Searching for a hero

Myth mania comes to Atlanta for Joseph Campbell conference

Lo, ‘twas in the cotton fields where Frodo Ulie Skywalker was, pinching the furry swollen orbs between his fingers to feel how far they were from fruition. The sun god, Sonny, was angry that day, hurling his heavy rays down upon the common man, bending him toward the soil.

Then came a breeze and the cool of unexpected shade. Ulie turned toward where the sun had been. Standing before him was a man-shaped form with feathers over all but his face and a pair of giant wings spread wide to hide Ulie from Sonny’s wrath.

Ulie did not think himself a wise man, and the people of his village thought him a fool. But Ulie had a gift for the knowing of names. “Joseph Campbell you are,” he said, “the Thousand-Faced Master of the Monomyth. What brings you to my humble farm?”

The Bird Man chirped its high divine reply. “Yes, fine Ulie, I am who you guess.” The great JC paused to snap a passing wasp from the air and quickly swallowed it down. “The gods are making sport with the world once again. They send their chosen heroes to Atlantia on a race for the red and gold fruit of the Tree of All Roads. Giants they send and corporate chiefs. Fleet-footed scholars and clever thieves.”

“Such a contest is beyond my ken,” said Ulie, “as are all the doings of the glorious gods. But I pray you, winged one, why tell this to me?”

The Bird Man flapped his magnificent wings, stirring a storm of dust and cotton fluff. “Ulie, you are called a fool by mortals, and the immortal gods take no notice of your quiet life. But you know the names of things before they are named. Thus, I choose you to bring me the fuzzed fruit of the Tree of All Roads.”

At this, fine Ulie was stricken most afraid, and he bent his knees to the cotton. “Father Joseph, you are mighty and wise, and the shade of your wings is a blessing in the time of Sonny’s merciless burn. But please, send someone stronger and more clever to the sulfurous wastes of Atlantia. I am not worthy to be your champion.”

Joseph Bird Man scratched the ground with his pointed talons, tearing full fair dozens of cotton plants from the ground. “Do not deny the will of the gods, whose knowledge leaves your best science superstition.” His rage spent, he settled to the ground. “But see, I am merciful, too.” He extended one wing toward quailing Ulie, and in it was a copper disc. “Give this to the silver Leviathan who swims from north to south and south to north. He will let you penetrate and rest in his belly, and inside him you will travel to Atlantia. There, seek out the Regent of Hyatt. In his castle, you will find the fruit of the Tree of All Roads.”

His heart afraid, Ulie bent his head to the will of Joseph.

And so good Ulie, who knew all names, followed roads without map or sign, and came at last to the Leviathan’s Southern home. There he saw the monstrous Martaman, whose name he knew and whose wrath he feared.

“Pass, fine Ulie,” the Martaman said, “for you hold the copper disc.” Thus did brave Ulie push his way through the brushed arms of a steel spider sleeping on its side and creep down into the Leviathan’s lair.

Others have told at great length of Ulie’s adventures in the Leviathan’s gut: of the sacred map, of the hungry Leviathan’s attempt to hold Ulie in, of the clever cotton farmer’s exceptional escape. Let us leave those stories to the better bards and turn to Ulie’s trials on the road to the Regent of Hyatt.

Emerging at last onto the streets of Atlantia, Ulie blanched at the sight of the hundred rumbling metal beasts belching brimstone and hate.

Poor Ulie, the man who knew all the names, knew not which way to turn. The road he was on and all those that crossed it and all those which crossed those roads in turn ... all of them bore the name of the Tree of All Roads. Sore, frightened and lost, Ulie turned back toward the Leviathan’s hole, but he no longer bore the copper disc and the steel spider here would not let him pass.

So onward the Bird Man’s chosen one went, searching the mountains of glass and stone for the castle of the Regent of Hyatt. No one tells how many days he searched, living on the hot pretzels and cocoa bean elixirs of the street. But long strong Ulie was tired and worn.

Then, at the edge of Ulie’s last belief, a fair goddess appeared beside him. She took his rough hand and pressed it with her soft skinned fingers so strong. “I am no one you know,” she said, “yet still you know my name.”

“You are Joyce Carol Oates,” said Ulie, “most merciful and kind.”

“Long you have walked, Ulie, in the place where all names are the same,” said she. “I will lead you at last through the burning air to the castle of the Regent of Hyatt.”

And so the beautiful JC took Ulie to the castle. Oh the strange wonders he found therein: cross-legged suburban mendicants, their faces turned to the ethereal flickering of a fluorescent sky. Thin men in thinner shirts beating upon drums under the ecstatic poems of Robert Bly. Alpha wave addicts analyzing their archetypes in the Jungian din.

But the largest crowd — all buxom women and well-oiled men — was gathered near a fountain around a mountain of glazed clouds, where Scott Livengood, the Krispy Kreme King, offered heaven to the masses in a mouthful of sin. “No need to climb for the subtle sweetness of the fruit of the Tree of All Roads,” said Livin’ Go(o)d. “Stop here and taste my sugared treats.”

The warm, sweet scent urged Ulie toward the fountain, where sure he would have drowned, but then a wind blew from behind him, wafting the sweetness away. “Remember your name Ulie,” a chirpy voice urged, “and know that I am proud of you, my son.”

Ulie shook his head then wrapped his bandana around his nose and mouth. Aye, he saw now that the pretty people had all turned to swine. With thanks to Joseph, he stepped into a shining ship of crystal glass and rose into the sky, passing a sunburst of polished brass.

And, as has been often told in song and story and paint, there did Ulie find the fruit of the Tree of All Roads in a room where the gods all lounged and doubled their bets. The Regent of Hyatt handed the fruit to Ulie and declared him the winner of the gods’ contest.

Joseph folded Ulie into his wings and praised him. So happy was the cotton farmer in the company of the gods that he was sore loathe to leave them and return to the angry streets; he missed not even his beloved farm.

But the divine domains of the gods are not the place for mortal man, who knows the greater joy for his life of sweat and a final end. So did the Bird Man carry Ulie back with the work of his own two blessed wings, holding the hero close to his heart as they flew in the clear air high above Atlantia and returned to Ulie’s quiet land.

There, Ulie did in time learn to tell of the many places with one name and the Tree of All Roads. Never perfectly was it told and never full heard, but such is the curse of ignorant mortals whose minds are doomed to die.

Still, Ulie did not bemoan his fate. To have sat once with the gods, to have tasted their favored fruit, to have done this but once is a boon of great grace. And so too is the feel of fresh orbs of cotton ready to pick.

thomas.bell@creativeloafing.com