sometimes your eyes play tricks on you, especially if you're a little tired or you're walking home from work, something like this.
Tell me in the comments if you've ever seen anything that you think is strange at night. I think we've all seen something weird.
Anyway, stories like uh this, they also implicitly reinforce community borders.
Note that the beast disappears at the village edge, as if acknowledging the sanctity of the human realms, a pattern also seen in werewolf law, where the curse hold sway outside, but not within one's home village.
Even into the 20th century, Picatti's elders would sometimes caution youngsters about venturing out on nights at the full moon, invoking the bet blanch as a cautionary figure.
And while not as famous nationally as say the uh beast of Gdong, which we discussed in the werewolf folklore video, the white beast of Picard remains an intriguing piece of local folklore.
It embodies the limonality of the village frontier, the threshold where the wild and supernatural meets the domestic. The fact that it does not harm might even reflect the subtle regional ethos, a certain pickard pragmatism that not all that is strange wishes us harm.
As Gilbert himself noticed, unlike the savage werewolves of other provinces, because he's white beast, seemed almost benign, or at least restrained.
In any case, it provided a thrilling tale and today it stands as a charming footnote in the catalog of French phantom beasts.
Well, let's move on to the Or region in central France with its ancient volcanoes and deep forests, and we find a trove of folklore teameming with wolves, witches, and other nocturnal terrors.
In Orone, as in many rural parts of France, belief in the werewolf persisted well into the 19th century, perhaps longer in the more urbanized areas. In 1879, an anthropologist noted that belief in werewolves among Orone's country folk is widespread and ultimately integral to their occult imagination.
Unlike the single infamous case of the GDON beast in the 1760s which some view as a historical crypted ornat werewolves were part of a recurring folk narrative.
Travelers and lonely shepherds claimed to see men turning into wolves at crossroads under the full moon or to encounter wolves that behaved in unnervingly human ways.
Oral evidence, for what that's worth, suggests that as recently as the mid-9th century, werewolves were considered a very real menace in remote parts of Alia, Kandal, and Pu dem.
Dogs, it was said, would not bark at a werewolf's approach, sensing something unnatural.
And as for bullets, they would not fell it unless you got your bullets blessed by a priest, which I don't know how many priests are going to do that. Americans watching, next time you go to church, take some bullets for the priest to bless, just in case there's some werewolves around.
See if he does it. In any case, one distinctive orphanat legend speaks of the Galipols, a local term for a shape shifter or roving malevolent spirit in beast form.
In Libera, for a southeast of it was often believed that a sorcerer named Leonard commanded a whole pack of werewolves, almost like some kind of a mafia boss of the supernatural.
Peasants whispered that Leonard's wolves enforced his nefarious will terrorizing those who crossed him in the dead of night.
Well, another notable figure in the liatur law is the let described by folklorist Andonin Sabatier in 1912.
The let was a goblin that manifested as a burning horse's head floating in the darkness near certain haunted crossroads.
Imagine stumbling through the black woods and seeing a fiery ichine skull suddenly rushing at you. It's hard to keep calm in that situation.
In Sabatier's account, one forested hollow had a reputation for either lets or werewolves attacking the unwary travelers.
His own grandfather reportedly fire a pistol at a lunging werewolf in the 19th century, causing the creature to flee, raising the question of whether it was truly a beast or perhaps a masquerading bandit. Hard to tell after he's ran away.
Sabatia mused that the encounter could mark the waning of the werewolf's power in modern times.
By then, the rational explanation competed with the supernatural one.
Perhaps it was just a highwayman dressed up in animal belts. After all, that's the best way to keep warm, right?
Orvern supernatural wolves were typically described as huge black sometimes ash gray wolves with glowing eyes capable of standing upright or vanishing at will. The loot sorcerers the sorcerers wolves were believed to be humans often even the neighbors who dawned wolfshaped to attend the witch's sabbath or settle grudges.
protective charms against them included herbs, making the sign of the cross, or simply avoiding crossroads at certain hours. The lion or other goblin apparitions like many French especi reflecting another widespread folk belief in irons or magical power mostly because it's forged in fire. This is pretty much over all of Europe. This is why people would hang horseshoes at the precipaces of their houses, things like this.
Or also had legends of revenants, the restless dead, and Christmas werewolves, men cursed to Rome as wolves on Christmas Eve for their sins, adding to a general atmosphere that the night in Orn belonged to the supernatural.
These beliefs served multiple social functions. There were cautionary tales to keep people, especially the kids, safe indoors at night, but also to discourage antisocial behaviors since anyone behaving oddly might be suspected as a werewolf.
Basically, just get everybody to tow the line of society and fit in. Otherwise, you're going to be dragged off somewhere and uh questioned.
But they also gave a kind of narrative form to very real dangers. For instance, wolves existed and they do attack livestock or lone people. So attributing some attacks to werewolves made them part of a moral universe rather than a random tragedy.
In any case, by the late 19th century, as literacy and skepticism spread, elites might ridicule such beliefs as backward.
Yet even then, folklorists like Paul Sebilo noted that the rural anecdotes about werewolves were told with a genuine conviction.
Well, let's leave mainland France for a while and go to the Mediterranean island of Corsica cuz that's a bit unique. It's got its own distinct branch of law. Two of the most striking Corsican folk uh folk figures are the Madzeri and the Senodori.
These are not mythical creatures per se, but rather supernatural roles taken by certain gifted or cursed people within Corsican villages, making them part of the folklore, just as witches or shamans are in other cultures.
Let's start with the Mazeri, which are often translated as dream or soul hunters. According to Corsican belief, a mazeru, which is a uh well, that's the singular form, is an individual, male or female, many who are women, who usually, unbeknownst to themselves, initially has to go out in spirit at night to hunt animals in their dreams. In these nocturnal visions, the mazeroo stalks and kills a wild animal, perhaps a boar or a deer or a bird, only to then see in the moment of the creature's death, the face of a fellow villager, superimposed on the animal's face.
That's not a good surprise.
This act prophesizes that the person thus recognized will die within a year, often within days or weeks.
In essence, the mazeri are involuntary harbingers of death. By hunting the sole double of someone, they seal that person's fate. If the animal is only wounded, the person might merely suffer an accident or illness. Importantly, maderi do not choose their targets out of malice. They're just seen as acting out an otherworldly ritual beyond their conscious control, almost as instruments of fate.
Many materi are horrified by their own gift or curse depending on how you look at it. More of a curse really. In Corsan oral accounts, a matereping knowing that they've dreamed of killing a familiar animal and thus which a neighbor is likely to die next. A burden of knowledge that they don't really want to carry.
Anthropologist Dorothy Carrington, who studied Corsican culture, traces the Maderi belief back to the very ancient, perhaps Neolithic hunting cults, given its deeply primeval character and connection to wild game.
But on the opposite end of the spectrum are these senior dori from Saign to you make you the sign of the cross.
Zenyodori are folk healers and anti- witchcraft practitioners.
Highly respected, relatively common in villages too. Traditionally more numerous than the uh maderi.
A senodora often a woman though men can be senodori too but you know it's more often women specializes in curing the evil eye. A malady believed to be caused intentionally or not by someone casting a jealous or malevolent gaze that drains the victim's vitality.
Symptoms? Well, they include persistent headache, weakness, unexplained weeping, and misfortune.
Few of you probably went, "Hang on a minute. That's me."
Well, hopefully not the unexplained weeping or any of the others. I hope everybody's in good health and having great fortune in their lives. Anyway, the senadora performs a quiet ritualistic healing ceremony, usually at home. Typically, she will mutter secret prayers while dropping oil into a bowl of water, observing the oil's patterns to diagnose the presence of the evil eye.
The senior daughter then breaks the curse by making the sign of the cross and often disposes of the water and oil outside symbolically casting out the illness.
These prayers always taught in stricter confidence and often learned on Christmas Eve it is said lose their efficacy if revealed to others. So you have to keep it a secret.
Sinodora viewed as the forces of light in Corsican folk spirituality.
Explicitly positioned as the antithesis of the Mazeri's shadowy dealings.
As one account puts it, they are held to represent the element of light in the Corsan occult world while the Mazeri are shrouded in shadow.
In practical terms, the senadori also treat natural illnesses with herbs and traditional medicine.
But their unique role is combating the maloio, the evilness and spells.
Sometimes beyond the scope of a regular doctor. I mean, if all else fails, go the oldfashioned route. You got nothing to lose.
Nearly every Corsican village had stories of particular families where maderism ran in the blood. Missouri were often secretive or reluctant.
Some were only recognized after their death when villagers recalled their predictive dreams.
It was believed a mazeru's power came in a incomplete form of a baptism, a priest's slip up during a ritual or a calling in adolescence through a dream initiation.
While feared or shunned by some, Mazeri were also seen with a sort of tragic respect. They didn't cause death. It wasn't really like that. They merely just foresaw it in this symbolic form.
Interestingly, Mazeri were not associated with the devil in Corsica's folklore, unlike witches elsewhere. They were just seen as operating in a dream realm of a parallel world. With even a suggestion that this gift is pagan in origin, predating Christian frameworks.
I mean, if it's predating it that much, well, the devil is kind of irrelevant, right?
Now, meanwhile, the senior, they were pillars of the community. You wanted them around. Usually the nice old lady of a devout Catholic faith. Yes, certainly devout in the Christian ways, but they paradoxically practiced a semi-agical folk right. But it was all sanctioned by tradition. Nothing bad about it. White magic, if we're going to put it that way. They often inherited the knowledge the role might pass on from grandmother to granddaughter.
The community's trust in a senadori was strong. Even when the church formally disapproved of folk healers, the locals knew that no priest could or would spend time to cure the evil eye the way that a senior could. They just weren't qualified.
You'd call a priest for other stuff.
Notably, despite the Inquisition's presence in Corsera in the 16th and 17th centuries, Senadori were never persecuted as witches, likely because their work was seen as fundamentally benevolent and compatible with Catholic prayers.
It was just a little extra sprinkling.
[clears throat] They openly performed their rights in pretty much every village as late as the 20th century.
Yeah. Thus, Corsica's Maderi and Senadori illustrate a unique folk cosmology, nightly battles of fate, daily rituals of healing.
You can imagine a metaphoric reading that Missouri represent the harsh realities of life and death in Corsera's historically violent vendetta marked society. I mean, good lord, we could make a whole video just on Corsica. I can tell you that much.
Whereas the senior dori represent the community's efforts to hold on to health, divine protection, and a bit of hope.
To this day, Carrington's seminal book, The Dream Hunters of Corsica, 1971, and other studies treat these beliefs with the respect they deserve due to an internally coherent system of thought, a blend of pagan survivals and Christian devotions. That makes Coican folklore really a world unto itself.
But let's move on because we're going to Seavoi high up in the French Alps and Jura Mountains and the neighboring Alpine areas where we encounter the Servan, a type of household goblin or brownie unique to Alpine folklore.
The siran belongs to the same general family as the Anglo Scottish brownie or the German cobalt.
A small elusive domestic fairy who attaches itself to a farm or a homestead.
But the siran has distinctive local traits. Not exactly like the goblin you would usually encounter.
Well, I don't know if you're encountering goblins in your daily life, but uh some people are basically goblins.
Described in one account as a 25 to 30 cm tall lutin or imp with curly blonde hair, a tanned complexion, and clad in a rustic garb, green shirt embroidered vest, leather breaches, and a knitted cap. The savan is generally benevolent, a protector of cattle and the household.
According to Alpine tradition, servans reside around stables, hay lots, or old hollow tree stumps near the farm.
They help milk the cows, keep foxes away from the chickens, and may even invisibly lead herds to good pasture.
In return, the farming family leaves out offerings for the san. a bowl of soup, a hunk of bread and cheese, a pat of butter or a cup of milk. If treated well, the servant ensures the cows give abundant milk and the farm thrives. But if insulted or neglected, it can turn mischievous.
How mischievous?
Well, it's not going to be really, really bad. It's just going to do stuff like hide your tools. It'll tangle the manes of the horses and in some stories it would even sour the milk.
One Savoyard saying went, "Whoever has a servant has a good guarantor," reflecting the idea that a happy siran is generally a guarantee of prosperity.
Of course, the other side of it, you know, a guarantee of soured milk. The folklore also imbuss the servant with shape-shifting abilities.
In the BJ region, it is said that the Servant can appear as an animal, perhaps a cat, a dog, maybe even a wolf if it wishes to uh play tricks or observe humans unnoticed, a good little disguise.
Many tales tell of a farmer seeing a strange cat or fox around the farm that vanishes impossibly or never seems to age.
That's kind of a sign that it was a SAN in disguise.
Unlike malicious shape shifters, the sans's transformations are usually harmless pranks or the tests of a farmer's kindness.
For example, there is one story that recounts a traveling peddler spending a night in a barn in Seavoi. He shares his supper generously with what he thinks is a stray cat. And the next morning, he finds a silver coin left on his pack, the servants's reward for his generosity.
Gamles pay off sometimes.
Seavoyard belief placed sans not just at individual farms, but also at specific landscape features. You could find them guarding mountain passes, bridges, and sometimes dangerous footpaths.
It was in these roles that they resembled the tutillary spirits or guardians of the land.
Shepherds in the 19th century world would pour a libation of milk on the ground for the servant before moving herds to these summer alpine pastures, almost like an offering to the local deity of that place. Such practices show a continuity with pre-Christian traditions where spirits of a place were honored, perhaps echoes of Roman or Celtic household gods.
By the 19th century, these beings were thoroughly folded into Christian folklore.
The servant might be called the bombed, the good little soul, regarded with affectionate reverence rather than rather than a formal worship. I suppose one delightful legend from Seavoi tells of a servant who helped build a farmer's chalet. Night after night, unseen hands stacked logs and plastered walls. The grateful farmer left out new clothes for the servan as thanks. But upon receiving the clothes, a fine red cap and tiny clogs. The servant was offended.
You see, in many fairy traditions, gifting clothes frees the spite from a sprite rather from its obligations.
immediately comes to mind. Uh if you ever saw Harry Potter where Dobby gets the sock from Harry and then he's freed from his obligation because he's received clothing. Yeah, this isn't a a new thing. It's just old traditions.
Well, the servant put on the garments and was heard departing, saying he was now too grand for this place. Too good for us, I suppose. Well, it mirrors similar tales of English brownies or Scandinavian niece who leave when given clothes. And it conveys a gentle moral.
Don't offer payment for sincere help.
Just appreciate it.
I suppose so.
Uh, look, when people are doing nice things for you, I suppose it's not a seessaw. You don't have to keep weighing the scale to uh make sure everything is even. Perhaps not every act of generosity uh needs to be met with another one. Otherwise, people feel obligated the other way again. You know what I mean? Anyway, we're not all goblins and spirits, so perhaps we don't take it too seriously. A good thank you is perhaps the best course of action.
In Alpine cultures, the servant also served to explain the unexplainable around the farm. missing items, inexplicably clean stables in the morning, or lucky streaks in farming.
You could attribute that to these helpful imps.
They were a way for people living in harsh mountain environments to personify the care and threats around them. A sudden avalanche or rockfall might be blamed on angry mountain spirits.
Whereas a barn surviving a storm unscathed, you might credit that to the vigilant.
Though belief in sans waned in the 20th century with modernization, echoes remain in regional festivals and local vocabulary.
The very word servan links to the French curve to serve or the arpetan dialect word for servant emphasizing its role.
Studying the servant and its analogies rather across the Alps, Switzerland, Permont, etc. reveals an example of how French folklore shares its motives with the wider European folklore, yet it always adapts them to the local milu.
The Zuran is Seavoy's answer to the brownie, a small friend of the household, equal parts whimsical and helpful, embodying the values of hospitality and respect for the unseen.
When most people hear the word folklore, they might think of quaint fairy tales told to children around a campfire.
But Korean folklore, that's something far more intriguing, far more mysterious, and at times even a little bit unsettling.
So allow yourself to imagine shape-shifting foxes lurking in the shadows, mischievous goblins who delight in causing chaos, and even beings from heaven descending to earth to shape the destiny of the Korean nation.
That's what we're talking about today.
The captivating folklore of Korea, all the way from the ancient shamans to the modern streets of Soul. And we'll go through these myths and legends talking about how centuries of history, religion, and regional traditions all came together to form a rich tapestry unlike anything that you've heard before.
So come with me as today we continue our series into our folklore guides by country, all available in the playlist, and we talk about the modern nation of Korea.
But first, let me welcome you to the channel. If you're coming back, good to meet you. And if it's your first time here, I invite you to click that subscribe button. You'll get plenty of more videos like this. So, uh, we also have no ads in this video or any other videos on the channel completely uninterrupted for your enjoyment. We are supported by those on Patreon, YouTube memberships, the people who check out the merch store, and also the occasional donation through where is it? Oh, yes, the YouTube super thanks and the PayPal link which is in the description. You may also find all the other links in the video description, channel description, or the pinned comment. Now, with all that being said, let's continue now. And uh today we can talk about the folklore of Korea.
Enjoy.
Of course, like with any other folklore tradition, we have to go way back. We're going to start tracing the origins. Long before any kingdom or written record, the Korean Peninsula was home to indigenous shamanistic and animistic beliefs.
The early Koreans, like many ancient peoples, saw the natural world as teeming, alive with spirits. Rivers, mountains, trees, animals, all inhabited by spirits and gods. And as for the humans, well, it was up to them to try to live in harmony with or at some points appease the unseen forces.
Of course, this world view gave rise to a term called muism. Korea's native shamanism, a kind of polytheistic religion centered on ritual mediation by shamans, mostly women, by the way, called mudang.
Now, it was their job to sort of communicate between the humans and the spirits.
Korean shamans led ceremonies offering food, dance, and songs to gods and ancestors. a practice that has surprisingly persisted into the present day despite the later suppressions.
But in these early oral traditions, we find creation myths that explain how the land and its features came to be. And a prominent example is the myth of the giant goddess Margo Halme, an earth mother figure said to have shaped the land by carrying mud in her skirt and urinating mighty streams to form rivers.
I don't think we'll be swimming in them anytime soon. Well, though Margo does not appear in official records, she survives in folk memory as a kind of archetype of her creator grandmother.
a reflection of the significant role of female deities in Korean folk imagination and we'll certainly get to a few more of them later on.
Now, we also hear from these early times the sun and moon myth that is a tiger and a bear or siblings becoming the sun and the moon together and also local legends explaining peculiar rocks or hills as the work of giants or spirits.
It's myths like this that often show totemistic features. Take this for an example. Clans associating themselves with animals like bears, tigers, or snakes as ancestral spirits.
And indeed, as we shong, the bear actually plays a key role in Korea's most famous founding myth.
But all truth be told, Korea's earliest folklore was indeed rooted around the shamanism and nature worship, providing a spiritual narrative for a world not yet mapped by historical dynasties.
And it is that indigenous foundation that sets a stage for more elaborate stories of the ages to come.
Now, I suppose we better start with the story of Danun Wangyong.
That kind of marks the dawn of Korean mythology and the birth of the first Korean kingdom. According to legend first recorded in the 13th century chronicle Samuk Yuza that is memorabilia of the three kingdoms, Danuin was the son of a god and immortal and became the founder of goun that is uh often called old Joe Korea's earliest kingdom.
Now the myth itself was quite captivating. Huan Nin, the Lord of Heaven, had a son named Huan Nung, who yearned to uh live among humans.
Juan Nin permitted Huanong to descend from heaven, gifting him the three heavenly seals as tokens of divine authority.
Accompanied by spirits of wind, rain and clouds, Huan Nung and his retinue settled on Mount Tbebeck under a sacred synind that is a divine alter tree establishing a heavenly city on earth.
The scene of a god king bringing order and culture to the human world is Korea's equivalent of a descent from heaven myth, therefore laying a theocratic foundation for kingship.
You'll find plenty more of these in different cultures. Well, even modern day North Korea has their own descent from heaven myth, which is quite interesting.
Well, uh, now we enter the famous bear and tiger episode. Often the first Korean myth to children. In those days, a bear and a tiger sharing a cave long to become human. Juan accepted their plea, but he gave them a test. They received a bundle of mugwart and garlic and were instructed to eat only this sacred food and to avoid sunlight for 100 days. The tiger grew impatient and failed to endure the cave's darkness.
But the bear, well, the bear persevered, and so after 21 days, the bear was miraculously transformed into a woman.
whereas the tiger who couldn't hold doubt remained an animal.
Now the bear woman called her uno by the way was a grateful but soon felt quite lonely. You see she had no companion before she had the tiger around but now she was a human and well communication must have been a little bit difficult.
So she prayed under the divine tree for a child.
Wong was moved by her devotion and decided to take her as a wife and their union produced a son. That son being called Danun Wong.
Thus, Dun's very parentage symbolizes the union of heaven and earth. A celestial father and an earthly formerly Osign mother.
Now this motive of a sky god marrying an earth figure often a bear or other animal turned human recurs in other Asian myths and word is a classic founding myth pattern. No one really claims that it's unique to their own culture. I suppose stories like this travel along trade routes and things like that. Everything gets changed to a suit a local narrative.
Now, as for Danun, he grew up eventually and he became the first king of Joon, establishing his capital at Acadal and by tradition founding the kingdom in 2,333 B.C.E.
The legend states that Danun reigned for an astonishing 1500 years during which he moved his capital several times from Pyongyang to mountaintop Acadal and back and forth again.
Eventually, a new figure from Chinese law called Kija or Jid in Chinese was appointed by the Chinese Joe dynasty to govern the region around 11:22 B.CE.
At that moment, as the myth recounts, Dunan did not simply vanish. Instead, he withdrew back to Mount Asadau and became a mountain god at the ripe age of 1,98 years old.
So, in other words, Korea's founding father turned into an immortal guardian spirit of land, worshiped by later generations as a kind of deity of the mountains.
This end of the story is rich in symbolism. Danun's mortal rule ends as political authority shifts, but he transcends into a spiritual realm that indicates the endurance of native beliefs, even as new reimes rise and fall.
Of course, the dang good myth is the treasured genesis of the Korean nation.
So much that has been called the first sovereignity myth of Korea. It provided ancient rulers and modern nationalists too. A divine mandate. The Korean people were indeed the children of heaven through Danun legitimizing their unity and their independence.
Yet critical analysis reveals layers behind the legend.
Scholars do note that the story preserves memories of old totemic clans, a bear totem clan, that is Unyo's people, and a tiger totem tribe, which failed the trial, interacting with an incoming heavenly cult, that is Juan Nung's lineage.
And so in fact, the tale could encode a historical alliance. The quote divine city of Huanong's followers merging with a local bear worshiing tribe to form a new kingdom. The tiger's failure may symbolize the exclusion or defeat of another clan. The myth also reflects a dual cosmology, the harmonious marriage of a sky father and an earth mother, a theme seen across many Korean foundational myths. And we'll see a few other examples soon. We're not quite done with them. But it is intriguing too that Samuk Yusa the co a rather gorio era text compiled by a Buddhist monk is our earliest source for Danun.
The more official Samuk sagi century barely mentions Danun at all. instead favoring a later Chinese sage as Joon's founder for a more rational history.
Well, this emission and later rediscovery of Dan Gun show how historical biases can suppress folklore.
You see, the Confucian scholars downplayed what they considered to be myth while later writers revived it to celebrate Korea's indigenous heritage.
But despite the questions of veracity, i.e. there's no archaeological evidence of a Bronze Age demigod king living to 1900 years old, the Danun legend has had very real cultural impact.
It remains honored in rituals. For example, in modern Korea, they celebrate the National Foundation Day. That's October 3rd, by the way. It's said to be Dan Goon's founding date.
And even in politics, North Korea once claimed to have discovered Danun's tomb, a nationalistic claim showing how the myth can be pressed into political service. After all, Pyongyang was one of his capitals, right?
So really, the tale of Dun shows the genesis of the Korean identity.
It's half myth, half history, but it's 100% revered.
So let's move forward in time a little bit and we get to the era of the three kingdoms.
Yes, Korea had a three kingdoms era as well. For them it was the 1st century BC to the 7th century CE. We have Gurio, Bakj and Sila and also the Confederacy of Ga. Now each of these ancient stats states rather had its own founding myth rich with its own supernatural portents and miraculous births. Each of them serving to legitimize the royal lines.
These myths were recorded in sources like Samukusa and even the official Samuk sagi which while generally factual did summarize some foundation legends.
Here's a common thread. It's what we just observed. the motive of a celestial figure and a terrestrial figure often an animal or earthly one producing the first king a reflection of that sky earth union principle so let's survey a few of these tales first we have Gurio the northernmost kingdom's foundation is tied to the legend of Jumong also known as Dong Mong now according to the Samuk sagi Jumong was born from an egg. Now, how does that make sense?
Well, his mother, Yua, was the daughter of a river god, Harbeck, and uh she was impregnated by sunlight after encountering a heavenly prince. In some versions, the sun god or heavenly emissary named Haimosu.
You are laid a large egg from which hatched a boy of prodigious ability and he was named Jumong.
Well, once he grew up, Jumong was an adult and proved to be an unmatched archer. And actually, his name, by the way, means skilled archer.
So, he fled a jealous foster father, leading followers to the remote region of Gurio. In a famous anecdote, when Jumong was pursued to a river, animals formed a bridge to carry him across, nature itself aiding the heavenborn warrior.
Jumong established Gurio and became his first king, revered as the Dong Mong Wang.
It's a long word in Korean, but we can just say the holy king of the east.
Well, the myth served Gogurio kings by asserting divine paternity, a sun god, and the extraordinary omens at the kingdom's birth, too.
Interestingly, Jimong story doesn't end with him. It branches out into other myths.
One Gurio offshoot is the Buouyo legend of Jumong's father, Hosu, and another eggbor who ruled Buyo. showing how interwoven these narratives really are.
And then we have Bakj, a southwestern kingdom. It shares its roots with Gagurio and it was said to be founded by Onjo, the son of Jumong.
Thus, Bakj's legend is less fantastical about Onjo himself.
He's simply a prince who migrated south, that is. But Bak did have a colorful myth regarding Jumong's mother and half brothers.
In folklore, Jimong son Biru and others had episodes that explain names of localities, though these are lesser known. So for brevity, we must say that Bak's foundation myth is often subsumed under Guruddio's narrative. They kind of get thrown into the same basket.
However, equally, Bakjay folklore is rich in other areas like the story of King Munju's daughter who became a spirit or various temple legends under Buddhist influence. It's worth noting that Bakier, like the others, likely had a totem origin idea, too. Their royal family came descent from Buyo's heavenly line, linking back to Jumong's sun godfather.
Next we have the kingdom of Cela that is uh think of it as southeastern Korea roughly but is perhaps the most elegant founding myth. Its first king Park Husse was said to have hatched from a bright white egg.
The story goes well depending on the uh telling of it but essentially the chiefs of six villages in the Ginhan Confederation which was preilla saw a miraculous light and a white horse on a hill. Well, of course approaching it they found a large egg from which a baby boy emerged and it was Hok.
The infant spoke and radiated charisma.
By the age of 13, he was made king of the United.
Now, as for that name, Hyokusay, it roughly means bright world, signifying that he would bring light or renewal.
Simultaneously, a beautiful girl was discovered born from a dragon or sprung from a well, depending on what account you get. Now, this girl, Arong became Hyokus's queen. And again, we see the pattern. Yusay is associated with a heavenly marvel, light from above and an egg. While Ardong is linked to the earth, a well, a sacred water source, a dragon of the land. And in fact, Ardong's name literally means princess of the well. And wells were revered in Silo as sacred sites of life.
Now, as for the marriage of Hyokusay and Ayong, it thus united the sky and earth symbols to found Sila. But the tale didn't stop at their birth. Later anecdotes tell of Hyokyos's death. And when he died, his body mysteriously disappeared, leaving only pieces of his rib, which were buried separately, and a giant snake prevented the king and queen's remains from resting together.
An eerie ending that is a rare example of a burial myth in founding legends.
But this part has invited analysis.
Maybe it encodes a ritual or a local deity.
The snake itself might symbolize an earth spirit claiming part of him.
In any case, sealless foundation myth preserved in some Gusar has taken seriously enough was taken seriously enough rather that later kings trace their lineage to Hokusay's line that is the Park clan even though political power shifted to the Kim clan in the later centuries.
Zilla produced other myths too. the origin of its fourth century queen Arjong. That is different from the first queen, by the way, just the same name.
Or the tale of King Kim Arg, a golden box containing a boy descended from heaven was found in a forest by a horse from which the Kim lineage sprang.
In any case, each shell reinforced the notion that Sila's rulers had this divine favor.
Well, next we have Ga or the Garak Kingdom which was a smaller confederation contemporary with the three kingdoms and it had one of the most transnational myths.
King Kim Suduro, the founder of Gumwan Ga, was said to have transcended from heaven as one of the six princes born from golden eggs sent by heaven. Similar in motive to a Sila's egg, by the way.
The most intriguing part, however, of Gaia's lore is the story of Queen Ho Huang O. She is said to have been a princess from a distant land called Aayuta, often identified with Aayodia in India.
According to Sam Gukusa, Queen Ho traveled across the ocean guided by a dream to marry King Suro, bringing with her a golden pagoda and other treasures.
Now the legend basically suggests early maritime connections and has even sparked modern cultural exchange. For example, there are monuments in Iayodia and Gimh that is the Gaia region celebrating this ancient link.
But from a folklore perspective, the Ho Huang Octo stands out as well, did it really happen kind of story.
While it is recorded in a near contemporary source, that is Irion's 13th century compilation, historians debate its historicity.
You see, some see it as plausible evidence of long-distance contact. And after all, Gaia was a trading hub, while others suspect it to be an embellished legend, perhaps to give prestige to the Kim clan by linking them to a foreign royalty.
In any case, it enriches Korean folklore with a rare example of an international marriage myth, adding a dimension that Korea was not completely isolated, even in its legendary narrative.
Now, it's important to note too that these foundation myths were not static.
They existed in multiple variations and evolved as soon as they were told.
For instance, the names and the details always seem to differ by region.
Some version of Caler's founding identify the spawning dragon as a cockatrice or add that the six village chiefs had heard a prophecy of some sort. In Gogurio accounts, Jumong's father is explicitly the son of the supreme sky god, Juan Nin, aligning him subtly with Danun's lineage. Whereas others emphasize the sunbeam, sunbeam rather impregnation of you are.
But the core narrative, the hero of divine origin, found or born in a miraculous way, it stays put.
peripheral details just shift resonating with a bit of local pride or perhaps later evolving moral sensibilities.
A critical evaluation also reveals a bit of political bias too.
For example, the Samuk Zagi written by Kim Buuik gives much attention to Sila's myth since Sila unified the peninsula and relatively scant detail on Gurios while Samukuza and the monk includes a broader range even the Tamna myth of Jedju islands founding by three demigods and we'll revisit that in the Jeju section later on by the way. Uh these differences highlight how each writer's regional or donastic affiliation could color which folklore was elevated or ignored. Once again, not unique just to the Koreans.
Well, beyond foundation myths, the three kingdoms there are teams with heroic legends and supernatural tales.
Gogurio has a tale of General Guang Do's birth being heralded by a giant dragon.
or the legend of Onal the Fool, a commoner who through marriage to a princess and brave death in battle became a kind of unlikely folk hero.
Sila's law is especially abundant, reveing its rich history and later Buddhist influence.
One famous sealer story is the legend of Princess Chongyong's dream that led to finding the relics to cure a plague involving a guardian dragon, an interplay on Buddhism and shamanic belief.
Another is the moving tale of Arong's song, a different Arong by the way, where a virtuous wife spirit protected the kingdom, an early ghost story with a moral.
But we also find the origin of Joy Yong, a son of the dragon king of the eastern sea.
In late Sila, Joy Yong found his human wife being seduced by a small pox spirit. But instead of fighting the spirit, he sung and danced, forgiving it in the end, which made the spirit flee in shame. Now, this gave rise to the Joy Yong Moo dance and the custom of painting Joy Yong's smiling goblin-like face on doors to ward off evil.
The story is quite striking, too. Is a blend of shamanism warding off disease demons with a cordly art form.
Joyouong's dance became an established ritual.
But it also shows how a new narrative can form in a syncric environment.
Joe Yong is associated with smallpox law and that the idea that red bean porridge could appease or repel demons.
Indeed, a related legend from later times said that villagers offered patuk that is red bean porridge to do to persuade them to build a protective dam reflecting a broader belief in red bean's power against evil.
Now as Buddhism spread the folklore of this era began absorbing the Buddhist motives and we start seeing bodhicattvas and arhats in legends, temples built on sites revered in monk's visions or Buddhist saints tame angry spirits.
The samuka being compiled by a Buddhist monk preserves many such accounts. For example, the story of Wo, a famed monk, has a legendary episode where he survives a night in a tomb by mistakenly drinking brackish water from a skull. A parable about enlightenment.
Or the tale of a sealer monk, Morgil, carving a miraculous statue guided by a dream.
Buddhist miracles like moving pagodas, talking statues or protective sutras, turning away arrows became part of a folklore.
These are less mythic founders and more religious legends, but they are enriched the tapestry and coexisted with older shamanic elements.
In this period, we even encounter our first textual mention of the mischievous goblins. Samukusar recounts the tale of Lady Dwa and the bachelor B Yong in which Sila princess a sila princess rather loves a beong spirit or a goblin and tragedy ensues. The story implies King Gingi of Sila was deposed due to his infatuation with Lady Da and her spectral lover Bong. that B Yong later became synonymous with goblins. By the way, Dabbi, this is arguably the earliest recorded story of this kind and shows a belief in such spirits were present in the royal capital by the 7th century.
So it is through these examples that we see during the three kingdoms era, folklore served as state building and spiritual function.
Founding myths gave divine legitimacy to kings and helped unify peoples under a shared origin story.
But at the same time, everyday folks could relate to tales of protective deities like Choyong or moral anecdotes of ghosts and miracles.
But there was also regional pride. Each kingdom uh and each people took pride in their distinct mythical ancestor.
A kind of friendly rivalry of myths, I suppose. But we must remember that these stories were transmitted orally for centuries before being written. Thus, variations abound.
Some variations are simply due to time and the teller, etc. Some accounts named Jumong's mother as Yuba with a specific lineage. others generically as the daughter of a water god.
Some say Yokyos's egg was laid by a white chicken from heaven, adding a celestial hen to the mix. In any case, such differences do not diminish the core narrative, but offer fertile ground for scholars to interpret. For instance, the presence of an egg in both Gurio and Cela myths suggests an ancient motive of rebirth and purity.
eggs as origin of life. You see, and it possibly indicates that the concept of kings hatching from eggs was widely respected.
In fact, even the Samuk sagi notes that similarly notes the similarity rather and justifies it as a kind of heavenly miracle.
Now, the Gordio dynasty 918 to 1392.
That's another fascinating chapter in Korean folklore characterized by a syncretation of Buddhist and indigenous elements. Things begin to change.
You see, Gorio was a devoutly Buddhist state. Buddhism was the state religion.
It permeated elite culture. But it was also a time when earlier folk beliefs continued to thrive among all classes and that includes the elite.
This blend produced rich folklore, miracles at temples, saintly monks, protective talismans, as well as goblins, foxes, and mountain spirits that coexisted with Buddhas in popular imagination.
One of the most significant contributions of Gorio to folklore was the preservation and compilation of older myths. You see, in the 13th century, the monk Irion compiled the Samuk Yusa, that is the memorabilia of the three kingdoms. We've mentioned it a few times. A collection of legends, folk tales, and of course, some historical anecdotes.
But unlike the earlier sanguk sagi which was a more strict confusion style history, the sanguk yusa unabashly included foundation myths, miracles and a lot of marvelous tales in between. A little bit more fun than near straight laced historical tradition.
Now as for Irion, being a Buddhist monk, he devoted large sections to the lore of the Buddha's land. stories of monks, nuns, and Buddhist relics. But he also recorded the ancient myths of Danun, Jumong, Yokuse, and others that we have already discussed.
In many ways, Gurio saved Korea's mythic heritage by simply taking the time to write it down. Irion's work is considered a treasure of Korean Buddhism and literature.
For example, it's thanks to Sukusa that we have the full account of Danun's legend, the oldest surviving version and numerous sila legends. Goro's other scholars and writers also pen tales, historical miscellanes that blur into folklore, such as the stories of strange events recorded in the official histories of Gorio.
Now, this indicates an openness in Goro's intellectual climate to the supernatural as just another part of history.
But Buddhism's influence is evident in many Gorio era folk narratives. Buddhist monks became central characters in folklore, often depicted as wise, powerful, sometimes even magically endowed.
The notion of hagography that is the lives of saints merged with local storytelling.
In fact, there is a story of Mu Chong a monk who claimed the mountain spirit of Mount Paktu told him Gorio should move its capital and that the blending of shamanistic mountain worship and Buddhist prophecy just the synratism of the era.
Although Mao Jong's rebellion failed and is historical, by the way, the legends that sprouted around it painted him as a kind of uh mystical figure in contact with the spirits and gods. Another beloved figure is the monk Doon, a 9th century monk/geographer who according to folklore placed geomantic stones and temples across the land to channel spiritual energy.
Many tales credit dozon with shaping Goro's fortune through funray like divination, demonstrating how even technical tasks were now mythologized.
Now Goro's royal family itself spawned legends too. King Taiou Wangyong the founder was said to have been prophetized prophesized rather by a guardian mountain spirit anated by a dragon of the west sea. One tale actually recounts that as a young general, Wangyong was guided by a vision of a dragon that revealed a secret shallow water route, enabling him to surprise his enemies at sea. Another divine intervention story, elevating his status to something above that of a mere mortal.
But given Gorio's Buddhist leanings, temple legends also flourished.
One famous example is the story behind a massive Buddhist bell of Gyongju.
Now, according to the legend, when casting a giant iron bell for a temple, the bell would not ring properly until a monk received a revelation.
A pure sacrifice was needed.
Now, tragically, a young child was sacrificed, thrown into the molten bronze, and thereafter the bell rang with a haunting tone that seemed to echo the child's cry, "Eme ma," that his mother in the old sila language.
Now, that's a bit gruesome, don't you think? The story does show how folklore sometimes explained the unearly sound quality of an artifact through a spiritual or moral tale.
That poor kid. Not good.
The key elements that need uh for a sacrifice to appease the spirits of metal echo shamanistic practice yet are folded into a Buddhist context. That is the temple bell. Goro's Buddhist Chronicles didn't officially endorse such sacrifices of course, but the tale survived in oral tradition, showing that older shamanic idea of placating the object spirits.
Now, what about ghost stories and supernatural encounters? Of course, they're also found in Goro folklore.
Buddhism teaches about hungry ghosts and trans migration, concepts which enriched the local ghost law. A well-known story from late Gorio or early Joseon sources is that of Arang, the virtuous daughter of a magistrate in Miryang.
Arang was murdered, unfortunately, and her ghost began appearing, causing trouble until a new magistrate promised to investigate her death properly.
Once her killer was found, Arang's ghost was finally appeased.
And this tale, though often dated to early Joseon, likely has roots in Gorio's mix of confusion justice and Buddhist afterlife, Gorio's atmosphere of relative religious pluralism allowed such stories to propagate widely.
Now, let's discuss the doi and gumho in the gorio context. And just to remind you, the dabbi, it means goblin, though first mentioned in Cala's story, likely became a staple of oral folktales during Gorio.
These goblins were conceived as mischievous, capricious spirits, often inhabiting old things that is a rusted tool or a centuries old tree could perhaps spawn a doi.
Now, we don't have written gorio folktale books. Those come a little bit later. But scholars note that the notion of Doabia as trickster spirits was already well known by this time.
In fact, one of the earliest documented words for goblin bong as we saw appears in the sukusa referring to a spirit lover.
Another term do gay appears in folklore references by the Goro period. The one interesting hint a 9th century Chinese miscellane that is Yo Yang Zado mentions a Korean tale about two brothers. This is the story of Hyong Buu and Nor actually a Joson tale of two brothers and a magic gourd and is also something about a goblin club that is a DB bang mangi.
But this suggests that some Korean folktales, goblins included, had traveled to China, or at least known early on.
The prototypical do in folktales is a gesture of sorts, sometimes punishing greedy people with pranks, but other times rewarding kind people with magical gifts. For example, people might have told the forerunner of the famous story, the old men with when where a nice old man dances with goblins and they remove the when that is the tumor on his face as a reward. But the greedy man tries the same and the goblins offended by his bad dancing stick the removed wen back onto him. Well, classic karmic humor tale.
While our first written compilation of such tales came in joon, it is likely that they were part of Gorio's oral tradition. And how far that goes back, well, it's anybody's guess. Notably, the Doaby's image in Gorio times would have been amorphous, described in stories, but not yet standardized visually, not like the uh Japanese oni.
J later they would be drawn kind of like this with horns and clubs but of course that was a much later development.
Now we get on to the goopyho that is a ninetailed fox. The concept of foxes turning into beautiful women or other disguises was imported from Chinese lore but it certainly took on Korean flavors.
An early reference to a ninetailed fox in Korea comes from Chinese records. The ancient Chinese text Shaai Jing, that is the classic of mountains and seas, mentions a ninetailed fox in a distant eastern land called Chingchio, which later commentators interpreted as referring to the Korean Peninsula.
Well, by the Gorio period, we have mentions of fox spirits in historioggraphy.
>> [cough and clears throat] >> Gorio historians recorded sightings of strange foxes believed to pretend unrest.
Now, these foxes, far from benevolent, were rather seen as harbingers of misfortune or even embodiment of deception.
One Coro tale speaks of a fox that could mimic a human's voice to lure people, an eerie forerunner of many later stories.
Yet, interestingly, not all fox spirit tales were negative in the early times.
Chinese and perhaps early Korean law sometimes portray them as wise, long-lived creatures. And if you were lucky, they might even take pity on you and help you out with something. A remnant of this appears in Korean tradition with stories of kind gumho being tricked by cruel humans.
But still, the dominant Korean version solidified later. By late Gorio or early Joon, gumho were almost uniformly evil or dangerous, seducing men to eat their livers or hearts.
Well, there's a case in point. The story attributed to the early Joson writer Kimi Sio, who lived just after Gorio. In his tale, Gumo Sinba, a fox woman falls in love with a scholar, but cannot escape her nature in one version, while in another, she is uh tragically sacrificing herself, showing, of course, conflicting portrayals.
But the mere fact that such tales were written by early Joseon literati implies that they were circulating in the late Goro oral culture.
Folklore in Goro was also deeply connected to shamanic rights, often under the patronage of Buddhism. The royal court itself engaged in rituals that while cloaked in Buddhist language were essentially shamanistic, like praying to mountain spirits for rain or inviting temple monks to perform exorcistic dancers.
Goro kings consulted geommancers and monk maguses for state decisions indicating that the supernatural was indeed part of governance.
And these practices birthe their own legends. For instance, a court monk's successful rain makingaking could become legendary even if it was just a bit of a coincidence.
Goro was also when we see formal recognition of certain folk traditions.
The court designated official shamans for certain tasks and is synretatized with Buddhism by for example identifying some native gods with bodhic sattvas.
The sea goddess was often identified with the bodhic sattva of compassion just for an example.
Well, this created a layered folklore.
The sea captain may pray to both the dragon king of the sea from shamanism and Guan Nim or Guan Yin from Buddhism.
And this wouldn't be any contradiction in doing it. Stories would reflect both.
A sailor's tale of surviving a shipwreck. You might attribute it to the dragon king's turtle carrying him ashore and a vision of Guan Yin guiding him. A blend of two traditions.
But finally, it's crucial to note how regional folklore within Gorio was recorded. Gorio controlled most of the Korean peninsula and even parts of Manuria.
It inherited local legends from former Bak and Gorio lands. Many Samukai entries are basically Gorio era retellings of local myths. For example, the miraculous youth of Noman story or the origin of Jirisan that is Mount Jiri.
These entries often start something like uh in the town of so and so there was a legend that so and so things like that and that shows how local origins uh persisted and were finally written down by the likes of Yon.
Here's another example. Samukusar tells of a small pox goddess, Lady Manura, whose origin story explains why offerings are made to her to protect children. Smallox deities were widespread in East Asia. Gordio folklore localized it, tying it to maybe a historical figure's deified form and that was recorded too, giving scholars insight into how folk religion addressed these kind of epidemics or puts it into uh something they can understand.
Another example from Irion is the story of General Sio tricking the Kitan by invoking a mythical shared ancestor Tangun which is more of a historical anecdote than folklore but in how it's told it certainly shows reverence for myth in diplomacy that's for sure.
Well, with the advent of the Josson dynasty in 1392, Korea underwent a bit of a ideological shift. The rulers embraced a kind of neo confusionism as a state orthodoxy and that favored rationalism, hierarchy, and above all secular governance.
As for Buddhism, that was suppressed.
Monasteries were closed, moved to remote areas in the most generous of cases, and anything deemed superstitious that includes shamanism and folk rights were frowned upon by the elite.
On the surface, it might sound like a death nail for folklore. And indeed the composion confusion rather scholar officials saw many folk beliefs as unseemly or even harmful.
Well, this was uh not going to be conducive to the new moral order. So all they decided to do is take steps to stamp them all out.
Yet paradoxically, the Josson era is also incredibly rich in recording the evolution of folklore.
Now, how does that make sense? Let me explain. Essentially, while official tried to eliminate or control folk practices, the common people and even some literati, some gentry in private continue to practice them. Many educated individuals began compiling folk tales as literature or curiosities.
The result is a dynamic tension.
Suppression on one hand and an outpouring of folk creativity often underground or informal on the other. So first of all we have shamanism. The indigenous faith. It bore the brunt of the Josson suppression. Early Josan law attacked shamans heavily and banned them from performing certain rituals, branding them as obscene superstition.
The government periodically rounded up the shamans, the mu dang, and even expelled them from the capital. A bureau was even set up to catalog and monitor them. Can't get away with anything anymore, can't you? Well, neo confusion writings disparage mudang as deceitful women, leading the populace astray.
But despite this, shamanism proved to be resilient.
It survived by going underground or adapting.
Royal and aristocratic families would publicly eskeew shaman rights, but privately they still consulted fortune tellers or sponsored exorcisms during epidemics with a knowing wink that it was just tradition.
Well, among the common folk, life events, weddings, births, funerals.
Delton still involved shamanic ceremonies. They always did. Maybe they always will.
Folklore in this period reflects an interesting duality.
Outwardly written stories might satarize shamans, but the continued existence of those stories indicate shaman's presence.
For example, a common character in Josson anecdotes is the Mio Sunung, a female shaman often portrayed comically or as a foil to a clever confusion scholar, yet always in a way that acknowledges that she's still part of the society.
where one of the richer sources of Jose folklore comes from the yadam or unofficial story collections written by the learned literati gentlemen.
These yadam were short tales or anecdotes sometimes factual sometimes pure fiction most of the time somewhere in the middle. They often included ghosts, foxes, goblins, miraculous events. And the more of these they included, well, the more they sort of lent more towards the fiction, but they stand in as a reference to real life people and events, I suppose. Now, curiously, even as the confusion ideology reigned, these educated authors enjoyed and recorded tales of the supernatural, perhaps viewing them as harmless entertainment or moral fables rather than religious truth. We take for example Yuong in a 17th century scholar who compiled the O Yadam filled with ghost stories and strange occurrences that he had heard from people. And one story tells of a gumho who had lived as a faithful wife to a man. Remember that is a fox spirit, right? Only to be discovered when hunting dogs sensed her. a tale that elicits both fear and pity for the fox woman, suggesting a more sympathetic twist in an otherwise frightening trope.
Another tale might involve a Doc Gaby's hat which grants invisibility being stolen by a cheeky protagonist.
Stories like this serve multiple purposes. Entertainment in social gatherings, moral lessons, or just simply as a record of strange happenings.
Now under the neo confusion influence, filopiety, loyalty and chastity became key virtues.
We see folklore being reinterpreted to emphasize those values. The classic example is the ghost tale of Junyang where a faithful wife's spirit helped to bring her unfaithful husband to justice, aligning the supernatural with a confusion virtue.
Or take the Doabi tales. Earlier folk tales were just often humorous or scary, but in Joon compilations, they sometimes take on a moral quality.
One noted by folklorists is that a Joson version of a goblin tale. Might add the uh good protagonist was rewarded because he was filial to his parents. a detail not originally part of the oral tale but inserted into it to make it more morally palatable for the times. Another example of ideological editing.
However, many tales remain subversive or just plain fun, flying under the radar of censorship.
Doabbe goblin tales in Joan folklore fully blossomed as comical harmless monsters.
It's in this era that their iconic attributes appear in stories. The Toki's club that can summon wealth, the Tokib's hat that makes one invisible.
And their love for contests, riddles, or wrestling with humans.
Now, one beloved folktale is the man who befriended a goblin in which a poor but clever man drinks and jokes with the dukabi, receiving gold only to outwit them in the end and send them away when they become annoying.
They often portray dab as goofy and gullible rather than truly fearsome, refitting perhaps an increased psychological distance.
people less likely to actually fear goblins in the late Joseon age, but they enjoyed them as folklore characters. And indeed, by this time, the image of the Dabbe might even have been influenced by Japanese depictions. Late Joon and early modern illustrations drew Dape with horns and tiger skin loin cloths, virtually identical to the Japanese oni.
Well, mainly due to this cultural exchange and a little bit of later colonial influence perhaps.
Now, as for ghost stories, they reach a peak in popularity during the Josand period.
Well, they're usually spirits of those who died unjustly or perhaps with lingering grievance.
Jos strict social norms and often tumultuous events, wars, factional purges, etc. unfortunately provided many real tragedies which then birthe their own ghost legends.
The affforementioned Arang story actually happened under early Joseon administration and became so famous that Miryang the town still holds an Arang festival.
Another the story of Jangwa and Hong Dyong those of two steps sisters betrayed and murdered by their cruel stepmother.
The ghosts haunt the village until a new magistrate investigates and punishes the evildoers.
This tale recorded in the 17th and 18th century encapsulates confusion morality with a chilling supernatural veneer, an evil stepparent, virtuous magistrate, filial daughters even in death. But it also shows how regional folklore carried on. Jangwa and Hong story is set in Gaong County and likely was a local oral tale that made it into print because it resonated with broader values.
Notably, these ghost tales serve as a social safety valve of sorts. In a rigid society where speaking out was difficult, stories about vengeful ghosts punishing corrupt officials or wicked family members provided a kind of narrative justice of sorts.
Well, they weren't openly political, but they certainly carried an implicit critique. A bad magistrate might escape human law, but ghostly retribution could get them in the end.
And then we have confusion biases. Those are meant that some older myths were downplayed or rationalized.
The Danun myth, for instance, wasn't officially celebrated in Josa's history.
Yet Danun was not forgotten among the people. There remained shamanic rights to Danun in some regions and a cult at a supposed shrine on Mount Tbeck.
Late Joseon Silak, that is practical learning scholars began to reappraise Danun as well as they searched for Korea's authentic past. By the 18th to 19th centuries, a nent sense of Korean nationalism within some intellectual circles led to a renewed interest in indigenous law. That includes the story of Danun.
We can certainly see it as a tugof-war between official ideology and cultural identity. There's no other way to really frame it.
But for most of Joe, official records avoided fantastical stories. But near contemporary sources like the 15th century annals of King Se Jong did quietly record for example the sighting of a G sin is a ghost or strange phenomena often adding the note people say something something but who really believes it kind of an interesting half acceptance not saying that they don't believe it I suppose they're just dipping their toes in testing the water Now regionally we have Jedjedu Island and during Joson that retained much of its own unique folklore.
While on the mainland certain provinces were known for particular tales.
Uh let's look at the Hamong region that is in the northeast. They've got stories of tigers as mountain lords, reclusive goblins too. And then in the Honam region in southwest, they were famous for their pansori stories like Hongbu and Nor.
Their tale of two brothers, one kind, one greedy, involving a magic gourd from a bird, especially a essentially a folk tale with a moral story attached to it.
All Joan folktales often incorporates social satire. For example, the character of Mr. Bjon, that is Bjon Gangu, a cowardly person, but a pretentious one too, who ends up getting scammed by a goblin, implicitly mocking young ban, who claim knowledge, but have no substance.
And then there are mask dance dramas, popular folk entertainment, especially in the late Jos, directly lampuning the elite and the clergy. And within them, folklore elements like greedy monks and foolish aristocrats along with meddling shamans appear as the stock set of characters.
Now, even as Confucianism tried to erode shamanism, ironically, the royal court itself ended up patronizing a certain folk right out of necessity.
You see, during the Josan era, if there was a drought or an epidemic, the king would often sanction rituals that were essentially shamanistic in nature, but performed by court approval or personnel. For example, rain rituals.
They might involve a procession to a mountain altar, which is basically appealing to a mountain spirit, a shamanic act of course, albeit is done by Confucian officials to avoid empowering the mudang shamans.
Now, when smallpox considered to be the dreaded disease of the age, think about Europeans suffering with the uh black plague, black death rather, all that sort of thing. or when small pox struck the royal family, they also secretly invoked the smallox deity Mamyong Halmon with offerings despite officially condemning such a practice.
A dichotomy noted by contemporary observers of course. And indeed one late Joseon document complains that quote even after all these bands when a calamity occurs they revert to the shamanic rights going an enduring belief in folklore among Koreans even those in power.
But then we have the gumho law and in Joon times it became truly codified as terrifying. The ninetailed fox was a staple of cautionary tales. A beautiful woman. What was actually a fox in disguise preying on an unweary man. A kind of succubus, I suppose. Possibly reflecting male anxieties in the patriarchal society about female sexuality or deceit.
Well, a well-known Josson tale is The Fox Sister, where a family's third daughter is actually a fox in human form who devours her brothers one by one until she is discovered.
Pretty grizzly story told to children as a warning.
Yet, there are also romanticized fox tales, goo family book style narratives of a gumho yearning to become a human through love.
One such account in late Joon says a fox can become a human if they refrain from killing or eating for a 100 days.
Some versions say a thousand days and also they have to win a genuine love from a human.
The variations show a tension between viewing the gumho as pure evil versus allowing the possibility of redemption, perhaps influenced by Buddhist compassion or simply just imaginative storytelling.
Well, by the late 19th century, as Jos opened up to the world, we start getting accounts from foreigners noting the superstitions of Korea. They observe shamans performing rituals, folk remedies and so on, giving us an outsider snapshot.
It's evident that despite under uh 500 years of conservative regime, the folkloric imagination was certainly unquenched.
If anything, the contrast made folktales a cherished outlet. What you couldn't say openly, you could say via a ghost story or a mask play.
It reveals the undercurrents of the society, the fears, the hopes and its irreverent humor.
But it also shows how external influences, confusion, morality, Buddhist persistence, and even a bit of Japanese art were absorbed into that rich Korean folk tradition.
Thailand. It's a country with its own myths and legends where ancient folklore thrives just beneath that surface of everyday modern life. From the serene village temples to the bustling streets of Bangkok, the old tales of spirits, gods, and legendary heroes are continually whispered, performed, and celebrated.
Thai folklore has a vast array of mythology, animist traditions, ghost stories, and religious belief that have been passed down through many generations.
And the stories aren't just confined to the history books. They live on in local festivals, superstitious customs, and the daily rituals of everyday Thai people.
It's a unique blend of indigenous beliefs with Buddhist and Brahmanic influence.
So for centuries, Thai folklore was preserved primarily through oral tradition and communal storytelling.
Long before being actually written down, the narratives were shared by word of mouth in monasteries and homes. Details evolving with each retelling.
And early royal chronicles and temple inscriptions occasionally hint at these folk beliefs, recording omens, miracles, and mythical lineages.
But it wasn't until the 20th century that systematic efforts were made to document Thai folklore.
Pioneering scholars devoted themselves to collecting folktales, superstitions, and village customs, recognizing the cultural value of knowledge that had long been considered common or everyday.
And it is thanks to such efforts that the rich tapestry of Thai folklore has been studied, preserved, and left for people like us of the future generations to enjoy.
But importantly, Thai folklore varies a lot from one region to another. It's shaped by the area's history and ethnic heritage. The rugged mountains of the north, they have their own ghost stories and founding myths. And they're quite distinct from the rain soaked rice fields of the central plains. And in the northeast Isan region with Lao cultural ties, you can find a rich treasury of serpent legends and spirit rituals.
While the southern peninsula boasts tales infused with Malay influence and seafaring lore. Yet across these regional differences, there is a shared reverence for the unseen and the supernatural.
The Thai people, whether urban or rural, often honor ancestral spirits alongside Buddhist saints and consult fortune tellers and monks alike for guidance.
And so, here we are today, continuing our story on the folklore of all nations. You can find them all in the playlist. I think we're up to number eight by now. And today we talk about the folklore of Thailand.
Of course, we'll do it in a academic manner, but we'll keep it accessible, any terms that are jargonike. I'll make sure to explain them the best I can.
It's a journey from old to new. And so let us begin that exploration together and spend the next hour together talking about Thai folklore.
Uh before we do though, allow me to just quickly welcome you. Anyone new to the channel, I invite you to subscribe. And for people coming back, good to see you again. Now remember that this video is completely adree along with all of the other videos on this channel. And this is because we are sponsored by well, no one. No one sponsors us. But we do have a lot of support on Patreon, YouTube memberships, the merch store, and the occasional donation. All links can be found in the pinned comment and channel description, but also your word of mouth, telling your friends a like, a comment, a subscribe. It boosts us up in the algorithm and that means the world to us. So, thank you in advance for clicking those few buttons.
Now, with that being said and done, all out of the way, let's begin.
You see, Thai mythology draws on a rich blend of indigenous tales and ancient Indian epics. A bit of a crossroads has produced a pantheon of heroic figures, celestial beings, and even a few of the more fantastical creatures.
One of the cornerstones of Thai mythic lore is the Ramaken, the Thai version of the Ramayana.
Adapted from the Hindu tradition and officially recorded in the early 19th century under King Rama I, the Rama Ken tells of the divine prince Rama, his loyal wife Sitha and the monkey general Hanuman in their battle against a tenheaded demon king. Of course, the Indian tradition has their own names for it, but in Thai, it's known as Tosakan.
The epic has been thoroughly, I suppose, tyified.
Hanuman, for example, is not only a brave warrior, but he's also a bit of a trickster in the Thai renditions, and local audiences seem to enjoy the added humor and romance woven into the character.
Scenes from the Ramaken adorn the walls of Bangkok's famous temples and are brought to life in classical dance dramas, the corn performances, showing once again how an ancient myth still thrives in modern Thai culture.
But beyond all these grand epics, there are also countless local legends that explain the origins of cities, the deeds of past kings, and the mysteries of the natural landscape, which is absolutely gorgeous, by the way.
Well, many Thai kings and heroes have been enveloped in folklore over time.
Their real deeds enhanced with these mythical elements.
Let's take just one example. The legend of King Narasuan's elephant duel. It's often recounted as a mix of history and myth. In the 16th century, Naraswan is said to have challenged a Burmese crown prince to single combat on war elephants, dramatically defeating him with a single blow.
Now, while historical records of that battle do exist, the folkloruric version adds supernatural omens and a sense of destiny to the event, such as claims that Narasan's victory fulfilled an ancient prophecy and was watched over by guardian spirits.
Tales like that serve to glorify national heroes, and to this day, they instill a sense of pride and unity.
But the legends also speak of mythical cre uh creatures rather that bridge the human and divine worlds.
First of all and among the most revered is the naga, a giant serpent-like spirit believed to inhabit waterways and underground realms. Naga appear in countless stories and they can be both tricksters and protectors depending on what kind of story you encounter them in. But in Buddhist law, a Naga king once sheltered the Buddha from a storm.
And ever since, serpent motives have guarded Thai temple stairways.
In folk belief, entire communities along the Mechong River credit the Naga with creating mysterious fireballs seen rising from the water at the end of the rainy season. A phenomena they celebrate as proof of these serpent spirits paying homage to the Buddha. Another beloved creature is the Guruda. A mighty half man, half bird originally from Hindu mythology, which in Thailand became a symbol of royalty and divine protection.
Now the Gerudor is actually even the national emblem. So there you go.
Meanwhile, the enchanted kinare, halfwoman, half swan beings of the legendary himavant forest are celebrated for their grace and beauty in Thai tales and traditional dance.
These creatures populate Thai art and storytelling, embodying ideals of virtue, strength, and beauty all at once.
And some folktales have distinctly local flavors. And of course, it wouldn't be folklore without a few moral lessons thrown into the mix. One popular origin myth among the Laospeaking people of the northeast is the tale of Kun Borom, a co culture hero of sorts sent from the heavens. According to this legend, Kun Bor had seven sons who dispersed to find various Thai kingdoms.
A story that symbolically ties the peoples of Laos. northern Thailand and surrounding areas to a common divine ancestor.
Other tales explain natural landmarks.
One northern lore recounts that the formation of a certain lake came from the tragic love story of Faden and Nangai in which a furious Naga king flooded an entire city when his serpent daughter's human lover was brutally killed.
Well, it left behind a lake said to be the remnants of that fateful drowned kingdom.
It's through such myths and legends that Thai folklore provides not only entertainment, but a sense of identity and even a moral compass. Like I said, it's not really folklore without that moral story thrown in there, too.
Heroes exemplify courage, loyalty, and even a bit of cleverness, often rewarded by the intervention of heaven, while those who act with greed or cruelty meet poetic justice.
Listeners, young and old, learn cultural values from these stories. Whether it be the importance of keeping one's word as in the tale of Prince Suton and Manora where a prince's fidelity to a magical bird princess is tested or the belief that just governance brings divine favor as many chronicles assert about righteous kings and of course we'll get to a few more of those stories as we go on.
So, having explored the lofty realm of gods, heroes, and mythical beasts, we now turn to the other side of Thai folklore, and it's one that's much closer to the fears and fascinations of daily life. It is beyond the benevolent, beyond the noble figures of myth. Thailand's cultural landscape teams with spirits and ghosts, you see. And these supernatural beings, sometimes malevolent, sometimes merely mischievous, form the core of countless Thai ghost stories and continue to influence behavior and customs to this very day.
Indeed, there's few aspects of Thai folklore that are as pervasive and vivid as that belief in ghosts and ghostlike creatures. They're known collectively in the Thai language as fee. Ghost stories are shared in every corner of Thailand, too. And fear of restless spirits lingers even amid the trappings of modern life.
In Thai tradition, the line between the living and the supernatural is quite thin. And it's long been accepted that certain unseen beings inhabit this world alongside us, influencing the fortunes of the living.
These, of course, range from protective household spirits all the way up to angry and vengeful ghosts of the dead.
The lore is remarkably rich, that's for sure, with spirits classified by their origins and temperaments.
Many other souls of who died in tragic or unnatural circumstances, unable to move on, staying on Earth with their grief.
One notorious example is May neck frame, perhaps Thailand's most famous ghost.
The legend goes like this. May was a beautiful young wife in 19th century Bangkok who died along with her infant during childbirth while her husband Mak was away at war. But so great was her love and her sorrow that her ghost remained in the home maintaining the illusion of life not willing to let go.
When Mach returned, he lived with May's ghost, blissfully unaware of her demise until a revelatory moment.
It depends by the version, but in one version, he sees his wife's arm stretched unnaturally long to pick up a dropped lime, an inhuman act that exposes her true nature.
Understandably terrified to find out that his wife is actually a ghost, Mark flees.
Please at Mac speed perhaps. Oh, I shouldn't joke.
Mayn's spirit, griefstricken and angry, then terrorizes the village until a respected Buddhist monk intervenes and finally puts us all to rest.
Now, according to some dings, the monk confines her restless spirit in an earn jar or in a piece of bone from her forehead, tossing it into the river.
finally ending the haunting.
But to this day, and I suppose the story has not ended, May is revered at a shrine in Bangkok where people offer prayers for love and good fortune, turning a frightening tale into a cultural symbol of devotion and tragedy.
And may not just one of the dozens of ghosts that populate Thai folklore.
Another infamous spirit is the Fai Hong, a ghost of someone who suffered a sudden and violent death.
Fihong are considered especially dangerous and hungry, often haunting the place of their death until the proper rituals are performed to put their soul at ease.
Travelers have long been weary of such spots. a lonely stretch of road or a deserted field, lest the fit thai hung latch on to them as they pass by.
And the villagers also tell of her a horrifying Fi Crasu, a cursed woman whose disembodied head floats through the night, trailing organs, and her male counterpart, Fi Krahang, a filthy spirit flying on a winnowing basket.
Not a good sight to see out on a nightw walk. And these nocturnal ghosts prey on livestock. And folk wisdom holds that hanging thorny vines around a house can help deter them.
But not all Thai spirits are sinister.
Some are merely capricious.
Some are even benevolent.
Tree dwelling female spirits known as Nang Mai, that is ladies of the wood, such as Nang Takan of the ironwood tree or Nang Tani of the wild banana grove are generally benign if respected, but they can punish those who defile their domain.
People tie colorful cloth around the trunks of such trees and leave offerings, flowers, incense, and even cosmetics.
It's all to keep the spirits happy and have a practice that hints at how seriously these nature spirits are taken.
Taios belief also intersects with Buddhist concepts. Of course, they're a Buddhist country. The gaunt towering pa that is the hungry ghost is something that comes straight from the Buddhist teachings.
It is said to be the spirit of an extremely greedy person now wandering in the earth in torment and with an insatiable hunger but a mouth too small to eat. A moral warning in a ghostly form.
Monks even hold rituals to offer food to bre spirits during certain ceremonies reflecting how religion and folklore once again merge in practice.
Meanwhile, a more domestic ghost called Fam is blamed for the eerie phenomenon of sleep paralysis.
Now, the word fam literally means a ghost pressing on one's chest, which is an absolutely horrifying thought for those light sleepers among us.
Many ties how seriously believe that a ghost might sit on the chest of a sleeping person, leaving them completely immobile.
So a sufferer might wear a protective amulet or recite a prayer before bed to ward off any fam or other nightly spirits.
Now ghost belief also influences everyday customs down to the smallest things too. For example, when someone dies, some families carry the body out through a hole cut in the wall instead of a door, so that the spirit, confused by the unusual exit, cannot easily find its way back into the house. I suppose there's a logic to that, too.
Well, many traditional Thai houses have high thresholds that one must step over.
One explanation is that ghosts who glide just above the ground might be tripped up by the raised threshold and thus they'd be too scared to cross it and they'd keep out at the house.
Though ghost stories, important social norms or excuse me, through ghost stories, important social norms are reinforced.
Young children are warned not to play outside at dusk to avoid the roaming ghosts and pregnant women are cautioned about feobb.
A notorious spirit in rural laws said had to possess victims and feast on their insides.
A pretty terrifying note and likely born from attempts to explain sudden wasting illness.
In the past, entire villagers might band together for an exorcism if a feeb was believed to be attacking someone. With a shaman performing an ecstatic dance to drive the spirit out.
Well, such events like this, whether or not they truly expelled ghosts, it doesn't really matter. What does matter is that they rather undeniably strengthened community bonds and allowed normal people to collectively face their fears. After all, there's strength in numbers, even against the other world.
The prevalence of ghosts in Thai folklore shows a worldview in which the supernatural is accepted as part of the natural order.
Just a different side of the same coin.
every old house, every quiet riverbank, every dense forest, it might have its own unseen inhabitants, and learning to live with them, whether that be through rituals, respect, or a little bit of healthy fear, has long been part of dicultural wisdom.
These supernatural tales have persisted not just because they entertain, but because they offer explanations for life's mysteries and a sense of continuity with the past. And as we shall see next, the deep respect for spirits extends beyond the ghosts of the departed. It is closely tied to Thailand's animous traditions in which a multitude of spirits are believed to inhabit the world around us influencing the prosperity and well-being of normal people.
Of course, underlying these many ghost stories and myths of Thailand is an older stratum of belief. And when I say old, I mean prehistoric, a form of animism and spirit worship with roots that predate and coexist with organized religion.
You see, in the traditional Thai world view, the natural world is alive with all sorts of spirits.
In a broad sense, we can say feet. They inhabit trees, rivers, mountains, even human-made spaces. and appeasing these spirits and enlisting their favor. That is a cornerstone of folk practice.
Walk through any Thai neighborhood, be it a rural village or a modern city block, and you'll likely see a spirit house standing in the corner of the property. These miniature shrine-like structures, often perched on a pedestal, are built as dwelling places for the guardian spirits of the land or for any roaming entities might otherwise cause mischief.
By providing the spirits a pleasant little home of their own, complete with daily offerings of incense, rice, fruit, maybe some flowers, people hope to keep the household safe and prosperous.
The practice is so widespread that even shops, hotels, and office buildings maintain spirit houses. A striking example of ancient beliefs persisting seamlessly in a modern capitalist environment.
Every Thai village traditionally has its own protective spirit often called the Chao, lord of the palace, a lord of the place rather, or fe the village guardian ghost.
It is a spirit regarded as the territorial patron of the community's well-being. To honor Chalty, communities hold annual ceremonies at a spirit shrine, offering food and sometimes performing dances or music to ensure good harvests and protection from calamities.
In fact, in some loces, the village guardian is conceptualized as a female deity, xiao may or mother spirit, and in others as a male warrior or even as a tiger spirit. That of course all depends on the local lore.
The details vary widely, but the underlying principle is quite consistent. If humans show respect to the invisible beings around them, those beings will in turn bless the community.
But in addition to guardian spirits of places, ties pay respect to a host of other spirits linked to daily activities.
Farmers, for instance, honor may fals the rice goddess who personifies the lifegiving rice crop of course. So during planting and harvest, small offerings and rituals are dedicated to May for to thank her for abundance and of course beg forgiveness for cutting the stalks. You see um harvesting is seen as harming the rice's spirit.
So by taking away from it, you have to give back. I suppose a kind of reciprocity of sorts.
This reverence for the rice spirit reflects the agrarian roots of dice society and ensures that even an act as mundane as farming is imbued with spiritual significance.
Likewise, before chopping down a large tree for wood, a villager might perform a brief ritual to ask permission from the treere's resident spirit. And failing to do so, well, you could be inviting yourself quite a bit of misfortune.
Fishermen and seafarers in southern Thailand have traditionally offered prayers or simple offerings to the Maya Nang, that is the guardian spirit of boats to ensure safe voyages across occupations and religions. Such customs integrate respect for unseen forces into the fabric of everyday life.
And I don't think it's going away anytime soon. In fact, I hope it never does.
Now there's another living aspect of Thai animus tradition that's still around too and that's spirit mediumship.
In many communities certain individuals often called mori meaning spirit doctors or shamans serve as intermediaries between the human and spirit worlds.
These mediums may enter trance states during ceremonies believed to be possessed by a particular spirit or deity who then speaks or heals through them. And it's not uncommon for a medium to channel the spirit of a local guardian, a famous monk perhaps, or even a Hindu god like Shiva during these rather involved rituals.
People consult spirit mediums for various reasons. It could be to cure illness thought to be caused by angry spirits or even to bless new business ventures, perhaps even just communicating with deceased ancestors.
For example, if a family experiences a streak of bad luck, things going wrong left and right. Well, they might not just put it up to circumstance.
They might actually invite a moi to perform a house cleansing ritual.
And you'd get a bit of everything as complete with offerings, chants, all to appease any offended spirits lingering on the property.
In the northeast, for example, ceremonies such as the baky or the su kwan, the soul calling ritual, involve elders tying sacred threads around a person's wrist to recall and bind that person's quan, that is the vital essence or soul after a fright or perhaps an illness.
While Buddhist monks often participate in these rights today, the belief behind them that the soul can wander and must be ritually secured, that has its roots in ancient animism.
Many of Thailand's most colorful folk festivals also have animist origins.
One such event is the famous Fi Taon.
That is the ghost festival in Li province where villagers dawn whimsical ghost masks and costumes in a rockous procession to wake the spirits and invite good fortune during a Buddhist merit-making holiday.
as festivals like these that clearly show how pre- Buddhist spirit rights have been woven into the seasonal calendar alongside the more well more modern Buddhist observances.
Of course, you can't forget about the amulets and charms. They also play a role in Thailand's spiritual practice.
You might notice it, too. Many ties still wear Buddha amulets or occult talismans, but it's not really an expression of faith. Perhaps some are, but for most people, it's more of a source of protective power believed to ward off evil and even in a better case to attract a bit of luck. Some amulets feature images of Hindu deities, legendary hermits or fearsome animals drawing from a syncric mix of animist and religious symbolism.
The tradition of sakant that is sacred tattoos similarly straddles animism and Buddhism. Oldly men or tattoo masters inscribe mystical diagrams and deity images onto the skin accompanied by incantations to imbue the wearer with a supernatural aid of sorts all the way from taxi drivers up to soldiers. Many attest to uncanny stories of survival or success.
And it's all thanks to the charms reinforcing the ancient conviction that the right ritual or talisman can harness supernatural help in times of grave need.
So in essence, Thai animist traditions provide a spiritual framework that address the uncertainties of life, the sickness, the poor harvests, the natural disasters and all those little things in between unexplained misfortunes.
It attributes them to displease spirits in a cosmic imbalance.
And of course, once you have a problem, you have a remedy through ritual.
This framework operates in harmony with formal religions rather than opposition.
A type person might in the same day offer arms to Buddhist monks at dawn and then consult a spirit medium in the afternoon about a personal problem. And there'd be no sense of contradiction in this. You just well take both of them in your stride.
The integration of animism into daily life has certainly fostered a cultural ethos of respect. That's respect for elders and monks. Yeah, sure. But also respect for the unseen guardians of the land and even one's home.
And so as we move on to discuss the role of organized religion in Thai folklore, it will become clear how Buddhism in particular has adapted to and absorbed these age-old spirit beliefs. It creates a uniquely Thai spiritual tapestry where nearly every aspect of life has a mythic explanation.
Of course, Thailand's often described as a devoutly Buddhist country, and that's fair enough. Indeed, the majority of Thai do follow the Buddhism as their main religion. However, Buddhism in Thailand has developed in tandem with the folk beliefs that we've discussed.
So, it's a little bit different. It's not like the normal run-of-the-mill Buddhism. It's a syncric spiritual landscape and rather than displacing older animist and bremanic traditions, Buddhism has rather absorbed and accommodated them.
Now this result is that many Thai folk tales, rituals and cultural practices are suffused with religious meaning and conversely religious narratives often take on a local folkloric flavor.
Let's take one clear example of religion blending with folklore. That is the incorporation of Buddhist Jataka tales.
These are the stories of the Buddha's past lives into popular culture.
For centuries, monks in temple courtyards have captivated lay people with jataka tales that kind of double up as folk stories, too.
And one of the most famous is the Vessantara Jakarta.
The tale of a prince whose extreme generosity is retold in Thailand with local embellishments to teach lessons of charity. Monks narrating the story often add folk characters or dramatic miracles to keep the audience engaged.
Blending a moral doctrine again with a bit of village humor.
Temple murals across the country visually recount Jataka stories alongside scenes of the Ramaken and local legends and creates a kind of illustrated encyclopedia of Thai sacred folklore on temple walls. It's really fascinating to see. There's that really good one up in Oh, it's up in the north somewhere. I can't remember. Is it Non?
Oh, no. It's Changai, I think. That big white temple. That's it. I think it's Changai. You can go there and you can see all sorts of this sort of stuff.
It's one thing to learn about it in the video, you know, but to actually go there and just see it for yourself, yeah, that's something special.
So Hindu or Brahmanic influence also called Brahman influence also persists in many religious folklore practices and this is especially seen in ceremonies associated with the monarchy and the annual agricultural cycle and yes Thailand is a monarchy. They have a king. Nat Thai kings historically patronized Brahman priests who officiate at royal ceremonies that are essentially living folklore itself. For instance, the annual royal plowing ceremony in Bangkok led by Brahman priests and observed by the king or his representatives. It revives an ancient fertility right to bless the rice planting season.
During this event, sacred oxen flour furrow and choose from trays of food and drink. Now, whatever choices they make are interpreted as omens for the coming harvest.
Through breman in or though bremanic in origin, excuse me, this spectacle is fully embraced as part of a national tradition. And of course, it's now very Thai in its nature. Everything adapts to the locality.
Similarly, Thai coronations and other state events often feature bremanic rights, conch gell fanfare, sacred waters poured over the monarch and invocations of Hindu deities alongside the run-of-the-mill Buddhist prayers.
And these rituals even hark back to ancient Indian concepts of kingship though filtered through kamur traditions of old Sam showing again how the d state were folklore religion and politics together to sanctify the authority.
But at the popular level many ties worship or pay respects to Hindu gods in certain contexts seeing no conflict with their Buddhist faith. It is common to find shrines to Ganesh, which the Thai people call Fra Fikanet, the elephant-headed deity. You can find them at universities and art departments, and students might pray to Ganesh for success in exams or creative endeavors.
One of Bangkok's busiest spiritual sites today is the Arowan Shrine dedicated to the god Brahma Fraaf.
Originally erected in 1950s to pacify spirits troubling the construction of a hotel. This shrine in particular has gained a reputation for granting wishes.
And even now people line up to offer flowers and take wood elephants to frame and they hire traditional dancers to perform when a prayer has been answered.
Essentially treating the Hindu creator god as a powerful local spirit who can intervene in daily affairs.
And it's phenomena like that that certainly show how important gods became part of the local folklore tradition.
Integrating seamlessly into the Thai spiritual worldview.
Thai Buddhism itself has generated new folk legends through the lives of charismatic monks and holy men. Many revered monks have miracles attributed to them which then circulate as folklore.
Let's look at the southern region first where we find the tales of Luangpat and they have achieved legendary status.
Now Luang Purwat was a 17th century monk historically recorded as a wise and pious man. Folklore remembers him for extraordinary miracles.
Most famous of all, once during a sea voyage, he turned salt water into fresh water with a prayer. of course saving the ship's crew from thirst.
Today, amulets bearing Lang Potwat's likeness are among the most sought after in Thailand because people believed his protective power resides within them.
So, it's not uncommon to hear someone credit their survival in an accident to the Langat amulet around their neck. In this way, a real monk has become a kind of a mythical guardian figure.
Similarly, if we look into central Thailand traditions, the 19th century monk Sometto is a historical personage around whom many legends have grown and that is including as mentioned earlier his triumph over the ghost Mahak using his holiness and a little bit of knowledge of magic. Monastic figures in Thailand often straddle the line between history and myth and that shows how religious devotion can give rise to new folklore.
One thing enriches the other. The Buddhism enriches the Hinduism vice versa and the folklore influences the religion.
Major Buddhist festivals in Thailand also carry layers of folklore within them. Let's take Ly Grathong, the festival of lights held on the full moon of the 12th lunar month.
On this night, people release small floats, gratholong, decorated with flowers, candles, and incense onto rivers and ponds. Officially, it's explained as a time to pay respects to the Buddha. Some say the floating lights honor as a footprint of the Buddha on a riverbank in India and to thank the water goddess for her bounty.
Yet the origins of Ly Grathong are wrapped up in legend. One story credits a woman named Nang Noamas, a consort in the Sukotai Royal Court with creating the first decorated raft to impress the king and of course to honor the spirits of the river.
Whether or not she was real, I don't think it really matters. The tale is widely told and gives a romantic folkloric sheen to the festival, so no harm done.
During Loy Crath, many ties make silent wishes as they set their candle lit rafts a float, believing that the act carries away misfortune and pleases the spirits of the river.
The I New Year water festival Sran even has a bremanic backstory.
A deity loses his head in a wager and his seven goddess daughters take turns in carrying it. A tale still referenced in holiday pageantss.
Meanwhile, ordinary people celebrate Sran by visiting temples, washing Buddha statues with scented water, and gently sprinkling water on their elders to seek blessings.
myth and practice once again coexisting.
Thai religious expression often uses folklore as a means to convey moral and ethical teachings.
It's common for monks to sprinkle their sermons with local ghost stories or fables to illustrate the law of karma or the importance of kindness. A monk might tell the story of a greedy nobleman who becomes a roaming pria to stress generosity.
Or he might equally recount a trickster tale like that of Sri Tanonai to gently chide people into not being too gullible.
Well, in this way, folklore serves as a pedagogical tool in religious life. A type person growing up will hear the same core values echoed in the temple sermons and in bedtime stories told by their grandparents.
The medium might differ. one formal religious setting, the other casual family entertainment.
But the messages reinforce each other.
It makes morality a natural part of the narrative landscape.
In Thai society, there is little perceived conflict between folk belief and formal religious doctrine.
A person can light incense at a spirit house, attend a Buddhist chanting ceremony, and consult an astrologer or fortune teller in the same week. And there's no real sense of spiritual inconsistency in doing all these things because each of them addresses a different need. The spirit house for the immediate worldly concerns, the temple for cultivating merit and inner peace.
and of course the fortune teller cuz after all how else would we navigate our personal destiny.
It's all part of a holistic approach to life's uncertainties.
And this syncric harmony between Buddhism and folklore is a hallmark of Thai culture. It's allowed ancient beliefs to survive not as fossilized relics to be put in museums but as real dynamic parts of a living tradition.
And with this understanding of the religious dimensions of Thai folklore, we can all better appreciate how deeply ingrained these traditions are. But to truly grasp the richness, we should also recognize how it varies across the country. Each region adding its own flavor to this grand national story.
So let's talk a little bit more about that. Now, the themes and characters of Thai folklore with a common cultural fabric, and each region of Thailand has its own distinctive color and flavor. It comes down to the historical, ethnic, and environmental differences that give us all these different kinds of stories and practices. A photo told in one province might be completely unknown in another.
Or a ritual performed in the northern mountains might differ from one by the southern mountains or southern sea rather.
Let's look first at northern Thailand.
In the Lana Kingdom of the North around Chiang Mai, folklore reflects the region's mountainous environment and blended Thai Burmese heritage. Many northern legends highlight divine guidance in the founding of settlements.
For instance, a famous tale recalls that a sacred white elephant carrying a Buddha relic climbed the Deutsep mountain and when he got to the summit, he died, marking it as the heaven chosen sight for Chung Mai's most revered temple.
Thus, northerners feel that their land was sanctified from the start. The north also abounds in stories of forest guardians, village ghosts, befitting its dense forests. Of course, travelers once left offerings at giant trees or misty mountain passes to appease the spirits and ensure safe passage.
During the northern Yeong festival, coinciding with Lu Kthong, thousands of lanterns are released into the sky. A beautiful custom meant to carry away misfortune and send blessings upward.
Lana folklore emphasizes harmony between Buddhism and nature. And the gentle spirits and protective deities reflect the region's serene cultural ethos.
Next, we have northeastern Thailand.
That is the region of Isan.
This region shares many traditions with Laos and is known for its exuberant earthy folklore. tied to the rice farming cycle.
One celebrated Isan legend is the epic of Faradeng and Nangai, a tragic romance between a human prince and a serpent princess that ends in a cataclysmic war between humans and the Naga, those affforementioned dragon serpents.
Locals say that this battle created certain lakes and formed the land. And even today, people along the Mechong River attribute the mysterious glowing orbs known as Naga fireballs to serpent spirits honoring the Buddha.
Isan villagers have long feared spirits like Fee Fob, blamed for unexplained illnesses, any real misfortune, and they developed communal healing rituals where shamans perform dances to expel these spirits.
events at Douglas Community Theater. The region's festivals retain a raw animist spirit. The annual rocket festival that is bung fi sees villagers launching homemade rockets into the sky to urge gods for rain amid rockus music and laughter.
Sounds really fun, actually.
In any case, these lively customs show how Isan people blend humor, spirituality, and communal solidarity, keeping ancient fertility rights and ghostly lore alive alongside their strong Buddhist faith.
And then we have central Thailand. The central plains, home to historic capitals of Aayutaya and Bangkok, have produced many folktales that became national classics. stories like Kun Chang Kun Fang, a long romantic epic filled with magic and adventure.
And of course, the ghost tale of May Nak, the loyal wife ghost of Bangkok originated in central Thailand and spread to all corners of the country through literature and drama.
Because the central region housed royal courts, many local legends were recorded by scholars and transformed into literary works which helped establish them as the official Thai folklore.
Central Thai folklore is a blend of courtly influence and rural superstition.
Even in bustling modern Bangkok, it's common to see a spirit house tucked beside a skyscraper or offers workers pausing at noon to pray at a sidewalk shrine.
It's a coexistence of old beliefs with a new lifestyle and really exemplifies central Thailand's role as the heart of Thai culture.
It preserves the revered old stories and ghostly legends right in the midst of that bustling modernity.
Well, let's look at folklore in the south now that is colored by the region seas jungles and it's mixed of Thai Buddhist and Malay Muslim communities.
One famous tale is that of Manora, the half bird, halfwoman princess who falls in love with a human prince.
This story of love, loss, and reunion is commemorated in a vigorous dance drama unique to the south. Keeping the legend alive through performance, many southern folktales revolve around the sea. Along the Andenam coast, fishermen still pay respects to the water spirits.
In Krabby, for example, a cave shrine dedicated to a mythical princess spirit is filled with wooden offerings from locals seeking safe voyage and plentiful fishing catch. In the deep southern provinces, local Muslim lore about holy men, bin spirits, and miraculous events parallel the supernatural beliefs of the Thai Buddhists, showing once again a different cultural context for similar themes of faith and magic.
But despite religious differences, some people share one belief, and that is that in guardian spirits and sacred powers, whether attributed to a Buddhist monk's relic or perhaps even the tomb of an Islamic saint.
Well, southern folklore from its serpent tales and its healing rituals thus reflects a blend of Thai and Malay influences.
once again adapted to a lush coastal world.
In any case, across all regions, these diverse traditions form a collective tapestry of Thai folklore.
Each local has its own characters and its own customs. But there is a strong common thread of reverence for the spiritual and the unseen.
A northerner can appreciate the ghost of May Nak from central Thailand and a southerner knows of the Naga fireballs of the Mechong.
In this way, regional folklore has become a shared national heritage. In a rapidly modernizing country, Thai people continue to cherish their folktales, rituals, and festivals as a vital link to their history and identity.
And by preserving and adapting these traditions, telling the old stories, honoring the spirits, and celebrating the ancient festivals, they ensure that the wisdom and wonder of Thai folklore endures for the future generations to enjoy.
Today's a journey from the ancient to the modern, an analysis of roots that run so deep they are hard to trace.
Though they have grown and survived all the way into our modern era, it is one of yo-kai, of oni and yuri, demons, sometimes benevolent, sometimes frightening.
That is the breadth of Japanese folklore. Not merely a collection of old stories and dusty books, but a window into the cultural psyche, values, and spiritual life of the Japanese people across centuries.
There are core themes, the tension between nature and civilization.
But we'll also talk about the significance of liinal spaces, concepts of spiritual purity and pollution, and all the moral lessons embedded in the supernatural law.
And we'll also have a look at the regional traditions from Tohoku's snowy villages to Kyushu's subtropical islands, showing how these local environments gave birth to their own unique legends and rituals.
It's been highly requested that we continue our folklore series and end up with the Japanese episode. And so today, here we are. We are fulfilling that obligation for you, dear [clears throat] viewer. And so before we begin, allow me to welcome you to the channel. If you're new here, it's your first time, well, I bid you a very warm welcome. It's good to have you here, and I invite you to click that subscribe button. As always, I'll remind you that this video and all of the other videos on the channel are all midroll free, so you're not going to get any interruptions halfway through.
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Enjoy.
Of course, you can't understand Japanese folk tradition without looking at those Shinto roots.
The creation myths as well. They were recorded in texts like Kojiki and Nhon Shoki. And they recount how the islands of Japan were born from the union of gods that is kami in their tongue such as Izzanagi and Izanami.
And this established a sacred foundation for their later folklore. So let's understand them first because they set the stage for a world view in which the landscape is very much alive with spirits. Mountains, rivers, forests, and even humble tools, inanimate objects.
They all possess a spiritual essence. As centuries passed, oral tales and local legends grew around these beliefs, blending native Shindto ideas with the imported Buddhist cosmologies to explain every little bump in the night, every little run of bad luck or twist of fate.
But moving into the Han period which is 794 to 1185 we find a rich corpus of folklore intertwined with the elegant aristocratic culture and superstition of the era. Behort was a place of refined art and literature but also a very pervasive belief that is in mono unseen spirits or maleficent forces and of course onor vengeful ghosts.
In fact, some of Japan's earliest recorded ghost stories come from Han literature.
A famous example occurs in the well-known tale of Genji Genji no Monogatari, an 11th century novel where living jealous spirit of Lady Roujo leaves her body to torment her rivals, most notably causing the mysterious affliction and death of Genji's wife, Aoi Noer.
Well, this episode reflects the Hon belief that intense emotions like envy or rage could manifest as roaming spirits, blurring that line between the supernatural and the living.
Well, the capital Han Ko now Kyoto was often gripped by fear of Gorio, that is the angry souls of those who died unfairly or were wronged by ruling elites.
In fact, court historians describe how sudden plagues, fires, or disasters were attributed to these vengeful ghosts.
For instance, after the exiled statesman Sugawara Noitis died in 1903 and Kyodo was struck by calamities and lightning fires, many believed quite firmly that these were because of his wrathful spirit, seeking revenge on the imperial court that wronged him.
So what's the response?
Well, the emperor hastily reinstated Mijazani's honor and enshrined him as a deity of scholarship to plate his angry spirit.
A telling example of how folklore directly influenced real political and religious actions all the way up to the top levels of society.
But another illustrative Han tale is that of Oni, demons or ogres and the heroes who battled them. Stories of demon quelling warriors became quite popular, blending folklore with emerging samurai legend. A classic anecdote is the legend of Shuten Doji, a fearsome oni leader who said to terrorize the capital by kidnapping noble maidens.
According to lore, the emperor commanded the renowned warrior Minimoto no Yurimitsu, also known as Reicho, and his band of loyal retainers to hunt down this demon on Mount Ooway.
[clears throat] Well, disguised as monks, Yurimitsu's group infiltrated the Oni's lair, and then they tricked Shuten Doji into drinking poisoned sake.
As the drunken giant fell unconscious, the heroes decapitated him, carrying away his severed head as proof of victory.
Well, this tale, though rooted in the late Han era, survived in oral tradition and inspired countless artworks.
No planes, that is no, by the way, that's the kind of theater in Japan and later folktales were also inspired by this. And it also highlights a recurring motive in Japanese folklore. That is this cleverness and courage triumphing over the monstrous forces of chaos.
Well, even more intriguing is how such demon legends often carry such symbolic weight. The only inendog's story can be read as representing the wild, lawless fringes beyond the capital, ultimately subdued by human bravery with a little bit of divine favor.
Han Japan was also the error of the onji the master diviners and exorcists of the yingyang path whose existence itself straddled the line between folklore and historical reality.
Now the most famous onioji a no became a kind of legendary figure on his own. He lived in the 10th century and was employed by the court to bought uh perform folk rituals to ward off evil spirits and discern auspicious signs.
Over time, Abeno Se's rebuted powers such as controlling shiki, that is spirit servants more or less, but also outwitting demons. These were all exaggerated in folklore and popular drama. Certainly makes for a good story.
And by the medieval period, he was mythologized as a halfh human, half fox being with supernatural insight.
A story that shows how historical individuals could be elevated to folkloric status, embodying the earth's deep fascination with the occult and the balance of cosmic forces.
The Han period's contributions to folklore resonate in later centuries.
The concept of restless spirits, the need for appeasement rituals, they all became ingrained in Japanese culture.
Annual ceremonies like the gorio a rituals to pass by the venual souls were performed to calm any angry spirits lurking around in the city.
And these customs show an interesting synthesis. a little bit of religion, a little bit of folklore, and a little bit of governance where the supernatural was addressed through formal rights to ensure the well-being of society.
Really, if we're going to sum it all up, this classical era of Japan established many of the core motives that we can identify with Japanese folklore.
unpredictable spirits influenced by human emotion, demons lurking at the edge of civilization, and the importance of rituals and clever heroes to restore harmony.
So with all those foundation laid, uh we can certainly trace how folklore evolved in the subsequent periods, especially during the vibrant storytelling culture of the Ado era and beyond.
Well, let's fast forward a little bit.66003, the beginning of the Ado period, and we find an explosion of interesting ghost tales, monster lore, and popular legend.
Now the Ado era uh characterized by over two centuries of domestic peace, a rising merchant class and a flourishing of the arts. It became a golden age for folklore, not just in performative form, but in the more new and modern printed form.
Originally, people used to gather for the parlor game.
That is the gathering of 100 supernatural tales.
Basically, they'd tell ghost stories one by one, extinguishing a candle after each tale until an eerie darkness had fallen.
But this game quite popular among samurai and towns folk alike, it fueled the creation and dissemination of many Kaidan and his ghost stories.
It was said that when the last candle went out after the hundth story, something truly supernatural might be summoned. An idea that shows how deeply storytelling and belief intertwined in entertainment and ritual.
Pretty interesting, that's for sure. I suppose um as the candles go out, the last 10' be kind of a countdown making everybody increasingly nervous.
Now, one of the most iconic Ado era Kaidan is Yotssia Kaidan, the chilling story of Oua, a betrayed wife who becomes a vengeful ghost.
The tale first appeared as a Kabuki play in 1825 and has since become Japan's most famous ghost story.
While in this tale, Oiar is tragically poisoned and disfigured by her unfaithful husband and his lover.
After her death, her spirit in urm returns with stringy hair drooping eye and a bloodstained face.
She's come back to take her revenge, haunting her treacherous husband and driving him to madness.
The imagery of Owa's apparition, often depicted with a white burial kimono and wild black hair, helped cement the archetype of the vengeful female ghost in Japanese culture. And to this day, theater productions of Yotsia Kaidan, a treat with a kind of superstitious reverence. Actors even pray at Owa's grave for forgiveness before they do the performances.
The moral underpinnings of the story are pretty clear too. It serves as a cautionary tale about betrayal and cruelty and that reflects the ado period value placed on marital fidelity and social ethics. But with a supernatural twist that wrongdoing will eventually be avenged, whether it be in this world or the next. No one really gets away with it. It all catches up with you in time in a kind of karmic cycle.
And then we have another beloved ado tale that is Banjo Sarayashki.
The story of Okiku and the nine plates.
Basically, Okiku was a loyal housemaid who accidentally or in some versions deliberately broke a dish from a precious 10 plate set.
Well, in a fit of unjust anger, her master killed her and threw her body down a well.
Okiku's ghost, therefore haunted the estate, emerging from the well each night, wailing and counting from 1 to nine before bursting into tears upon finding the 10th plate missing.
This repetitive ghostly counting of course terrorized the household nightly and ultimately depending on the version perhaps it's a priest or clever servant.
They shout 10 at the end of her count and that resolves the haunting by symbolically completing the count of plates and calming Okiku's spirit.
Of course, the story not only gave ado audiences a delightful scare, but it carries these themes of injustice and the need for resolution.
You see, her ghost only finds peace when the wrong is acknowledged, symbolized by completing the count. And the tale became so popular that it inspired woodblock prints, and even local superstitions about wells. People peering into old wells at night might imagine a pale figure rising, counting dishes.
And of course, maybe you're thinking of the movie The Ring.
You know how the the white dressed and long blackhaired girls start crawling out of the well? Well, well, there is the origin.
In any case, beyond ghosts, the Ado period also systematized a pantheon of Yo-kai. that is the myriad of monsters, trickster animals, and strange phenomena that constitute Japan's monsterology.
A key figure in this scholar uh in this endeavor was the scholar artist Toriyama Seiken who published a series of illustrated encyclopedias of Yo-kai in the late 18th century.
Seek's works such as Gazu Hyaki Yagyo, the illustrated night parade of 100 demons cataloged creatures from folklore and his imagination, giving them visual forms and written descriptions.
In fact, many popularly Yo-kai today owe their fame or standardized image to Seien's depictions.
For example, he portrayed the Kappa, a water goblin, as a scaly child-sized creature with a beak-like mouth and a dish-like depression on its head containing the water that is the source of its strength.
And then he sketched the Tangu, the long-nosed goblin, the winged humanoid living in the mountains.
He also included whimsical entries like the karakasa obake, a oneeyed umbrella that hops around on a single leg. An example of the tsuku monogami, everyday objects that come to life after a 100 years. That is Zian's catalog were right widely read in Ado much like beastiaries or illustrated guides to supernatural Japan and they helped spread and standardize local legends into a more unified and recognizable national folklore. And so in a sense that this was folklore scholarship avan lelette the precursor to formal studies though did it in a more playful and artistic manner.
But this era was also a time when literature and theater embraced fogloric themes. Ua Akinari an 18th century author drew from earlier folk tales and legends to create literary masterpieces of the supernatural. His famous collection Ugetsu monogatre theor of moonlight and rain in 1776 features elegant ghost stories laid with moral and Buddhist philosophical messages.
One story for instance the crosanthinum vow tells of undying friendship tested beyond the grave while another the cauldron of kibitsu depicts a lingering curse of a scorned wife. again highlighting the moral that broken promises and treachery leads to deadly hauntings.
These works bridged oral folklore with high literature and they show the ghostly tales could carry deep human troops and even political commentary.
By weaving folklore into refined pros, Akinari elevated the genre's prestige and ensured these legends would be preserved among the educated classes, not just in the rustic countryside.
We're quite lucky to have this sort of thing, the uh legacy of Japanese culture.
So, the Ado period's love affair with folklore culminated in a vibrant ghost story culture by the 19th century.
People enjoyed scary stories during the hot summers, believing that children fear could actually cool you down.
Well, many of the ghost and yo-kai tales from Ado remain staples of Japan's folklore cannon today. And just as importantly, the era's printed books and artworks created an archive of folklore that later generations and scholars could draw upon.
So when Japan opened to the world at the end of the ado period and modernized rapidly in the Miji, this treasure trove of recorded folklore would prove invaluable for those who wish to remember and celebrate the old tales, albeit amid the new sweeping societal changes.
And so with the dawn of the Maji era that being 1868, Japan went through changes, rapid industrialization, but also rapid westernization.
The transformation posed a challenge to the old folk beliefs. You see, some viewed them as superstitious and incompatible with modern science and progress.
But despite all this, folklore proved remarkably resilient and adaptable.
In fact, the late 19th and early 20th century saw a renaissance of interest in collecting and preserving Japanese folktales fueled in part by both native scholars and curious foreigners.
One notable figure was Lavardio Hearn, also known as Quisumi Yakumo, an Irish Greek writer who settled in Japan in the 1890s.
Hearn was enchanted by Japan's ghostly lore and traveled the country gathering stories much like the brothers Grim did for German folklore.
His 1904 book Kaidan stories and studies of strange things introduced English-speaking audiences to spectral tales like Yuki Ona the snowwoman and Hoyichi the less.
The latter is own's rendition of an old legend which the blind biwa loot player Huichi performs for the ghosts of samurai and is saved from their clutches only by having holy sutras painted on his body except by his ears of course which the ghosts tear off when they find those ears invisible that is not covered by the sutras.
Hearn's works were uh not academic studies, I suppose, but they did play a role in preserving our old tales at a time when Japan was changing into modernity and might have even been tempted to leave its old ghosts behind.
In any case, we're very lucky to have that work, too, I think. But during the 20th century, Japan's rapid urbanization and the horrors of war, also the economic upheaval, they could have consigned folklore to obscurity, too.
But instead, they just gave it new forms and contexts. The rise of mass media, the first radio, then television, later the internet. It allowed ghost stories and Yo-kai legends to be shared in new ways.
Folklore themes found their way into modern literature, film, and eventually anime and manga. For example, the concept of the vengeful spirit from ado period Kabuki was re-imagined in the contemporary horror cinema. The famous image we've already mentioned, Sedako, the pale long-haired ghost from Ring in 1998.
Orakayako from Jon, also known in the west as the grudge, which yeah, that's a very scary movie.
It draws directly from the archetype of OA and other traditional ghosts, showing how the old motives still haunt the modern imagination.
And really, you owe it to yourself to go and watch the original Japanese versions of The Grudge. Not before bed.
They are uh well they've aged quite well but to me even the way that um even just the way the graininess in how they were filmed it's it's it's quite a disturbing piece of media I think but nonetheless go and watch it in any case quite similarly beloved children's anime like gag Loqitaro revolve around Yo-kai characters adapted from folklore such asQataro's father who's essentially the uh Hitoan noaji an eyeball with a tiny body presents them in a friendly whimsical way too Mizuki Shigaru himself was a folklorist at heart who traveled across Japan to sketch and document local Yo-kai stories contributing to a revival of interest in traditional monsters in the late 20th century.
And you really can't go past mentioning Inu Yasha as well. That was a good show.
Old one. I think it was '90s.
You should go watch that, too.
Well, modern Japan has also generated new urban legends, and they carry the spirit of folklore into a more contemporary setting.
The classic example from the 70s is Kuchisake Ona, the slitmouthed woman. An eerie figure said to roam late at night in the streets wearing a surgical mask, which is quite common in Japan. So, initially not too alarming. If people get sick or something, they will usually wear a surgical mask to uh not pass it on to others.
In any case, according to legend, she would approach lone pedestrians, often children, and she'd ask, "Am I beautiful?"
Well, if the person answered yes, she would remove her mask to reveal a grotesqually slit open mouth from ear to ear, and then she'd ask you, "How about now?"
Well, if the victim reacted with horror, she would attack them with scissors. The modern folktale spread like wildfire through a word of mouth and sensationalist reports, causing real panic at schools at one point.
essentially a contemporary Yo-kai tale complete with a moral of sorts, I suppose. Be careful of strangers.
Appearances deceive. And of course, variations have evolved over time. Some say that carrying candy or saying certain phrases can ward her off, much like one might use a charm against a yo-kai.
And another widely told modern ghost legend is that of Hanakosan.
The spirit of a young girl who haunts school bathrooms, usually the third stall of the third floor girl's restroom.
Children across Japan uh know the dare of knocking on the stall and calling out, "Hanako son, are you there?" to see if the girl responds.
These stories aren't really old in a historical sense, but they still function exactly like traditional folklore, and they're told orally, too. Or at least nowadays, by the internet. I remember the old days of chain emails with ghost pictures. If you don't pass it on, the ghost is going to get you.
Back in the old Hotmail days and MySpace, showing my age a bit. But they've also got regional variations, too.
And I suppose there's a bit of thrill and a bit of caution reflecting social anxieties.
Now, for instance, that Kuchisake Ona, the slitmouth woman, she emerged at a time of rising awareness of random violence and perhaps even subconscious fears of changing social roles since she's often depicted as a former victim of a male aggressor.
Well, meanwhile, many folk practices and festivals continue to thrive in modern Japan.
and they're often supported by local and national efforts to preserve cultural heritage. Annual events like Oon, that is the summer festival when the ancestral spirits are welcomed back home, remain widely observed. And it blends both Buddhist ritual with ancient ancestor worship beliefs.
During Oon, communities light mukbi, that is welcoming fires and to nagashi, floating lanterns on rivers to guide the spirits. a rather picturesque tradition rooted in the folklor's view of the border between life and death being porous at certain times of the year.
And then there's regional festivals too.
They often celebrate folkloric characters. For example, every New Year's in Akida Prefecture, that is northern Tohoku, villagers enact the Namahag ritual where men addressed as ferocious ogrelike beings to visit houses to scare children into good behavior and bring blessings.
What outsiders see as frightening monsters are the locals protective figures performing a right of passage?
Again, it gives a bit of depth to these beings.
But the government and cultural organizations now designate many of these folk customs as intangible cultural heritage, recognizing that preserving folklore is as important as preserving monuments.
And so in urban settings, you might find summer ghost story events, theme parks, or museums dedicated to Yukai and young people reading manga or playing games filled with folkloric reference.
All of this shows that folklore in modern Japan is not a relic of the past, but a living and very evolving part of the culture, adapting and finding new life as time goes on.
So, let's get away from the chronological approach for a while cuz we've sampled folklore across time enough. And uh I think it's time we look at a few more. Several core themes and symbolic motives consistently emerging in Japanese folklore. Not all of them unique, but um some of them quite uh Japanese in their style.
First of all, let's talk about nature versus civilization.
It's a predominant theme and it's the tension between the natural world and human civilization.
You see, Japan's terrain, the thick forest, the towering mountains, remote islands, has always posed a stark contrast to its densely populated villages and cities. And folklore often personifies this contrast through spirits and creatures that embody nature's power, reminding humans to respect those forces beyond their control.
And we see this in tales of the mountain kami or yama no the god uh that guard the forests and peaks rather for example tenu we mentioned those long-nosed birdlike goblins they lurk in the mountain strongholds and punish wood cupppers or cutters or proud monks who intrude too arrogantly into their domain in the lands the kapper inhabits rivers and ponds ready to drag the unweary, especially misbehaving children, into the water.
Stories like this are cautionary tales.
They're warnings to villagers, especially youngsters, about the dangers of straying too far into wild places or disrespecting the elements.
And the implication is quite clear.
Nature is alive and nature is watching.
If you violate its rules, you might incur the wrath of the supernatural guardians.
This theme symbolizes the delicate balance that Japan has long negotiated between the wilderness and civilization.
Rice farming communities depended on tamed nature, fields, irrigation, so on.
Yet just beyond the patties lay untamed woods believed to be the realm of the Yo-kai.
Many festivals and local customs have developed to appease natural spirits, suggesting a social acknowledgement that human prosperity relied on cooperation with the unseen forces of the world. A vivid example comes from Tohoku's Tono region, where villages traditionally left small offerings by river banks to plate the carper and prevent drownings or crop damage. Folklore here encodes a form of environmental ethics. Treat the river well. Don't pollute or waste its waters. And the kappa will not bother your family.
Across Japan, there's countless folk tales of animals like foxes, the kitsune, or raccoon dogs, the tanuki that take human form to test people's kindness or humility. If a lost traveler offers help to a fox disguised as a frail old man, he might later be rewarded with good fortune. The fox may have been the messenger of the Inari deity, but if a person acts arrogantly, he may be led astray by a shape shifter or become a cautionary example himself.
The next thing we have is another key theme in Japanese folklore. It's limonality.
The importance of thresholds, borders, and in between states.
Many supernatural events in these tales happen in liinal spaces or times showing the belief that boundaries between our world and the other world are quite porous and should of course be approached with caution.
Twilight the dusk literally called tasogare literally who is it time was thought to be especially treacherous as it's neither day or night. A time when Yokai and Yuri find it easiest to slip into the human realm.
And indeed, a number of ghost stories begin with alone. Traveler finding himself on a road at dusk when shadows lengthen and a friendly stranger met at a wayside could turn out to be a fox in disguise or a ghost leading them astray.
Similarly, certain seasons and festival days are considered to be liinal. During Oon, the boundary between the living and the dead thin so that ancestral spirits cross back into the world of the living.
On New Year's Eve, the old year turning to new is marked by rituals like ringing temple bells 108 times to drive away negative influences, symbolically guaranteeing that liinal moment. So no evil follows into the fresh year.
But physical thresholds also abound in folktales.
The bridge is a classical liinal space neither here or there suspended over running water which is itself another boundary.
It's no coincidence that one famous no drama and legend the story of the Hashihime the bridge princess features a woman who transformed into a demon while waiting on a bridge at night due to jealousy. She became a vengeful spirit said to haunt Uji Bridge.
In many stories, a villagers's uh bridge rather or mountain pass is exactly where one might encounter something otherworldly.
Like for example, the Yuki Ona on a snowy mountain path or the Oji Baba, the old crone Yokai asking travelers strange questions at crossroads.
And even the threshold of a home, the entryway called genan has its protective folklore, placing a protective charm or a kagura suzu ritual bell that is. And the door can ward off evil from crossing into that domestic space.
And of course, the notion of tuku monogami, uh, tuku monogami, excuse me, tools or objects coming to life after long years plays on the limonality between the animate and the inanimate.
An old sandal or teapot at its 100th year steps over a metaphorical boundary and gains its own spirit, suggesting that even the line between object and living thing is not absolute in folklore logic.
But why exactly an emphasis on limonality?
Anthropologically, we could say it reflects in how Japanese culture ritualizes transitions to ensure that they are apicious.
Folklore in turn populates those transition points with vivid imagery to warn and remind.
So if you must travel at dusk, be extra vigilant. If you stand at the border of a village at midnight, remember unseen eyes might watch. It instills a respect for boundaries and transitions, whether they be life stages or perhaps spatial edges like the coastline where one might meet the wrathful sea spirit um Bozu on a boat.
Limmonality in Japanese folklore ultimately highlights the idea that most powerful or uncanny things happen at the edges that is even society. The edges of the day of life and death and that one must navigate these edges carefully often with reverence and sometimes with ritual.
When next we have purity and pollution i.e a kind of spiritual cleanliness.
Underlying much of the Japanese folklore is the concept of spiritual purity versus a pollution. It's called kegare.
This theme is heavily influenced by Shinto beliefs where maintaining purity is essential to avoid any misfortune and defilement especially by death or violence attracts evil.
And many ghost stories can be interpreted through this lens. Ghosts are often the result of a disruption in the natural order. Something impure that was not cleansed. A soul that cannot move on. Perhaps because it suffered a wrongful death or improper burial rights. It becomes a fu day, a wandering ghost, essentially a form of spiritual pollution troubling the living until things are set right.
For example, in the tale of Oiwa or Okiku mentioned earlier, each becomes an angry ghost due to an egregious wrong that is either betrayal or murder, and they need to atone for them. The haunting continues until someone acknowledges the crime and performs the appropriate appeasement, whether that be prayer, ritual, or anon exorcism, thus purifying the environment or the grudge.
Folklore also encodes daily life purity rituals.
The akaname or other rather grotesque yo-kai depicted as a slimy creature that licks the dirt in untidy bathrooms is essentially a personification of filth.
Kind of like a demonic cockroach of sorts. The tale warns that if you don't clean your bathroom, the akaname might come. an amusing yet pointed reminder that uncleanliness invites unwanted company figuratively and supernaturally.
Likewise, there are beliefs that evil spirits are attracted to places of decay or impurity. And this ties in with why many Japanese folks even today sprinkle salt at the door after attending a funeral. You see, salt in Shinto tradition purifies and blocks any clinging spirits of the dead who are considered ritually unclean from entering the home.
And another example is the cup as aversion to iron in some stories since iron used to make blades and knives is thought to repel spirits and purify by cutting ties. Hence, fishermen would sometimes throw iron scraps into rivers to ward off kaba.
The interplay of purity and impurity is dramatically seen in the practice of misogi that is water purification.
Many folktales and shrine legends involve people washing away sins or curses in waterfalls or rivers. The folklore of certain waterfalls or hot springs often claims that they have originated from a deity's tears or blood and therefore have the power to cleanse illness which in older times was seen as having a spiritual cause.
For instance, Tono Monagati describes how villagers avoided certain river spots deemed unclean because a kappa had in the past attacked someone there until a priest could at least come and perform rights to purify the area.
Whether it's a ghost driven by unresolved defilement or a monster embodying physical dirt or even a hero cleansing a cursed place. The theme of purity versus pollution is woven throughout Japanese folklore.
It shows a moral that is both practical and spiritual.
Keep yourself and your surroundings pure in behavior, thought, and environment.
And you will invite protection from the good spirits. and in repel the malevolent ones. And if impurity occurs, whether through moral wrongdoing or contact with death, it must be acknowledged and cleansed through proper ritual, or else that darkness might fester.
Next, let's talk about a little bit of the morality and justice. These themes that are pervasive in supernatural tales.
Supernatural tales often serve as allegorories for ethical conduct with comic consequences doowled out by other worldly agents.
Unlike straightforward moral fables, though, Japanese ghost and Yo-kai stories teach morals in a more nuanced way, frequently using fear and awe rather than direct didactism.
We have already noted how many urales caution against betrayal, murder or broken oaths since the agrieved party might come back from the grave to settle the score.
And this instills a sense of justice beyond the human legal system. Even if a crime goes unpunished in human courts, no deed is truly secret or forgotten in the spiritual realm.
The belief in eniri ties that sever that death cannot even sever rather means that if you roll someone deeply enough you are bound together until justice is achieved whether in this life or as ghosts. It's a powerful moral deterrent against cruelty and treachery.
Likewise, yo-kai tales serve to reinforce social norms and values. The trickster, Fox, and Tanuki stories, for instance, commonly reward honesty and kindness while punishing greed and arrogance.
A well-known folktale tells of a poor wood cutter who kindly frees a trapped tanuki, that is a raccoon dog, just to remind you, and later the tanuki possessing shape-shifting powers turns into a teapot and ask the woodcutter to sell it for money.
Then it uh after that reverts to tanuki form to escape the buyer and return to the wood cutter essentially providing him financial assistance.
Well this tale often called bunbuku chagama highlights generosity repaid with generosity but it also carries an implicit lesson about compassion for even the smallest beings.
Conversely, other tales describe villagers who mistreat a fox or denuki only to suffer pranks, bad luck, or even horrifying illusions in retribution.
And these outcomes reflect a kind of folk justice. The world of spirits and animals will not suffer human hubris lightly.
Folkloric beings also often test the virtues of humility, diligence, and respect.
In one charming story, a traveling monk who might have been an incarnate deity in disguise comes to a village and is shunned by a rich proud family but welcomed by a poor farmer's family.
So the next day the rich family's home is found mysteriously burned down or their wealth has vanished while the humble family is blessed with unexpected prosperity.
Such tales with variations across regions show the classic moral lessons of hospitality and humility.
Now that supernatural element, a monk with hidden powers or a divine stranger just amplifies the weight of the lesson, making it more memorable and I suppose in a way culturally authoritative.
And another moral dimension in Japanese folklore is the idea of reciprocity and obligation on and giri in Japanese social virtue. When someone receives a great favor, even from a supernatural being, they are expected to return it or at least not take it for granted. Hotels illustrate the dire consequences of failing to uphold one's giri.
For example, the legend of Urashimataro tells of a fisherman who rescues a turtle, actually a disguised undersea princess, as he's rewarded with the journey to the dragon palace under the sea. He stays there for what seems like a few days. But when he returns to his village, he finds that many years have passed, and so is everybody he once knew.
In some versions, this twist is simply a sad consequence of Taro's neglect of time. But in others, it's subtly framed as Taro's fault for leaving without properly expressing gratitude and saying farewell to the dragon palace.
Either way, the story imparts a moral about respect for gifts and the inexraable flow of time. A warning that one cannot just indulge in wonder without regard for real world responsibilities.
But just as Japan's geography spans from subarctic Hokkaido to subtropical Okinawa, the folklore of Japan varies widely by region too. With each local contributing to its own colorful threads to the national tapestry of tales.
So let's start first with To<unk>hoku.
That is northeastern Japan is known for its long harsh winters and rugged mountains. and it has folklore that reflects both the challenges of rural life and the close-knit nature of its communities.
One famous figure here is the Zashiki Washi, a house spirit in Iwattate Prefecture.
Appearing as the ghostly image of a small child, sometimes with a bobbed haircut and red vest, the Sashiki Washi is said to reside in old farmhouses, bringing good fortune to those who honor it. but misfortune if it leaves.
Many families in Tohoku historically left out offerings like small meals or toys to keep their zashikiashi content.
The idea of a protective child spirit may have arisen in this region due to high infant mortality in earlier times which is obviously tragic.
Um, also the desire to believe that deceased children's souls stayed, to watch over the home and the parents.
An example of how folklore provided comfort and a sense of guardianship amid those living in difficult conditions and going through life's little tragedies.
Landscape also gave birth to chilling winter tales. In the snowbound villages, people told of the snow woman, the Yuki owner, who appears on blizzardy nights as a beautiful pale woman in a white kimono.
In some local stories, she is benign, guiding lost travelers to safety, and in others, she's deadly, luring men to freeze to death or stealing the life breath of children.
The dual nature of it reflects the winter itself. Mesmerizingly beautiful but potentially lethal.
Parents might have used the tail to warn youth against the danger of winter storms. Don't go out in the blizzard or the Yuki owner will get you. One also personifying the awe they felt toward the silent other worldly snow landscapes.
Another well-known Tohoku tradition is the Namahag of Akita which we touched on a little earlier. The Namaha is essentially New Year's demon. Villagers dressed as fearsome ogres with strawcloaks and ooni masks that go doorto-door growling phrases like, "Are there any lazy children here? Any naughty children?"
Well, this practice unique to the ogre peninsula of Akita is both a festive ritual and a living folktale.
It reenacts the legend of ogres that once tormented the area until villagers made a pact with them only to scare children on new years in exchange for peace the rest of the year. The exact custom is deeply local tied to the agricultural calendar and the year's end renewal but also the social need to encourage youngsters to be diligent.
The hoku's remoteness historically has allowed such customs to persist and today they are celebrated as part of regional identity.
Next we have is Shikoku. As the smallest of Japan's four main islands, Shikoku is famous for its 88 temple pilgrimage route associated with the Buddhist monk Kukai or as he's also known Kubo Daishi.
But it's equally rich in local Yo-kai and legends. Shigoku's wooded mountains and rocky coasts harbor tales of some frightening creatures of their own.
One notable Yo-kai said to roam Shigoku is the Ushi oni, literally cow demon, and descriptions vary. It is often depicted as a monstrous creature with the body of an ox or spider and a horned onie's head.
The usion onion was feared for attacking fishermen and villagers along the coast.
And in some areas during festivals, locals parade large ooshi on floats or puppets as a way to ward off evil and commemorate the legends, turning a scary yo-kai into a kind of protective symbol.
And this is a great example of how a community can take a negative folkloruric figure and ritually transform it into a guardian.
essentially saying, "We acknowledge the danger of our coast like storms, rough seas, unknown beasts, but by ritually taming the usion oni in celebration, we hope to gain its favor or protection.
The existence of us on lore along Shigoku's coast highlights how isolated islands and communities invented powerful creatures to personify the perils of the sea and cliffs.
Shigoku is also known for stories of bake tanuki that is shape-shifting tanuki.
While tanuki tales exist all over Japan, Shigoku's valley claims a very famous one. The legend of the 800 brave Tanuki of Shukoku.
In this story, different Tanuki clans, each led by a chieftain with a colorful name, like Danaburu Danuki of Sadu Island and Kimcho Danuki of Aaji Island, engage in a grand war of trickery, only to later reconcile and become benevolent.
One local hero, Tanuki from Shikoku, Yashima Nohag Yashima Nohag Tanuki, excuse me, was said to drum on his big stomach to entertain people.
and even have helped in a historic battle by frighting enemy soldiers with ghostly flames that he conjured.
It's a playful yet epic folk tale, and it possibly emerged from Shikoku's many isolated villagers, where telling doll tales about clever Tanuki would be a popular pastime on long evenings. But it also reflects Shikoku's rugged terrain since human warlords seldom reached its hidden valleys. The Tanuki could be imagined as staging their own mock battles in the folktale realm. I suppose region specific folklore like this fosters local pride, too. Even a tiny hamlet can claim this is where the mighty Tanuki general beat his drum, linking the community's identity to a story not found in other places.
Additionally, Shikoku has folklore tied to its religious heritage. The 88 temple pilgrimage has generated countless anecdotes of miracles and Yo-kai encounters.
One tale tells of Kobo Daiishi meeting a dangerous Yo-kai woman in the mountain pass who tried to whale him only for his prayers to reveal her true demonic form and send her fleeing.
Now moving on to the south uh southernmost main island of Kyushu, we encounter a warm climate, active volcanoes and a history as a crossroads of trade and foreign influence.
It's these factors that color Kyushu's folklore. For instance, Kyushu has numerous fire related legends, which is understandable given the presence of volcanoes like Mount Ao and Sakurajima.
In Kagoshima, people told of Hinimna, a fiery horse demon, or of Kataki.
Kataki Raawa, excuse me, a one-eared piglet spectre believed to appear in the aftermath of fire disasters.
Kyushu, particularly its eastern edges and southern parts, has a tradition of Tsukimono, that is possession spirit that is stronger than in many other regions. One infamous example is the Inugami, the dog god, which is actually a kind of malevolent spirit used in sorcery, thought to bring wealth or curses depending on how it's implored.
Belief in Inugami was historically prevalent in parts of Kyushu and Shikoku.
Some families were stigmatized as Inugami mochi, that is keepers of the Inugami, and feared by neighbors who thought that they could send their invisible dog spirit to possess and harm others.
The origin of Inugami folklore is actually quite gruesome. A dog spirit created through ritual animal cruelty, revealing how extreme social stresses might lead folklore to secretly attacking rivals with magic.
But it shows a darker side of regional folklore, too. Not every local tale is about a funloving jokester Yo-kai.
Some are about curses and fear of one's neighbors, which are just as much part of the tapestry of folklore as anything else.
But on a friendlier note, Kyushu is home to the Kappa's watery horns as well. The city of Fukuoka, for example, has kappa legends in its canals. And various villages in Kyushu have their own kappa laws. In fact, one town claims that kappa even taught them how to irrigate the fields.
In some places, kappa are called by local names like Gataro or Enka. And farmers once offered cucumbers, which is the kappa's favorite food for protection.
Kyushu's version of the well-known Isun Bosshi, the 1-in boy Tom Thumblike folk hero has him starting his journey in Kyushu's rivers. And these regional twists again highlight that while some stories spread nationally, they often get localized flavors.
And lastly, Kyushu's approximity to Okinawa and earlier contact with Korea and China. Nagasaki was a trade port even during isolation meant that some foreign folklore elements entered local law.
For example, the Karakasa Obake, the haunted umbrella and other objects uh possibly drew on Chinese dowist ideas of household spirits and the concepts of ghosts returning on the seventh day after death. that is found on some Kyushu stories and it might reflect the blending with Chinese Buddhist morning customs.
Thus, Kyushu folklore is a pretty rich one of its own with indigenous Japanese elements seasoned by a touch of outside influence, but ultimately all adapted to its own environment.
There is a hut at the edge of every Russian fairy tale. It stands on chicken legs. that rotates slowly in the forest, turning toward whatever the visitor least expects.
And inside this hut lives an old woman with iron teeth and a nose so long that it scrapes the ceiling when she sleeps.
Her name is Baba Yaga.
Perhaps the strangest figure in all of world mythology because she might save you or she might eat you. But there's no way of knowing which one she'll do until you're already inside the hut.
At first, she'll give you a test. She always does that. And if you pass, she'll send you deeper into the forest, closer to the thing you need, but could never have found on your own. In any case, she's always known that you were coming. The only question is whether you really deserve what you came for.
And that's a little bit of a taste of Russian folklore.
And truly the signature of that culture is terror and guidance. Danger and wisdom inseparable all rolled into one.
And the best thing about it is it only gets stranger from here.
Hello everyone. Welcome back. Today we're doing a guide to Russian folklore.
Good to see you here again for continuing our series. Just quickly before we begin, thank you to everybody who's crowdfunding this channel, keeping it all adfree. Links are available in the pinned comment and description. And thank you to those who took the time to hit the like button, subscribe, and leave a comment. That helps us reach more in the algorithm. That being said, let's get right on with it.
The Russian fairy tale, the Scaza, operates on a logic that is at first encounter a little counterintuitive.
Basically, the hero is almost never the most capable or the most diligent person available.
It is most commonly Ivan the fool, the youngest of three brothers, dismissed by everyone, including himself, as someone who's lazy, simple, and unlikely to achieve anything.
He lies on the stove, the great domestic hearth that was the literal and symbolic center of the Russian peasant home, eating and sleeping while his elder brothers demonstrate their competence and their ambition and their repeated failure to achieve the task that the tale has set.
And then Ivan goes, he does not go with a plan at all. He rather goes with patience, with courtesy to whatever he meets on the road, and with a willingness to comply with requests that sensible people would refuse.
And he succeeds invariably where the sensible people and the well-prepared, wellplanned ones have all failed.
Now, this motive of Ivan the fool is kind of a placeholder. is so central to the Russian Scazgar tradition that it constitutes the specific moral and philosophical position, not merely this narrative convenience.
The Soviet folklorist Vladimir Prop, whose 1928 morphology of the folktale is one of the founding texts of structural narrative analysis, argue that the function of the fool figure was to embody a specific relationship to fate and to the irrational requirements to the supernatural world.
The elder brothers fail precisely because they apply this rational, self-interested calculation to situations that require something else.
This generosity to strangers, a willingness to share resources rather than hoard them. Readiness to perform apparently pointless acts of kindness.
Ivan succeeds because he doesn't calculate.
He gives some old woman half of his last crust of bread without being begged and asked for it. He shares his fire with the frozen snake in the snow, and he tells the fish he caught to go free for no other reason than it asked him nicely.
Each of these acts of apparently irrational generosity is, in the logic of the Russian fairy tale, a down payment on supernatural assistance that arrives much later on at the moment of greatest need.
The stove deserves particular attention as the symbolic object in Russian folk narrative tradition.
Ivan lies on the stove. His elder brothers work while he just lies there.
The stove is at the same time his vice and preparation.
Now the Russian peasant stove made of brick or clay was an enormous structure that occupied a significant portion of the smaller peasant home provided heat for cooking and warmth through the bitter Russian winter and it had sleeping platforms built into its upper surfaces where the warmer spots in the house were found.
lying on the stove was literally the most comfortable and secure position in a Russian house. In the sket tradition, it is simultaneously a motive of laziness. Ephen's apparent unwillingness to engage with the world and a figure of quiet preparedness, of waiting at the center of warmth while the cold world outside does its worst.
Ivan on the stove is not doing nothing.
He is just being in a way that the tale will eventually vindicate.
The structural features of the Russian fairy tale were the subject of props morphological analysis which identified 31 functions that recur across the corpus of the Russian scazki inconsistent sequence.
The initial lack or violation that sets the story in motion. The departure of the hero, the encounter with a helper figure, the acquisition of magical talent, the journey to another realm, the confrontation with the villain, resolution, return, and recognition of the hero in the final stage.
This structural consistency across hundreds of separate tales is not just a coincidence. It's a deep narrative grammar that shape both the creation and transmission of the tales within the oral tradition.
performers did not memorize every tale verbatim. They reconstructed them from a shared structural template and they filled in that template with specific characters, settings and details that varied across stories.
The structure was the real backbone, the specific content that was more improvised.
The language of Russian Scaska is itself distinctive and formulaic in ways that reflect the oral tradition from which it emerged.
[clears throat] Tales begin with specific opening formulas. You'd have something like in so and so kingdom in so and so land.
Things like that signal the transmission from the ordinary experience to the realm of makebelieve.
And they end with closing formulas that reestablish the boundary. Something like, "I was there. I drank me and beer.
It ran down my mustache but didn't enter my mouth." This kind of thing. Combining the participatory claim of the storyteller with the explicit statement that the tale's world is not the listener's world.
Between opening and closing, the language employs characteristic repetitions, triplings, tasks given three times, brothers named three, attempts made three times, and specific epithets for recurring characters and objects that create a consistent verbal texture recognizable to anyone familiar with the tradition.
The firebird has golden feathers. The magic horse stamps and his breath is a column of smoke.
Baba Yaga lives in a hut on chicken legs in a forest that is always described as dense and dark.
These are all formulaic elements, the markers of a living oral tradition that carries its history mainly through its language.
But of course, there's no figure in Russian folklore more distinctive and complex than Baba Yaga. She appears in hundreds of tales across the corpus, always in her hut on chicken legs, always with her iron teeth and enormous nose, and always detecting the smell of a living Russian with the same formula.
Fu fu fu. Previously the Russian smell was unknown, but now the Russian smell has arrived.
Her words not mine, and always presenting the arriving hero or heroine with the same sequence, the offer of the bath, food, and sleep before she asks their business.
She is as hospitable as she is terrifying. You failed the test, you get eaten. If you pass them, she'll equip you for the road. She is the oldest thing in the forest, older than the story being told, and she speaks as if she has seen every version of the current situation many, many times before.
The scholarly analysis of Baba Yaga has been quite extensive and sometimes wildly speculative, ranging from the plausible to the imaginative.
Leadmia Prop himself traced her origins to the donor function in his morphological schema. She's primarily the figure who provides the hero with information and magical assistance, while noting her ambivalence, her potential for both help and harm. Other scholars have identified her with older Slavic goddesses of death in the underworld, pointing to her function as a boundary figure between the living world and the realm of the dead.
She lives at the edge of the forest, which is also the edge of the world, and her heart rotates to face the underworld rather than the human realm.
The chicken legs have been interpreted as perching on grave posts, reference to archaic burial practices, her teeth of iron, her mortar and pestle as vehicle.
She flies through the air in a mortar and pestle, by the way, sweeping away the traces of her passage with a broom and her relationship to the animals of the forest. It all connects her to this older pre-Christian layer of Slavic supernatural tradition.
But what makes her really fascinating rather than just simply strange is the specific moral logic that she embodies.
She does not reward virtue in a conventional sense. She rewards competence, courtesy, and the willingness to comply with apparently arbitrary uh demands.
When Vasilia the beautiful arrives at her hut in some versions of the tale, fleeing her wicked stepmother's household, Baba Yaga sets her impossible tasks, sorting poppy seeds from soil by mourning, separating millet, performing the full round of household labor for an immortal and insatiable old woman.
Basilisa succeeds, but uh not through her supernatural power or cleverness, but through the help of a doll her dead mother gave her.
A small domestic object that embodies maternal love and uh well practical assistance effectively, but also through her diligent compliance with whatever was demanded. When Baba Yaga finally asks how she managed the tasks, Basilisa answers honestly that uh she was helped by her mother's blessing.
And at this answer, Baba Yaga throws her out of the hut. She will not have blessed people in the house. The blessed survive, the unbed of food.
The tale of Vasilisa, the direct Russian precursor to the Cinderella story tradition, is notable for the specific cosmic scale that Baba Yaga takes in this version. She has three pairs of hands attached to her house, the hands of the dawn, the full day and the night.
She has three horsemen that ride out from her at hut at intervals. A white horseman for dawn, a red one for noon, and a black one for midnight.
She operates at her scale of cosmic time, presiding over the structure of the day and night from her position at the edge of the world. The scale of her power is commensurate with the scale of the assistance she can provide. The fire light she gives Basilisa at this story's end, a skull on a stick whose eyes burn with fire, by the way. pretty cool is the only fire capable of burning the stepmother and stepsisters to ash. A justice that the ordinary world could not deliver.
Baba Yaga's relationship to the heroes who visit her is governed by a set of protocols that the tales consistently describe. The hero must not speak first.
Baba Yaga must invite him to eat, bathe, and rest before the conversation begins.
He must not reveal his mission uninvited.
Baba Yaga will ask for that information.
He must respond to her questions truthfully, not elaborately.
And he must not show fear. These protocols are not arbitrary, but rather the specific forms of correct behavior required when encountering a being of immense power who is simultaneously of helping and killing you.
You must demonstrate that you know the rules of engagement and can observe them under that pressure.
Baba Yaga in this reading is the ultimate test of the hero's social competence in this supernatural world.
More demanding in some ways than the dragon at the story's complex uh climax rather because the dragon can be killed you see with a good sword. While Baba Yaga, she's something a little bit more uh subtle and her whole uh personality, her whole essence is somewhat harder to figure out.
Well, the next thing we're going to talk about is uh the home. the things you'll find within the house in a folklore context.
And it is one of the most distinctively Russian dimensions of folk belief, a dense population of the domestic and natural world with spirits whose relationship to human beings can be protective or malevolent and whose requirements for correct behavior are pretty consistent and well documented in the ethnographic record. The Russian peasant did not inhabit a spiritually neutral domestic space. Every house had what was called a domoy. Every bath house had a banic. Every barn had its vo, excuse me, voravoy. And every uh field had its polivic, a layered inhabitation of a rather ordinary world by supernatural beings whose goodwill was of course essential to domestic and agricultural success.
The Domovoy, the house spirit, the master of the house, is the most important of the domestic supernatural beings. He's typically described as a small, hairy old man, sometimes resembling the household's eldest male, sometimes invisible, but felt as a warm weight on the sleeping person's chest.
He lives behind the stove, the uh spiritual center of the Russian house.
again or under the threshold. And he is the guardian of the household's well-being.
He watches over the animals, warns of coming misfortune, and maintains the household's luck, as long as he is properly respected. Of course, when a family moves to a new home, a specific ceremony was required to invite the domavoy to accompany them. He was not automatically transferred, you see. And moving to a new house without bringing your doavoy meant abandoning your household's supernatural protection, and well, starting from scratch again is a little bit difficult.
The requirements of the doavoy are modest, but pretty specific.
Bread, salt, and occasionally some porridge, left out as an offering.
He requires the family not to whistle in the house. You see, whistling was widely believed to attract malevolent spirits and offend the Dumavoy's sense of domestic order.
He requires that no one sleep at the threshold. That's his territory.
He dislikes disputes and quarreling within the house, which he may punish by braiding women's hair into painful knots when they sleep, pinching them, or moving household objects to confusing locations.
When a household member was ill, the domavoy's behavior was carefully observed. If he pressed down heavily on a sleeper's chest, it was a bad sign.
But if his touch was gentle and his form warm, then recovery was expected.
Simultaneously, he was a source of protection and a barometer of the household's spiritual health. when he was heard wailing in the night or when the family reported that he had been seen leaving through the door. These were understood as the most serious omens. The departure of the doavoy from a house meant the disaster was coming and nothing the family could do could hold it back.
Then we have the banic as we mentioned the spirit of the bath house and that occupies a more ambivalent position. The Russian BA, the steam bath house, was a site of intense social and ritual significance. It was where children were born, where the dying were brought in final hours, where weddings were preceded by ritual purification, and where in folk belief the boundary between the human and spirit worlds was particularly permeable.
The banic inhabits the steam of the ban, and he's dangerous. The first three shifts of bthers were generally considered safe. The fourth was the banic's own time, and entering the ban doing the fourth shift, risked encountering him in an unfriendly mood.
and I mean properly unfriendly. He might suffocate bthers with steam, heat the stones until the building caught fire, or drive people mad, leaving bread and salt for the banic before the first bathing of the day, and thanking him when finished. That was the ritual requirement for safe use of the bath house.
specific combination of intense heat, steam, and darkness that characterized the Banya experience seems to have generated particularly vivid supernatural associations.
Now, next we have the Dorovoy, the yard spirit who governed the domestic animals, the horses, cattle, sheep, and chickens whose health and productivity were essential to the peasant household survival. Unlike the doavoy who was generally benevolent toward the entire house, the dovoy, excuse me, had strong preferences among the animals in his care and might show these preferences by harming animals he disliked. Once again, he could braid their manes up and leave them sweaty and exhausted in the morning, causing them to lose weight and condition.
The standard explanation for a horse that was losing condition without apparent physical cause was that the doy did not like that particular horse.
The remedy was to bring a new horse into the stable and observe whether the doy accepted it. A horse he liked would thrive. Once he disliked, well, they would continue to decline regardless of the care given to it.
These practical explanations for unexplained animal health problems framed in supernatural terms served the social function of providing an acceptable narrative for losses that otherwise couldn't be explained. And they maintained the community's commitment to the ritual protocols that kept the household spirits content.
Next, we're going to talk about forest and water spirits. Because if the domestic spirits represented the supernatural dimensions of the settled and human world, well then the spirits of the forest and water and more the dimension of the wild world laying beyond that village boundary. The boundary between the settled and the wild in Russian folk belief was not just geographic.
It was kind of moral, spiritual and existential all at once.
The forest was the primary space of the unknown.
The dangerous and the magically charged all lived there. And to enter the forest without proper precautions, without knowing the correct protocols, well, that was not wise. You're going into a world governed by different rules now, inhabited by beings with no particular commitment to your well-being.
First off, we've got the Lehi, the forest spirit, the forest owner, the lord of the woods. One of the most richly described supernatural beings in the Russian tradition. It appears in multiple forms, sometimes as a peasant in gray cuffan with his left coat lap folded over the right rather than the conventional right over the left. Always with some detail subtly wrong. Sometimes as a whirlwind, sometimes as an enormous figure as tall as the trees of the forest itself, or sometimes even as a small little mushroomsized creature in the undergrowth.
His eyes are pale and glowing, and he doesn't have a shadow.
He walks, but his footsteps leave no tracks. He can be encountered at any moment in the Russian forest and the encounter is dangerous because the ley is the primary cause of being lost in the woods. Now, I don't mean lost in the ordinary sense of taking a wrong turn that you can fix. But I'm talking about profoundly and magically lost in a forest that suddenly looks wrong. where every direction looks like every other direction and the familiar landmarks have rearranged themselves.
The leashy has absolute dominion over the animals of the forest and over the behavior of the forest itself. Mushroom pickers, gatherers, hunters, and wood cutters all operate in his domain, and his goodwill was essential to their success.
He could drive game away from the hunter, turn mushrooms invisible to the gatherer, and cause the woodcutter's ax to twist in his grip, so he'll end up cutting himself rather than the tree, and then you're in real trouble.
Well, his relationship to the humans was part of a powerful landholder towards a trespasses in his property. Technically hostile by default, capable of being placated by the right offerings and the right forms of behavior, but never entirely trustworthy.
Operating safely in the forest required specific knowledge that every Russian peasant needed. The prayers said before entering, the offerings left, and the formula for appeasing the ley lest you lose your way. All of it transmitted through oral tradition and direct experiential learning.
Because after all, the price of ignorance could be wandering in the forest until you just well died. And nobody wants that.
The next thing we could encounter is the rouseli.
Kind of hauntingly beautiful, but the most lethal of water spirits. beings who inhabit rivers, lakes, and springs and draw down the men who encounter them.
Their origins are disputed in literature. Some researchers link them to the spirits of drowned young women, those who died before marriage, or the ones who died unbaptized, or categories of ritually incomplete dead in Slavic folk belief, who were particularly prone to becoming supernatural beings of a dangerous kind.
Others have argued for a deeper agricultural origin connecting the rousulki to the fertility spirits of grain and water that were appropriated in the rousalia week ceremonies of late spring. Excuse me, that's a rousalia.
Both traditions appear to be present in the composite figure that the recorded sources describe and the scholarly debate has not settled the question.
Dare I say the question will remain unsettled for a long while.
The Rasulki are young, beautiful, long-haired, and their hair is always wet and always unbound, which in the context of peasant society mark them both as sexually available and ritually outside the nominal categories.
They dance in meadows and forest clearings on warm nights, and men who see them are drawn to them. The dance with a rousela is generally fatal, because she will dance you to exhaustion and then drag you down into her watery domain.
The specific danger of the rousulki intensifies during the ralia week, and that is the week before throza, the trinity Sunday of the Orthodox calendar.
That's when they were believed to leave the water entirely and inhabit birch trees whose branches were tied with ribbons in ceremonies that combined Christian festival elements with much older uh propitiation of the spirits of water and vegetation.
During Rousalia week, swimming was forbidden and wormwood and feverfw were carried as protection.
Just in case Rousalkki put her gaze upon you.
Well, next we have one that's a little bit more philosophically interesting.
Kash the Deathless, which sounds a lot like a Warhammer fantasy character.
But that's just my opinion. He is the principal villain of the Russian heroic fairy tale. He's the kidnapper of the princess, the enemy of the hero, the sorcerer whose defeat is the climax of dozens of tales. But what makes Kaj unique is what has generated an extraordinary volume of interpretive commentary from scholars who have found him something well considerably more interesting than a simple villain. And that is the specific nature of his deathlessness and the specific mechanism by which he can be killed.
Now that mechanism is not by ordinary means. Swords are useless. Fire doesn't burn him. And you can't drown him either. He is in the full sense of the word deathless. Hence the name, right? a being who has separated himself from the possibility of death by the simple expedient of hiding his death somewhere outside his body. His death is concealed in a needle. The needle inside an egg and the egg is inside a duck. The duck is inside a hair. The hair is inside a chest of iron. The chest is buried under an oak tree. The oak tree grows on an island in the sea. And the island is the hardest place in the world to find.
No wonder no one can kill him. But to kill Kelch, the hero must find the island, dig up the chest, catch the hair, catch the duck, break the egg, and break the needle. Only then does Kosha die. The problem is when you try to catch the hair, the hair will run away as soon as the chest is opened. You try to catch the duck, the duck flies away.
You tried to break the egg. Well, it rolls away as soon as the duck is killed. That's the issue.
The nested structure of Gash's death.
The concentration and concealment of vulnerability through successive layers of container and guardian is one of the most symbolically rich motives in Russian folklore and its parallels appear in mythological traditions from India to Ireland.
The specific Russian version has a quality that distinguishes it. The death is not merely hidden but externalized.
Cashache is literally a being without a soul or more precisely a being whose soul is detached from his body and stored in some other place. Yes, it is kind of like a hawkcrox.
He is unkillable because he's incomplete because the essential vulnerable thing about him has been removed from where it should be. His power and weakness are the same thing. The separation from self from death makes him deathless, but it also makes him a kind of hollow entity living indefinitely by the expedient of having put the most important thing he possesses somewhere that he cannot feel it.
Well, there's a few interpretations.
Scholars have gone in multiple directions. The psychoanalytic reading sees the externalized soul as a symbol of emotional unavailability.
A man who's protected himself from death by protecting himself from feeling, from vulnerability, the thing that accompanies genuine attachment.
The mythological reading connects Kash to the ancient tradition of the lich, the undead sorcerer whose very long life has come at the cost of everything that makes life worth living.
The specifically Russian reading connects him to village beliefs about those who could not die. The Culuni, the sorcerers who accumulated power had to be discharged before death was possible and who might torment their own families from their deathbeds in the desperate effort to give away the power that kept them alive against their will.
All of these readings have something in common. An aset is a figure whose deathlessness is its own prison. He's achieved the thing that most humans desire and found that it cost him everything else. Of course, think about it all in metaphors. H the heroes who defeat Kash in the different stories are assisted in most versions by animals. The very animals Kosha nested containers tried to use as guardians.
The hair, the duck, the pike that catches the egg before it hits the water. These animals help the hero in exchange for the hero's earlier kindness in sparing their lives. And here again, the kind of um Russian fairy tale reciprocity operates. The hero who's released the hair when he could have just eaten it. The hero freed the pike from the net when he could have eaten that too is now repaid in the specific coin that the story requires.
The animals do not help from abstract benevolence. They're just repaying a specific debt. The world of Russian scaza runs on the premise of accounting by obligation. and cashaché is ultimately undone not by the superior power but by the accumulated goodwill that the hero's generosity had accumulated in these creatures that he well really had no reason to suppose would ever be relevant again.
But alongside the fairy tales stand the Bellini, the heroic epic songs of Russian oral tradition performed by specialist singer poets called Scazitei who uh sang the great cycles of Russian heroic legend to the accompment of a stringed instrument often the goosely in performances that could last many hours.
The Bellini were discovered or rather rediscovered by educated Russian society in the 18th and 19th centuries and their discovery produced a sensation comparable to the discovery of the homeriic epic in Western Europe.
Here in the apparently simple folk tradition of peasant Russia was an ancient heroic literature of considerable power and sophistication.
The central heroes of the Bellini are the Burgiri, the heroic warriors who serve Prince Vladimir of Keev, the legendary ruler whose court at Keeb is the center of the Bellini world. The greatest bogateeer is Ilia Muretsz or Elijah of Muram, one of the most distinctive heroes in world epic literature.
Ilia spent the first 33 years of his life paralyzed, lying unable to move on the stove, once again the stove. In his parents' peasant hut, he would just whittle his time away.
But he was healed by two wandering pilgrims who gave him a cup of honey meat and told him to stand up. Well, lo and behold, he stood up. He asked his father's blessing, saddled his horse, and rode to Kev to offer his sword to Prince Vladimir.
On the way, he defeated the monstrous Nightingale robber, a creature whose whistle could prostrate entire armies, trying to uh tying him rather to his saddle and delivering him to Kev like a hunting trophy.
He arrived at court, a fully formed hero, as if the 33 years of immobility had not been a disability, but a preparation, a quiet invisible accumulation of strength the world would eventually need.
The convergence of epic and religious tradition around Ilia is quite remarkable too. He was canonized as St. Elias of Muram by the Russian Orthodox Church in 1643. His relics venerated in the Kev Perisk Lavra, making him almost certainly the only hero of a living oral epic tradition to have been officially a recognized saint.
The church appears to have decided it was simpler to absorb him than to argue with several centuries of popular devotion.
Now, we mentioned before the nighting gale robber Soliv Rasoik, one of the most memorable monsters in the tradition, partly because of the specific nature of his power. A man or a thing that looks like a man who lives in a nest in an oak tree at a crossroads and whose weapon is his whistle. When he uses it, the earth shakes, forests bow down, and warriors fall unconscious or dead from the force of the sound.
He has been blocking the direct road to Ke for 30 years, forcing travelers onto longer and more dangerous routes.
Ilia defeats him by the simple expedient of approaching him with sufficient speed and at a sufficient angle that Soliv has no time to whistle and he knocks him from his tree with an arrow.
The victory is one of preparation and timing, not of supernatural power this time. The monstrous is defeated not by matching its monstrousness, but by exploiting a gap in its defenses.
Only patient observation can reveal that.
The Bellini cycle also contains Doorinia Nicadich, a bogateer of aristocratic refinement, skilled in diplomacy and music as well as combat, who is the second of the great trio. and Aliosa Porpovich the third. A clever and sometimes morally questionable figure, the trickster of the group whose victories come through wit and deception rather than strength. The trio of Ilia, Doorinia, and Aliosha have been extensively compared to the trifunctional heroic model identified in Gj Dumisil in Indo-Uropean tradition.
the warrior, the priest, diplomat, and the clever man.
Whether this specific parallel holds across the full Bellini cycle, that's debatable. But the complimentary of the three characters certainly functions in a good way in narrative terms. And their different qualities allow the Bellini tradition to arrange a to address a range of uh challenges that no single heroic type could handle.
The Bellini were not static texts, of course, just like the Scaza tradition.
They were living oral forms that varied with each performance and performer. The Scazitelli of Lake Onga region who were recorded by uh Ribnikov and Hifoding in the 1860s were not reciting memorized texts. They were just composing in performance using a shared formulaic vocabulary as standardized epithets, repeated scenes and conventional narrative moves to reconstruct each Bellina fresh.
The discovery that this tradition was still alive in the 19th century northern Russia, a region that had been relatively insulated from moderniz uh modernizing forces affecting the rest of the country, was what made mid-9th century collection so exciting to the scholars who made them. They were not recording a fossil tradition. They had encountered a living one still being transmitted, still being performed, and of course, still generating new variations on these ancient themes.
But let's move on to a few magical animals and supernatural helpers. And several of these have been uh so culturally significant through their incorporation into classical music and ballet tradition. think about Stravinsky's Firebird that they now exist in the popular imagination largely independent of their folkloric origins.
First, let's talk about that firebird.
Jar tit is with Baba Yaga, one of the most immediately recognizable figures of Russian lore, a bird of incandescent beauty whose feathers glow like flame.
Its possession is simultaneously enormously valuable and extraordinarily dangerous. A single feather from a firebird dropped in the road and found by a young man sets the entire narrative of several of the most important Russian scars in motion. The zar demands the bird itself. The young man has to go and find it. The bird is captured or encountered through a specific trick. It is attracted to golden apples by the way that it steals from the royal orchard and its capture or taming requires magical assistance. In the most developed versions of the Firebird tale, the hero accomplishes not only the capture of the bird, but several additional impossible tasks, each of which he achieves through some supernatural help received for acts of generous behavior. Among them, you've got the acquisition of a magical horse, the rescue of a princess from across the sea, etc. Things like that, it changes.
Now, the gay wolf is perhaps the most important magical helper in the Russian law. He appears typically after the hero has made some error or shown some impatience, killing a horse, maybe talking to someone he was uh told not to talk to, or taking something he was told not to take, and offers to compensate for the resulting difficulty by serving the hero directly. The greywolf service is extraordinary. He can run faster than any horse. Transform himself into any shape and his intelligence is consistently superior to the heroes.
And like Gandalf, right? Sort of like Gandalf. Well, in many versions of the Firebird tale, it is the gray wolf who provides all the practical strategy, telling the hero exactly what to do in each situation. Why the hero's function is essentially to do what he's told and maintain the relationship with the wolf with the various kings and princesses they encounter as well. Of course, the wolf strategy basically guides the hand of the hero.
The hero and the wolf together form a composite entity. The hero provides the human face and the capacity for genuine relationship and relatability. and the wolf provides the power and knowledge.
Neither of them can really function nor succeed alone. They have to lean upon each other.
The magical helper relationship in Russian folklore reflects a broader principle of the tradition and that is that heroism in the Russian stories is rarely something that is individual.
the quote Ivan, whoever this Ivan would be in the different stories, who succeeds, does so through the accumulation of supernatural allies, the animals he's helped the old woman he fed, the magical objects he's been given, whose assistance is repayment rather than charity, the firebird's golden feathers, the greywolf's speed, the skull on a stick that Baba Yaga gives to Vasilisa.
These are all forms of concentrated supernatural power that help uh that rather the helper transforms to the hero as payment for previous goodness.
The hero's defining quality is generosity, patience, and the willingness to accept help from apparently unpromising sources.
The greatest gift the Russian fairy tale hero can receive is an ally. And the greatest quality he can demonstrate is knowing what to do with that ally.
The Jaratita's incorporation into Russian high culture through Stravinsk's 1910 ballet score is a case study in the relationship between folk tradition and artistic transformation.
Stravinsky drew on the collected tales of Afaniev and earlier works of uh Rimsky Corsov whose opera the tale of Sar Salultan and his orchestral uh orchestral suite has established the template with the musical epocation of Russian folk material to create a work that is simultaneously drawing on and transforming the source material.
The resulting firebird is magnificent as music, but substantially divorced from the moral logic of the Scaza tradition.
The ballet's emphasis on beauty and magic of the Firebird, and on the romantic love between the Zardovich and the captive princess replaces the folktale's more rigorous system of reciprocal obligation with a more conveniently romantic narrative.
The bird becomes more symbol than character, more spectacle than player.
But what is worth noting is what this tells us about the fate of folk material as it passes through high artistic tradition.
It gains formal beauty, but it loses structural depth, acquiring a different kind of immortality.
It saves it on the surface level, but well, it transforms its meaning.
Think about the uh I don't know how they turn uh books into films.
You know, they have all the explosions and all that up on the screen, but it's never going to have the depth that the original had. That's just the way it is.
Well, Russian folk tradition extended beyond the narrative forms of the Scazgar and Bellina into a dense calendar of seasonal rituals, agricultural ceremonies, and calendar festivals whose origins were certainly pre-Christian, but whose forms had been substantially reshaped by centuries of unorthodox Christian overlay.
What was the result? Well, what we're left with is a distinctively Russian synthesis in which Christian saints took over the functions of the pagan nature spirits. Church festivals were observed alongside folk practices whose meaning was essentially incompatible with Christian theology. And the lurggical calendar and the agricultural calendar were mapped onto each other in ways that made it impossible to tell where one ended and where the other one began.
Muslanita, the butter week or the pancake week, which sounds fantastic, is the most exuberant of the Russian folk festivals observed in the week before the beginning of the Orthodox Great Lent and incorporating elements that go back to the pre-Christian celebrations of the end of winter.
The central activities of Maslanita were the eating of blini, the round butterdrenched pancakes that symbolized the sun whose return was being celebrated. Also the writing of trokas, the conducting of snowball fights and snow fortress battles, and the burning of a large straw effigy called Maslanita herself, a female figure representing winter, whose destruction welcomed the spring.
The burning of the Muslanita was accompanied by tears and lamentations.
She was addressed in songs as a beloved figure who was being sent away, one that uh stood in strange contrast to the festive mood of the week, and that reflected the ambivalence of a tradition that both celebrated winter's end and mourned the passing of the warm, close, well-fed darkness of the cold months.
Ivan Kopala night, the night of the summer sto uh solstice associated in the Orthodox Canada with the birth of John the Baptist was the most magically charged night of the Russian folk year.
The specific beliefs and practices of Ivan Kopala are among the most vivid in the entire tradition. On this night, the fern flower blooms, and the person who finds it receives the power to discover hidden treasure, and to understand the speech of animals and plants. Fires were lit on river banks, and young people jumped over them in pairs. Couples who jumped holding hands and remained holding hands when they landed were destined to marry. Oh, that's sweet.
Girls made reefs of flowers and set them floating on rivers, reading the direction of their drifter as prophecy.
Herbs gathered on Ivan Kubala night had tripled the medicinal power of herbs gathered at any other time. The boundary between the human and supernatural world was especially thin on this kind of night. And the uh same permeability that made magic accessible also made the Rsulki and the forest spirits more active than usual. So watch out for that one too on your way home.
The cult of ancestors was woven through the Russian folk calendar in ways that the Orthodox Christian framework absorbed but could never really eliminate.
The rod de skaya suborta, the Saturday of the ancestors, observed at several points of the year, was a day for visiting graves, leaving food for the dead, and maintaining the relationship between the living and the dead that the folk tradition regarded as essential to the household well-being.
The dead were not simply gone. They remained present in the household's spiritual life, capable of helping or harming the living, depending on whether they were properly honored or fed. Of course, the specific rituals of the ancestor cult, the meals eaten at graves, the food left out on the night of the feast, and the verbal formulas of invitation addressed to the dead to join the living at the table, represent one of the deepest strata of the tradition, connecting the 19th century peasant household to practices attested in ancient Slavic and even pre-Slavic religious life across a continuity that Christianity had just modified a little bit but never really broken.
But before we finish up for today, we have to say that the legacy of Russian folklore extends far beyond the borders of Russia and its influence on world literature, music, and art is so extensive that it's easy to lose sight of the specific folk tradition that generated it. The fairy tales connected by Afanasv inform the literary tales of that of Pushkin who b several of his most famous narrative poems directly on folk sources.
Also look at classical music. Musorgski Rimsky Kursov um Balakirv Boredin the uh mighty handful as they're called.
Oh, and they also drew on uh folk melody, folk legend and uh the cosmology to create a Russian classical tradition explicitly grounded in this folk material. And it was these artists that informs Stravinsky and the bales of the rooers.
They informed Pro uh Proof of Peter and the wolf in which the folk tradition helped animal uh tradition of the helped animal rather in the purest possible music form is expressed and through the international reach of Russian art music the wide translation of the old tales they've influenced the fairy tale and fantasy traditions globally the 20th century Soviet relationship to Russian folklore was sometimes contradictory but all the times complex. The early Soviet period treated folk tradition with ambivalence.
It was simultaneously the people's culture which fitted the political narrative and also a survival of the pre-scientific religious and superstitious thinking that the materialist worldview was supposed to be leaving behind.
The result was a series of contradictory interventions.
Folktales were published but in sanitized and ideologically modified versions. Folk singers and storytellers were celebrated as people's artists while the religious and supernatural dimensions of their tradition were quietly edited out and the Bellini were reinterpreted as protoletarian literature whose heroic bogeri were early examples of the working classes resistance to oppression.
The Baba Yaga of the Soviet children's book is considerably less terrifying than those of the old collections.
And this diminishment reflects the specific discomfort of a rationalist political culture of a tradition whose power derives precisely from its embrace of the irrational and morally ambiguous.
But the most important observation about Russian folklore as a literary tradition, one that is uh its greatest interpreters have all made different registers, is that it is a tradition that takes the underdog very seriously, in a way that officially sanctioned culture rarely can do. the folktale's consistent valorization of the third son, the despised fool, and the apparently quote worthless girl who turns out to have the only qualities that really matter in the end. Well, these represent an alternative accounting system, one that the peasant tradition developed over centuries of living under conditions in which the officially recognized values of the dominant culture did not reliably correspond to the qualities that actually made the difference between surviving and not surviving a Russian winter.
Patience, generosity, and the ability to recognize help in unlikely forms. the willingness to be honest with a dangerous supernatural being who might eat you if you are not. These are the Ivan the fool virtues.
And despite the name, they are not foolish.
Well, as for Baba Yaga, she's still at the edge of the forest. Her hut still rotates, and she still knows when you are coming. She'll have her strong opinions about whether you deserve what you are coming to seek.
The firebird still drops feathers in inconvenient places. The said young men on impossible journeys.
Kash still has his death hidden in a needle, in an egg, in a duck, in a hair, in a chest buried under an oak tree, or on some island in the middle of the ocean. And he cannot imagine that anyone will ever find it, which is of course the very quality that guarantees that somebody eventually will.
The doavoy still lives behind the stove, at least in some metaphorical sense, in every house that has been lived in long enough to have its own character, its own warmth, and small requirements for respectful treatment.
The Russian folklore is still a live tradition.
It's just been partly transformed, partly suppressed, partly exported and reimagined, and partly preserved in form sufficiently ancient and sufficiently true to human experience that they really don't need to change that much.
And so, as you're listening to this, there's probably some Russian mother or father tucking their kid into bed, telling them one of the old stories.
They'll still be told for quite a long time. They still know what they know.
And the forest, as the tales have always insisted, is of course very, very large.
Just don't get lost.
Well, thank you very much for listening today to our guide to Russian folklore.
I hope you've enjoyed it. I enjoyed it.
That's just one country I've yet to visit, but uh it's certainly on the list. I mean, they're all on the list, but you know what I mean. Anyway, I'd like to thank you for listening. I'd like to thank the uh supporters on the Patreon YouTube memberships uh donators, the merch store visitors for keeping our little project here crowdfunded and adree. Thank you very much. And make sure you give a like, comment, and subscribe if you're not already asleep.
If you are already asleep, don't wake up. Well, wake up in the morning, of course, but continue to sleep until you're uh sufficiently rested.
Good night, everyone. I'll see you in the next exciting episode.
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