I sometimes feel like a story archaeologist. I have a mental image of myself, digging and digging and digging underneath all the rotting story mats of the wandering troubadors and tale-tellers of old. Some of those story mats are quite ragged by now; others have gone decidedly mouldy.
However, the deeper I dig, the closer to the original story I get. And then, if I’m lucky, I can find the shamanic themes that ran through what we now call ‘myths’ which show the wisdom of our earliest ancestors – a wisdom that is sadly lacking in much of today’s literary offerings. I then weave these myths into my own stories in a way that I think better reflects their true, multi-dimensional nature.
Most of the ancient myths that have survived and are available to us today were translated either by Christian monks or by PhD students and, as far as I know, none of them were translated by shamans, like me, and that’s why I keep on digging – and sometimes, I hit gold.