June 23, 2005

• Antiquity, Orthodoxy, the Bardic Tradition and Reincarnation

  
  

  A months-long series of synchronistic serendipities inspired this train of thought.  In this latest computerless period, as I’ve been reading more than I had been since I got online around the turn of the millennium, several excellent books in an obscure genre have come my way.  The genre involves “anomalies” such as evidence for Egyptians (or Atlanteans) in ancient MesoAmerica, Japanese in the Anasazi period of the Pueblo Southwest, Icelandic Norse visitors in Newfoundland before the Europeans were supposed to have found it, and others I’d be able to list if I were blogging from home or if I’d taken notes.   

  
  

  This evidence is called anomalous because it conflicts with the orthodox archaeological and anthropological views.  I have a great deal of respect for archaeology and anthropology.  Researchers and writers in those fields have greatly enriched my mind.  Where my respect lags is when it comes to orthodoxy in general.  It is, by definition, inflexible and almost always obsolete. 

  
  

  Where the bardic tradition comes into this might be obvious to anyone versed in folklore.  Icelandic skalds tell of voyages that went to Vinland and returned.  Zuni oral traditions speak of ancestors who came from the west, and the language in which they tell their ancient stories has more in common with Japanese than with any North American tongue. 

  
  

  Some archaeologists and anthropologists ignore or discount oral traditions.  “Prehistoric” generally means before history was written down although people were keeping oral “records” and traditions long before writing was developed.  In the BBC series, In Search of the Trojan War, which I’ve been watching on DVD this week, Michael Wood (in 1985) attempted to track down evidence for the historical reality of Homer’s Iliad.  Homer, a bard, lived 500 years after the war he sang about.  It was later still before someone wrote down the stories that Homer (if there was a Homer) sang.  In my opinion, Michael Wood’s conclusions from his travels, library research, and interviews with archaeologists and folklorists, etc., are as plausible as any theories and more plausible than those of Schliemann, Blegen, etc.  The way he ended up seeing the matter resonates with me.

  
  

  The subject of reincarnation crept into this story for me as I listened to several bards recorded for that BBC series.  One was Irish, others were Turkish.  It surprised me how many similarities I heard between them.  The rhythms and alliteration appear to be cross-cultural bardic traits.  Another little surprise (which Doug greeted with a “well du-uh” when I exclaimed over it) was how much the Turks looked and sounded like Romany “Gypsies.”  The Rom carried many ancient bardic tales with them when they left their homeland in Northwestern India in Medieval times.  My far memory resonated with what I was hearing, and it started a chain of associations that continues to extend and branch out even now.

  
  

  When I was a kid and those “far memories” would crop up, I’d ascribe them to “racial memory”, a concept I’d heard about somewhere.  That was a politically correct idea, and reincarnation was not.  But the concept of genetic memory has some inherent flaws.  If the memories are carried in the genes, then would one be able to remember anything which occurred after those genes split off upon ovulation or ejaculation?.  I think not.  To me, it seems utterly illogical to suppose that one can have “genetic” memories of, for example, anything that occurred at an advanced age or in a lifetime that was childless.  Don’t genes have to be passed along to pass along genetic memories?

  
  

  For now, my working hypothesis is that I have lived before.  I’ve listened to bards in many lives in various cultures and I’ve been a bard in more than one of those cultures, I suppose.  This, when viewed in the light of the karmic paradigm, explains my lifelong interest in folklore and myth.  It also accounts for those chills that run up my spine when I hear someone sing or chant the old stories, even in languages I don’t understand.  It’s the simple explanation, and I like to keep it simple.

  
  

  My hour is nearly up here at the library.  I’m weary of the noise, distraction and the constantly running timer.  That aversion, and the attraction of the immanent return of my home computer, impel me to forego the library-to-library hop today for an hour here, drive forty miles for another hour, another 25 miles for another hour, etc.  With any luck, my next blog will be composed at home on our new machine.  Hold that thought.

  
  

  

  
  

   

  
  

   

  • 3:29 pm
  • 11 Comments