8611
A place for Aryan (European) Folkish Pagans
^ a lore accurate werewolf using traditional knife in a tree stump method to turn into a wolf
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A different version shared by Sanna Händen-Svensson:
A long time ago, somewhere near the lake Storsjön, lived a wealthy, but unusually stingy, farmer. He only provided barely enough food for his people. One day he consulted a forest troll […] about how to feed the people of his farm in the least expensive way. He got good advice: for an entire day he should cook only lake water and was strictly forbidden to peek into the pot until the evening when it got dark. […] He immediately informed his wife of the new cooking method, and she started on the task right away, after having been thoroughly warned to obey the troll. […] However, when the evening came, she peeked in the pot thinking, “It can’t hurt.” To her great horror, a small creature rolled out of the vessel, across the floor, and straight into the lake. The woman fell dead on the spot. With her curiosity, she had incurred the troll’s wrath upon herself and her husband, who was killed by a bear at the same moment.
Ketil Runske bound the mighty monster with a strong spell which was carved on a stone and raised on the island of Frösön. The serpent was pictured on the stone. Thus was the spell to be tied till the day someone came who could read and understand the inscription on the stone.
Mogens Pedersen on lake Storsjön monster
While dragons fighting soldiers is a thing of the past we at least have crocs keeping the tradition alive
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Regulus attacks the monster
‘So I alone was fated to escape that dread
and deadly monster. I ran as fast as grief
allowed, and explained it all to the general.
Regulus groaned aloud, in pity at the cruel
death of his men. Then, on fire as ever for
war, for battle and conflict with an enemy,
and burning with a passion for great deeds,
he ordered his men to arm at once, and his
cavalry, tested in many a fight, from camp.
He himself spurred on his swift war-horse,
and a body of shieldsmen followed at his
command, dragging heavy siege-catapults,
and the falarica, whose huge spike brings
down high towers. The thunder of horses’
hooves, flying over the grassy plain, now
encircled the deadly hollow and the snake,
roused by the neighing, slid from its cave
and a Stygian blast hissed from its evil
mouth. Its eyes flamed with a fatal fire,
its crest, erect, towered over the tree-tops,
and its triple-forked tongue flickered and
vibrated in the air, rising to lick the sky.
But, startled when the trumpets sounded,
it raised its immense mass from its coiled
form, twining its body in writhing loops.
Then it hastened to attack, unwinding its
tightened circles, now stretching its body
to its full length, suddenly reaching out
to the warriors’ distant faces, the horses,
startled by the serpent, snorting, tugging
at the rein, their nostrils’ breathing fire.
High above the terrified men, the snake
waved its head on its swelling neck from
side to side, now snatching them up in its
rage, now eager to crush them beneath its
immense weight. Grinding at their bones,
swallowing their bloody flesh, yawning
jaws drenched in gore, it would relinquish
each half-eaten body to find a new enemy.
Now men retreated at a signal, while that
serpent, victorious, attacked the troubled
squadrons from afar with pestilent breath.
But Regulus, quickly recalled the warriors
to battle, inspiring them with his words:
“Shall men of Italy, retreating before this
serpent, admit that Rome cannot match
such Libyan snakes? If its breath robs you
of all strength, if your courage melts away
at the sight of its open jaws, I will advance
boldly, tackling the monster single-handed.”
So he shouted, unafraid, sending his spear,
like lightening, hurtling through the air. It
sped on, doing its worst with greater effect
due to the fierceness of the creature’s lunge,
its point striking the monster squarely in
the head, lodging there, quivering. A cry
lifted to the heavens, a sudden clamour of
victorious voices rising to the skies above.
And now the earth-born serpent was mad
with rage, impatient of defeat and new to
pain, and feeling the steel for the first time
in all its long years, its swift attack, driven
by torment, might have succeeded had not
Regulus, using all his skill at horsemanship,
wheeled his mount, eluding the threat then,
as the snake flexed its sinuous back so as
to follow the steed in its action, he tugged
with his left hand at the rein, and escaped.’
There’s another, even more elaborate and interesting retelling of the events from the perspective of one of the soldiers presented in Italicus’ epic poem Punica. I will now share it.
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The event was also mentioned by Valerius Maximus who wrote:
The serpent of the Bagradas River in Africa was of such a size that it denied the army of Regulus access to the river. Many soldiers it seized in its enormous mouth and crushed to death not a few of them with its whirling tail. It could not be penetrated by the missiles thrown at it. Finally, they attacked it with many stones launched from ballistae from every side, it was brought down by the weighty blows.
^ PIE fake-pagans have the same level of evidence as cryptozoology dupes. Probably mostly kids too.
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As already mentioned Florensky’s 4 tomes are a great source. He has an unintentionally based take on Hamlet I plan to translate soon as well as a weird accusations against Western christianity (I guess catholics and protestants?) being Pagan and loving Nietzsche (seriously). But some followers are probably tired and want to see something else, so I’ll take a break from Florensky for now.
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Though a peasant thinks himself an Orthodox Christian and a son of the Church...he rarely turns to the Church for help. True, sometimes he may shield himself with a prayer or sprinkle the corners [of his home] with holy water, but more often he seeks out a sorcerer or folk healer. A fearsome man born of a woman and a nature spirit, a man who never takes communion and who begins his incantations with an ominous formula: "I shall stand without a blessing, I shall go forth without crossing myself".
P.Florensky
…while the peasant views all natural phenomena through a religious lens, his attitude toward many of them is not Christian. For example, there is nothing Christian in the countless remnants of pagan religious festivals: the dances, games, leaping over bonfires, and wreath weaving that typically accompany various moments in the life of nature. To a peasant, elemental spirits of water, forest, and home are living beings with their own character.
P. Florensky
A totem name embodies the living unity of kinsmen. Their identical, or rather, their single, shared name, which they all partake of, which they all emulate, and in which they take part, renders them coessential…Hence the unity of the surname.
P.Florensky
To one who knows the secret names of things, nothing is invincible. Nothing can withstand the one who knows the names…A person’s personal name is an almost essential means of controlling and casting spells upon them.
When a 20th century educated person wants to point out the illusory nature of something, to highlight its phantom-like quality, he says that it is "just a name." And indeed, according to prevailing, so-called "scientific", views, a name is but a label, a flatus vocis…In contrast, the ancient view, and indeed true understanding, sees it as the very nexus of existence, its most deeply hidden nerve.
P.Florensky
Found some nice material in those four tomes when it comes to the folk religion. While obviously biased, Florensky, as already mentioned, didn’t hate the folk belief and tried to incorporate it into christian/platonic worldview. He made especially nice observations on the folk onomagic (magic of the names) which I find worth translating since it ties well with my own opinion on the importance of the name and name change.
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"We don’t christianize Plato, Plato christianizes."
Having recently read four volumes of a prominent Orthodox theologian Pavel Florensky I have expectedly found countless praise for Plato and philosophy as a whole. Despite being pure sewage ideologically hiding behind fancy latin words, it’s a useful read for those interested in platonism being the basis for christian worldview. However I enjoyed reading the author’s brief digressions in which he writes about the folk magic and peasant (i.e. Pagan) belief. Of course from his perspective, those are just misinterpretations of the true nature of the world, but Florensky is not as harsh as most priests and seems to have genuine respect for the common man’s faith.
The story continues with a sequence which I believe to have been the most important part in early narrations of this legend, letting us know that the serpent grew until it could coil around the islands in the lake. The locals hurried to contract the well-known Kettil Runske, who bound the unknown animal. The method used to bind the monster differs in the origin legends analysed, but most of them connect to the serpentine motif on the Frösö runestone, thus explaining the presence of this strange stone in the landscape.
Sanna Händen-Svensson
It is said that beneath this [rune]stone lies a dreadfully large head of a serpent and that the body stretches over Storsjön to Knytta by and Hille Sand where the tail is buried. The serpent was called a rå and therefore shall this stone be risen. Since no one peacefully could cross [Storsjön], the ferryman and his wife states, along with many others, that in the last turbulent time this stone was tore down and broken in two. As long as this stone laid on the ground many strange things occurred in the water, until the stone was risen and assembled anew.
Another version of the legend written down by Andreas Plantin
A long, long time ago two trolls, Jata and Kata, stood on the shores of the Great-Lake brewing a concoction in their cauldrons. They brewed and mixed and added to the liquid for days and weeks and years. They knew not what would result from their brew but they wondered about it a great deal. One evening there was heard a strange sound from one of their cauldrons. There was a wailing, a groaning and a crying, then suddenly came a loud bang. A strange animal with a black serpentine body and a cat-like head jumped out of the cauldron and disappeared into the lake. The monster enjoyed living in the lake, grew unbelievably larger and awakened terror among the people whenever it appeared. Finally, it extended all the way round the island of Frösön, and could even bite its own tail.
Mogens Pedersen on lake Storsjön monster
Marus gains the lance as his prize
‘Now, I did not stand there motionless
a spectator of the action. My lance was
the second to transfix that monstrous
body; its triple-forked tongue often
flickering over the rump of Regulus’
tired steed; I threw my spear, swiftly
turning the serpent’s savage assault
against myself. The men followed my
example, vying to hurl their missiles,
shifting the snake’s anger from one to
another, until it was halted by a blow
from a siege-catapult. Then at last its
strength was shattered, its damaged
spine no longer able to raise its body
for attack, or lift its head to the sky.
We attacked more fiercely, and soon
a huge spike was lodged deep in that
monstrous gut, swift arrows robbing
the creature of its sight. Now the dark
chasm of that gaping wound emitted
a foul poison from the pierced flesh,
now the tip of the tail was pinned to
the ground with showers of missiles
and heavy pikes; yet still the serpent
threatened feebly with gaping mouth.
At last, with a hissing noise, a bolt
hurled from a siege-engine shattered
its head and the body, stretched far
along the river bank, lay still, a livid
venomous vapour escaping its mouth.
Then a mournful groan erupted from
the flood, spreading through its depths:
on the instant, cave and grove yielded
sounds of tears, echoed by the banks.
Ah, how savage were our losses, how
dearly we had yet to pay for that sorry
fight! How great our suffering, though
what retribution we had yet to witness!
Nor were the prophets of doom silent,
warning that as we had laid impious
hands on the servants of the Naiads,
that sisterhood dwelling in the tepid
Bagradas’ waters, trouble for us must
follow. It was then, that your father,
Regulus, gave me his lance, this lance,
in tribute and reward, for dealing that
second blow: this, Serranus, was first
to draw blood from the sacred snake.’
Marus and the serpent
‘The turbid course of the Bagradas ploughs
the desert sands in its sluggish passage, no
river of Libya spreading its murky waters
further, or covering the plain more widely.
There, in that savage land, we were pleased
to camp on its shore, needing water, scarce
in that place. Nearby stood a grove of trees,
motionless and sunless, dark with Stygian
shadow, breathing dense fumes into the air
and yielding a foul stench. And within lay
a vile den, a hollow beneath the earth, set
deep in a winding cave, no light penetrating
its gloomy darkness. I recall it with horror.
A deadly serpent, spawned by the Earth in
anger, lived there; whose like generations
of humankind will scarcely see again; this
monster, hundreds of feet long, haunted that
fateful shore and its infernal grove of trees.
It sated its vast maw, and its belly pregnant
with venom, on the flesh of lions trapped
as they drank the water, or on cattle driven
to the river under the burning sun, or birds
downed from the sky by a foul corruption
of the air. Half-consumed bones covered
the ground, ejected in the shadowy cave
when it lay replete after dining vilely on
the prey it killed. When it chose to bathe
in the currents of flowing water, to cool
itself when fiery food engendered heat,
its head reached one bank before its tail
had plunged into the river-bed opposite.
Unaware of the danger I approached, and
with me were Aquinus, of the Apennines,
and Avens, an Umbrian. We planned to
examine the grove and explore its peace
and quiet. But as we drew nearer a silent
dread penetrated our flesh, and a strange
chill froze our limbs. Nevertheless we
went on, praying to the Nymphs and to
the unknown deity of the river, and so,
anxious and full of fear, we dared to trust
our feet to the sacred grove. Behold, now
a Tartarean whirlwind, with a gale stronger
than a wild easterly, erupted from the mouth
and threshold of the cave. A storm poured
from the vast depths, mixed with the baying
of Cerberus. Struck with fear, we gazed at
one another: the ground rumbled, the earth
was shaken, the cave fell, as if the shades
of the dead were emerging. Huge as those
snakes the Giants were equipped with, when
they stormed the heavens, as the Hydra that
wearied Hercules by Lerna’s waters, or as
Juno’s dragon that guarded the golden fruit,
as huge it rose from that hole in the ground,
lifted its gleaming head to the sky, sprayed
its venom to the clouds, and fouled heaven
with open jaws. We scattered, tried to raise
a feeble cry, all breathless with terror, yet
in vain, its hissing filled the whole grove.
Then Avens, blind with fear, suddenly hid
in the vast trunk of an ancient oak, hoping
the dreadful monster might not find him,
his action foolish (but Fate gripped him).
Though I could scarcely credit it myself,
it wound its immense coils bodily round
that tree, and plucked it from the ground,
tearing it up by its roots. Then as Avens,
poor trembling wretch, called to us his
friends in a final utterance, the serpent
seized him, its dark throat swallowing
him with a gulp (I looked back), burying
him in its foul gut. And the unfortunate
Aquinas, trusting to the river’s current,
and swimming swiftly now as he fled,
was attacked mid-stream, the monster
carrying his body to the bank, and in a
vile form of death, devouring his flesh.’
The tale was also retold by Orosius:
Regulus, chosen by lot for the Carthaginian War, marched with his army to a point not far from the Bagrada River and there pitched his camp. In that place a reptile of astonishing size devoured many of the soldiers as they went down to the river to get water. Regulus set out with his army to attack the reptile. Neither the javelins they hurled nor the darts they rained upon its back had any effect. These glided off its horrible scaly fins as if from a slanting testudo of shields and were in some miraculous fashion turned away from its body so that the creature suffered no injury.
Finally, when Regulus saw that it was killing a great number of his soldiers with its bites, was trampling them down by its charge, and driving them mad by its poisonous breath, he ordered ballistae brought up. A stone taken from a wall was hurled by a ballista; this struck the spine of the serpent and caused its entire body to become numb. The formation of the reptile was such that, though it seemed to lack feet, yet it had ribs and scales graded evenly, extending from the top of its throat to the lowest part of its belly and so arranged that the creature rested upon its scales as if on claws and upon its ribs as if on legs.
But it did not move like the worm which has a flexible spine and moves by first stretching its contracted parts in the direction of its tiny body and then drawing together the stretched parts. This reptile made its way by a sinuous movement, extending its sides first right and then left, so that it might keep the line of ribs rigid along the exterior arch of the spine; nature fastened the claws of its scales to its ribs, which extend straight to their highest point; making these moves alternately and quickly, it not only glided over levels, but also mounted inclines, taking as many footsteps, so to speak, as it had ribs.
This is why the stone rendered the creature powerless. If struck by a blow in any part of the body from its bowels to its head, it is crippled and unable to move, because wherever the blow falls, it numbs the spine, which stimulates the feet of the ribs and the motion of the body. Hence this serpent, which had for a long time withstood so many javelins unharmed, moved about disabled from the blow of a single stone and, quickly overcome by spears, was easily destroyed. Its skin was brought to Rome—it is said to have been one hundred and twenty feet in length— and for some time was an object of wonder to all.
The legend of Bagradas Dragon
How Romans killed a dragon
During the First Punic War when marching across Bagradas river near Carthage Roman soldiers had to deal with a dragon. According to Tubero this encounter went as follows:
Regulus, when encamped at the Bagradas river in Africa, fought a stubborn and fierce battle with a single serpent of extraordinary size, which had its lair in that region; that in a might struggle with the entire army the reptile was attacked for a long time with hurling engines and catapults; and that when it was finally killed, its skin, a hundred and twenty feet long, was sent to Rome.
In a recent debate space, we crushed the pie perennialist ideology with one simple question: "Where's the proof?"
A claim was made as to the pie having one big-G god. Much like all the pie claims, it's asserted without any hard evidence, only "by reading in-between the lines by comparative texts." But that is literally seeing what you want to see, especially when you:
A) Ignore all differences that make distinctions & all counter evidence using the same comparisons.
B) Don't have any physical or textual evidence from those people to support your claim, i.e. being falsifiable.
When you ask for hard evidence, they cant provide any; when that happens, it's functionally indistinguishable from something someone pulled out of their ass 10 minutes ago.
Claims require actual evidence, not guesses of guesses. That's why the pie guys always lose when debating their system. I can prove Germanics worshipped Odin with artifacts & texts, they cannot with the pie, which is why that goofy ideology should be tossed aside.
One should not think that a person turning to a sorcerer experiences the same feelings as the Western Fausts who sell their souls to the Devil. Far from it, a woman who has gone to a sorcerer to have a hernia healed does not feel herself a sinner. With a clear conscience, she will later light candles in the church and pray for the repose of her departed loved ones. In her mind, the Church and the sorcerer are simply different departments. The Church, while capable of saving her soul, can not protect her from an evil eye, while the sorcerer, who cures her child of kriksa (cri du chat syndrome), has no power to pray for her deceased husband.
P.Florensky
Are they forces of light or darkness? Definitely not of light. No Orthodox would think to invoke God or a saint when praying to a domovoy (house spirit). When the spirits of the house become unruly (happens in the spring, when domovoy sheds skin or goes wild because he wants to marry a witch) a peasant will not turn to a priest. Instead, he will go to a folk healer. Yet these forces are not always evil. Domovoy himself is usually seen as a benevolent household spirit. He sweeps the floor, feeds the livestock, looks after the house, warns the peasant of impending misfortune, and brings him abundance and wealth.
P.Florensky
The third sphere to which an Orthodox has a religious attitude is nature...This category also encompasses the remnants of pagan nature spirits such as leshy (forest spirits), domovoi (house spirits), and so on with which Orthodox peasants still interact today.
Listen to how a peasant speaks to cattle, to a tree, to an object, to nature as a whole. He caresses, pleads, begs, scolds, curses, converses with, gets angry at, and sometimes even hates it. He lives in close union with nature, fights against and submits to it. All of nature and every object is something living and has its own personality. These are countless beings: spirits of the forest, the field, the house, the barn, the shed; river spirits, kikimoras etc…They lead their own lives, demand food from humans, do chores, marry, eat, drink, sleep, argue, fight, cry, die.
P.Florensky
That’s why a name is untranslatable, and in attempting to translate it, we strip it of the inherent mysterious power.
A person with no name is not a person. He lacks the most essential element…a concentration of holy or occult forces, a mystical root connecting the human being to other worlds.
Therefore, it is correct to say that changing the sounds of a name one changes its essence.
P.Florensky
Before we get to the text, here’s a little Latin.
Flatus vocis literally, breath of the voice, a mere sound with no meaning and/or importance, influence. An empty sound, nothing more.
Here’s how Florensky describes Plato:
Early apologists called him a Christian before Christ, believing him to have been touched by the grace of God the Word (Logos) and saw in him a kind of prophet in partibus infidelium (the lands of the unbelievers), and in his writings, a foreshadowing of things to come. Meanwhile, contemporary neoplatonists referred to him as nothing less than most holy and divine or divinely inspired. Indeed, his works were for them a kind of sacred, canonical Scripture. You realize, of course, that we are speaking of Plato…You are aware of the undeniable continuity of our spirituality from Plato. By our very name, we acknowledge ourselves as alumni of the Athenian Academy. Naturally, there is nothing demeaning to Christianity in this acknowledgment. After all, weren’t Christians born of pagan parents? So, too, are we the sons of the ancient Prophet of Attica.
Had to create an account of a christian texts site to get the sources. Going uder cover, guys.
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