Mythology and Myth-makers

My poet-friend Isaac was telling me the other day that back in school, folks would ask him what his mythology was--what inspired him, from where he drew his imagery and narratives.  Being honest, he replied, "Cartoons.  Darkwing Duck.  Tailspin."  I found that profound.  Beautiful, even.  And not just because my sixth grade teacher's brother designed the Darkwing Duckmobile and had a lovely copy of it hanging in the classroom.  No, not just for that reason.

A new friend, Caleb, talked about his sources for inspiration in writing fairy tales-- Tolkein, Lewis, MacDonald and the rest.  He expressed his jealous for their pool of sources, their mythology, which was in turn drawn from a more ancient and wide well.

My hero Malcolm loves Dante, who loved Virgil.  Dante was loved by George MacDonald, who was loved by C.S. Lewis, who all were in turn loved by Malcolm again.  Take a listen. I am longing to soak in the Divine Comedy, to be scalded and frozen by its hot springs and glacial streams before reaching baby bear's just right.

I want to throw my net wide, to listen well, to meet my very own living myths, who are also myth-makers.  I think I already have.

I want to write tall tales about the people I have known, and that I may yet know.  Who they are, and who they may yet become.  Amen.

P.S. My beautiful friend Kyle, who himself is the stuff of legends and a legend-maker in his own time, as he was often accused of inflating stories to make them larger than life, expressed it so magically to this effect: An elephant and a grasshopper may see the same event, but tell the tale differently.  Kyle, in his generous humility, saw the grandeur in others and participated in it himself by way of his singularly glowing vision.  George MacDonald alludes to a similar manner of seeing in his fairy tale Cross Purposes*, where the lover's eyes cast the glow of love on the face and path of the beloved in the dark, even while their own pathway remains unseen.  Kyle went around loving others and seeing their faces and paths ahead, as indeed he still must.  I have seen Jesus in that man time and again, and I have been seen.

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*  '"Dear Alice!" said Richard, "how pale you look!"
"How can you tell that, Richard, when all is as black as pitch?"
"I can see your face. It gives out light. Now I see your hands. Now I can see your feet. Yes, I can see every spot where you are going to--No, don't put your foot there. There is an ugly toad just there."

'The fact was, that the moment he began to love Alice, his eyes began to send forth light. What he thought came from Alice's face, really came from his eyes. All about her and her path he could see, and every minute saw better; but to his own path he was blind. He could not see his hand when he held it straight before his face, so dark was it. But he could see Alice, and that was better than seeing the way--ever so much.

'At length Alice too began to see a face dawning through the darkness. It was Richard's face; but it was far handsomer than when she saw it last. Her eyes had begun to give light too. And she said to herself--"Can it be that I love the poor widow's son?--I suppose that must be it," she answered herself, with a smile; for she was not disgusted with herself at all. Richard saw the smile, and was glad. Her paleness had gone, and a sweet rosiness had taken its place. And now she saw Richard's path as he saw hers, and between the two sights they got on well.'