World Tree

I recently went though the list of specific mythos I’ve blogged about here: Breton, Irish, Slavic, Basque, Egyptian, Norse and Central American mythologies, as well as the occasional touch on Classical mythology. One thing that stood out is that several of these cultures share a “world tree.”

The Norse have Yggdrasil, where Odin hung for nine days to receive knowledge.
The MesoAmericans have the ceiba tree.
The oak tree of the Slavic gods.
The ashvastha, or sacred fig, of Hinduism.
An ancient religion of the Mongols and Turkic people believed in a world tree, culturally linking Siberia and Koreans. The Crown of Silla, one of the Three Kingdoms of Korea, portrays a world tree.
Judeo-Christian beliefs begin in the Garden of Eden, and Eve’s incident with the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil.
Even Charles Darwin utilized the metaphor of a “Tree of Life” to illustrate his theory of evolution, where different species share a common ancestor.

The tree is a universal symbol of the different planes of existence. The branches in the realm of gods, the roots in the grasp of death, the solid trunk of mortality.

The Tree of Life is the constant in a constantly changing world, representing immortal wisdom, giving protection, rest and nourishment to its people. Only the brave and true may climb it and take its fruit and gather its strength. To become part of the tree, as Odin did in his sacrifice, is to become part of the godhead, part of eternity. To become part of the tree, or partake of its fruit, however, also requires sacrifice. Odin lost an eye for the privilege, Adam and Eve lost Paradise because they knew too much of sin.

It’s the permanent nature of the tree that draws us, as well as its ultimate mortality. The roots that draw food from the earth, the solidity of the trunk that provides a strong base, the branches reaching toward the sun, toward the light. The metaphor crosses all boundaries: no mountain or ocean can contain it, no language can distill it.

So next time you look out your office window, see what place the tree has in your story.

Image: World Tree by Doug Stapleton
Resources: “World Trees” by Hazel Minot
Wikipedia: World Tree See also, Tree of Life

Ghostbusting

I'm always fascinated by my own ability to put aside everything I believe in to write a "ghost" story, for want of a better term. I'm one of the unbelievers. Gasp! Although I come from a long line of psychics (maybe they meant psychos?), my own psi abilities are laughable. I don't believe in no ghosts, vampires, werethings of any variety, aliens...name it, I'm a skeptic.

Ah, but I do struggle with my belief in the afterlife. So my books are often full of the divine--and I've been caught using the dreaded device of having a god or goddess sweep in and either mess things up or save the day.

Sometimes, I tread on dangerous ground. Holy ground. Saints who counsel sinners, ghosts bargaining with guardian angels (Ghosts of Key West coming soon). It's the Irish Catholic tongue-in-cheek part of me.

Recently, a certain "laughing" reviewer noted in her review of Mayan Nights that all five of the books she's read of mine are paranormal, and quite different from one another. I hadn't really tagged myself as a paranormal writer. I simply write things that interest me. The divine. Things beyond the veil. They don't bite, have no fur, perhaps a little magical power (I don't do magick with a "k"). My fantasies are paranormal (all fantasies are not paranormal of course).

Thus, after three years of figuring out what the common thread in my writing is--I had to wait for a reviewer to point it out to me: erotic paranormal romance. And the "not norm" part of paranormal suits me fine. I've always felt a certain "otherness" in my life, even though I don't

see dead people. But I'd like to!

I'm not really going anywhere with this post am I? Just a wee introduction to Ciar Cullen.