Podcasts about silenus

Stories of extraordinary courage often emerge from history's darkest moments. Around 300 AD, as Emperor Diocletian unleashed what would become one of Christianity's most brutal persecutions, a young woman's faith illuminated the gathering darkness.Febronia possessed such remarkable beauty that suitors flocked to her door, none more persistent than Lysimachus, nephew of a high-ranking Roman official. What drew him wasn't merely her appearance but something deeper—a grace and humility absent in the pagan women of his acquaintance. Unknown to him, these qualities flowed from Febronia's secret Christian faith.When faced with an imminent marriage proposal, Febronia made the unthinkable choice to abandon her comfortable life, fleeing eastward to her aunt's convent in Nisibis. There, her beauty proved so distracting that she read scripture from behind a curtain—a fitting metaphor for how true beauty remains hidden from worldly eyes. Meanwhile, Diocletian's deadly edict against Christians sent Lysimachus's uncle Silenus on a bloody campaign that would inevitably lead to the convent's door.The confrontation between Febronia and Silenus reveals the power of unwavering conviction. Offered the chance to save herself by either denouncing Christ or keeping her faith private in marriage, she refused both: "I will not enter into marriage with a mortal man." Her martyrdom carried more power than her life, ultimately converting Lysimachus and many soldiers who witnessed her courage.This forgotten tale reminds us that sometimes our greatest influence comes not from what we achieve but what we're willing to sacrifice. In a world that still values appearances and compromise, would we stand as firmly for what we believe?Find an Orthodox Church near you today.  Visit https://www.antiochian.org/homeQuestions about Orthodoxy?  Please check out our friends at Ghost of Byzantium Discord server: https://discord.gg/JDJDQw6tdh *****Contact this episode's sponsor:LuciaCandleCompany.Etsy.com*****Please prayerfully consider supporting Cloud of Witnesses Radio:https://www.patreon.com/cloudofwitnessesradioFind Cloud of Witnesses Radio on Instagram, X.com, Facebook, and TikTok.Thank you for journeying w/ the Saints with us!

The complete audiobook is available for purchase at Audible.com: https://n9.cl/kpyxx1 Collected Verse of Louis Esson Narrated by Denis Daly Esson's first collection of poems, Bells and Bees, was published in 1910; a second collection, Red Gums and Other Verses, in 1912. Although Esson published no further poetry collections, his verse continued to appear in magazines such as The Bulletin until the late 1920s. Included in his verse are not only bush ballads such as Whaling up the Lachlan, but also sombre meditations such as The Travail of Nature, monologues like Silenus to a Young Satyr, and thundering panegyrics like The Bazaar of Death. As a rule, Esson's poems are quite short and, despite occasional infelicities, display a tidy and skillful use of language.

This epic and madcap episode concludes Ariadne's story. It takes us into the heart of the labyrinth and up into the heavens with the constellation of the Northen Crown - Corona Borealis. Written and directed by Bibi Jacob. Featuring: Tom Morton as Silenus, Charlotte Donnelly as Psalakantha, Nigel Pilkington as Dionysus. Bibi Jacob as Ariadne, Rufo Quintavalle as Minos, Ciaran Cresswell as Theseus.   Original violin loops by Chloe Dunn Sound and production by Geoff Chong.

Der Bund der Weißen Eule zählt auf uns - wenn sie das mal nicht bereuen. Unsere tapferen Nachtwächter Garlef und Sirach begeben sich in den urtümlichen Wald der Fei, um im Berg Ténoch Antworten zu finden und einen uralten Fluch loszuwerden. Wienert eure Buschmesser und bahnt euch mit uns einen Weg durch die tödlichen Fallen und Bewohner des Urwalds. 00:00 Onkel Wilhelms Tagebuch 00:33 Hail and well met 01:23 Was bisher geschah 05:30 Hinein in den Fei 12:29 Sirachs Abenteuer im Osten 16:20 Überfall am Mammutbaum 25:37 Hektor, der Baummahr 28:33 Der Schattendiener und der Händler 36:13 Mansurs Handelsposten 37:02 Garlefs Abenteuer im Westen 38:03 Das Windspiel des Grauens 40:35 Die Harpyie und der Nachtwächter 45:44 Das Kakaolager des schlanken Mannes 50:45 Der leidvolle Weg nach Süden 52:29 Schon wieder der Schattendiener 54:38 Lut der Pantherreiter 01:04:00 Geschäfte mit Mansur 01:14:03 Mann vs Blume 01:19:28 Onkel Wilhelms Tagebuch 01:19:58 Silenus, der Dschungelgrimm 01:26:54 Am heiligen Krötenteich 01:33:49 Der Bart des Buschtrolls 01:39:30 So. Viele. KROKODILE! 01:43:42 Onkel Wilhelms Tagebuch 01:44:17 Die Höhle des Lahmen Dämons 01:53:10 Ein völlig harmloses Mütterchen 02:01:30 Sirachs Weg in den Süden 02:01:57 Im Spinnenwald 02:07:12 Baum, Schlange und Dolch 02:11:45 Bilder an der Tigerstatue 02:13:24 Die Sorgen des Fei-Mönchs 02:18:27 Ein Sirach vs zwei Anansi 02:24:10 Am Schrein der Fei 02:26:38 Frösche für Silenus 02:32:18 Die Glaubensprüfung 02:35:01 Gen Süden, gen Ténoch 02:35:48 Duell in der Ruine 02:38:07 Libellen-Terror 02:44:28 Das Heim der Rusalka 02:50:35 Das Haupt der Schlange 02:55:32 Vor dem Hohepriester 02:56:33 Die Aufgabe der Rusalka 03:03:55 Die Prüfungen des Ténoch 03:13:45 Abrechnung mit dem Schattendiener 03:17:12 Die Antworten des Heiligtums 03:24:32 Ankunft in Kornbach 03:27:47 Onkel Wilhelms Tagebuch ►Über die Autoren: https://zweidrillinge.de/ Musik-Credits: "Angevin" Kevin MacLeod (incompetech.com) Licensed under Creative Commons: By Attribution 4.0 License http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/ "Lord of the Land" Kevin MacLeod (incompetech.com) Licensed under Creative Commons: By Attribution 4.0 License http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/ Ambience: Michael Ghelfi ⁠⁠www.michaelghelfi.com⁠ Hartwigmedia https://soundcloud.com/hartwigmedia https://www.hartwigmedia.com Facebook: ⁠⁠⁠https://www.facebook.com/oth.podcast⁠⁠⁠ Twitter: ⁠⁠⁠https://twitter.com/OTHpodcastlords⁠⁠⁠ Spotify: ⁠⁠⁠https://open.spotify.com/show/6z1SWBMNmyR44qz9X95y9O?si=drwhVIVISVaxsN6wjIoSow⁠⁠⁠ iTunes:⁠⁠⁠https://podcasts.apple.com/de/podcast/over-the-hills/id1560492808⁠⁠⁠ Feed: ⁠⁠⁠https://anchor.fm/over-the-hills⁠⁠⁠ Website: ⁠⁠⁠https://othpodcast.wordpress.com/

Today we dive into Greek Myth's DEEPEST nooks and crannies to discuss some obscure Greek Gods you've never heard of! Check out the YouTube version here: https://youtu.be/49-G7IrcXdU

Mit Senua's Saga: Hellblade 2 erschien letzte Woche einer von Microsofts großen Titel des Jahres - wir reden ausführlich über Ninja Theorys Nachfolger zum 2017er Indie-Hit. Außerdem: Atari kaufen Intelligivison, Neues von den Norco-Devs, Sonys absurdes Interview mit Neil Druckmann und Eindrücke zu Duck Detective, Lorelei and the Laser Eyes, den Akuma-DLC zu Street Fighter 6 und Armored Core 6! Viel Spaß! Unterstützt uns auf Patreon: https://www.patreon.com/hooked Oder auf Steady: https://steadyhq.com/de/hooked Kauft bei Amazon mit unseren Links und holt euch etwa die Xbox Series S oder X: https://amzn.to/3jeGg8C (Affiliate) Oder die PlayStation 5: https://amzn.to/34fQjG2 (Affiliate) Besucht uns auf YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCPysfiuOv4VKBeXFFPhKXyw Oder schaut auf Twitch vorbei: http://www.twitch.tv/hookedlive Tretet unserem Discord bei: https://discord.gg/43s86KM Timestamps: 0:00 - Intro 6:36 - Atari kaufen Intellivision 19:45 - Nintendo kaufen Shivers Entertainment 29:33 - Silenus von den Norco-Devs 33:36 - Sonys ausgedachtes Neil-Druckmann-Interview 42:34 - Gerücht: Grünes Licht für Ninja Theorys nächstes Spiel 52:46 - Werbung: Amazon-Affiliate, getshirts-Shop, Video-Empfehlungen 53:50 - Mullet Madjack & Samurai Warriors 4 DX 55:09 - Senua's Saga: Hellblade II 1:33:17 - Duck Detective: The Secret Salami 1:37:09 - Lorelei and the Laser Eyes 1:44:31 - Street Fighter 6 - Akuma DLC 1:54:10 - Armored Core VI: Fires of Rubicon 2:05:08 - Robins Famoses Formel-1-Fest 2:16:15 - Die Podcast-Produzent*innen

A dramatic reading by Jason Louv of the 1819 poem "The Fall of Hyperion—A Dream" by John Keats, set to music by Jason. Not uncommon for the 19th century, it is awash in occult and Hermetic symbolism.  Show Links Magick.Me Magick.Me's Fast-Growing YouTube Channel: Like and Subscribe!!!   The full text of the poem follows: "The Fall of Hyperion—A Dream" John Keats CANTO I Fanatics have their dreams, wherewith they weave A paradise for a sect; the savage too From forth the loftiest fashion of his sleep Guesses at Heaven; pity these have not Trac'd upon vellum or wild Indian leaf The shadows of melodious utterance. But bare of laurel they live, dream, and die; For Poesy alone can tell her dreams, With the fine spell of words alone can save Imagination from the sable charm And dumb enchantment. Who alive can say, 'Thou art no Poet may'st not tell thy dreams?' Since every man whose soul is not a clod Hath visions, and would speak, if he had loved And been well nurtured in his mother tongue. Whether the dream now purpos'd to rehearse Be poet's or fanatic's will be known When this warm scribe my hand is in the grave. Methought I stood where trees of every clime, Palm, myrtle, oak, and sycamore, and beech, With plantain, and spice blossoms, made a screen; In neighbourhood of fountains, by the noise Soft showering in my ears, and, by the touch Of scent, not far from roses. Turning round I saw an arbour with a drooping roof Of trellis vines, and bells, and larger blooms, Like floral censers swinging light in air; Before its wreathed doorway, on a mound Of moss, was spread a feast of summer fruits, Which, nearer seen, seem'd refuse of a meal By angel tasted or our Mother Eve; For empty shells were scattered on the grass, And grape stalks but half bare, and remnants more, Sweet smelling, whose pure kinds I could not know. Still was more plenty than the fabled horn Thrice emptied could pour forth, at banqueting For Proserpine return'd to her own fields, Where the white heifers low. And appetite More yearning than on earth I ever felt Growing within, I ate deliciously; And, after not long, thirsted, for thereby Stood a cool vessel of transparent juice Sipp'd by the wander'd bee, the which I took, And, pledging all the mortals of the world, And all the dead whose names are in our lips, Drank. That full draught is parent of my theme. No Asian poppy nor elixir fine Of the soon fading jealous Caliphat, No poison gender'd in close monkish cell To thin the scarlet conclave of old men, Could so have rapt unwilling life away. Among the fragrant husks and berries crush'd, Upon the grass I struggled hard against The domineering potion; but in vain: The cloudy swoon came on, and down I sunk Like a Silenus on an antique vase. How long I slumber'd 'tis a chance to guess. When sense of life return'd, I started up As if with wings; but the fair trees were gone, The mossy mound and arbour were no more: I look'd around upon the carved sides Of an old sanctuary with roof august, Builded so high, it seem'd that filmed clouds Might spread beneath, as o'er the stars of heaven; So old the place was, I remember'd none The like upon the earth: what I had seen Of grey cathedrals, buttress'd walls, rent towers, The superannuations of sunk realms, Or Nature's rocks toil'd hard in waves and winds, Seem'd but the faulture of decrepit things To that eternal domed monument. Upon the marble at my feet there lay Store of strange vessels and large draperies, Which needs had been of dyed asbestos wove, Or in that place the moth could not corrupt, So white the linen, so, in some, distinct Ran imageries from a sombre loom. All in a mingled heap confus'd there lay Robes, golden tongs, censer and chafing dish, Girdles, and chains, and holy jewelries. Turning from these with awe, once more I rais'd My eyes to fathom the space every way; The embossed roof, the silent massy range Of columns north and south, ending in mist Of nothing, then to eastward, where black gates Were shut against the sunrise evermore. Then to the west I look'd, and saw far off An image, huge of feature as a cloud, At level of whose feet an altar slept, To be approach'd on either side by steps, And marble balustrade, and patient travail To count with toil the innumerable degrees. Towards the altar sober paced I went, Repressing haste, as too unholy there; And, coming nearer, saw beside the shrine One minist'ring; and there arose a flame. When in mid May the sickening East wind Shifts sudden to the south, the small warm rain Melts out the frozen incense from all flowers, And fills the air with so much pleasant health That even the dying man forgets his shroud; Even so that lofty sacrificial fire, Sending forth Maian incense, spread around Forgetfulness of everything but bliss, And clouded all the altar with soft smoke, From whose white fragrant curtains thus I heard Language pronounc'd: 'If thou canst not ascend 'These steps, die on that marble where thou art. 'Thy flesh, near cousin to the common dust, 'Will parch for lack of nutriment thy bones 'Will wither in few years, and vanish so 'That not the quickest eye could find a grain 'Of what thou now art on that pavement cold. 'The sands of thy short life are spent this hour, 'And no hand in the universe can turn 'Thy hourglass, if these gummed leaves be burnt 'Ere thou canst mount up these immortal steps.' I heard, I look'd: two senses both at once, So fine, so subtle, felt the tyranny Of that fierce threat and the hard task proposed. Prodigious seem'd the toil, the leaves were yet Burning when suddenly a palsied chill Struck from the paved level up my limbs, And was ascending quick to put cold grasp Upon those streams that pulse beside the throat: I shriek'd; and the sharp anguish of my shriek Stung my own ears I strove hard to escape The numbness; strove to gain the lowest step. Slow, heavy, deadly was my pace: the cold Grew stifling, suffocating, at the heart; And when I clasp'd my hands I felt them not. One minute before death, my iced foot touch'd The lowest stair; and as it touch'd, life seem'd To pour in at the toes: I mounted up, As once fair angels on a ladder flew From the green turf to Heaven. 'Holy Power,' Cried I, approaching near the horned shrine, 'What am I that should so be saved from death? 'What am I that another death come not 'To choke my utterance sacrilegious here?' Then said the veiled shadow 'Thou hast felt 'What 'tis to die and live again before 'Thy fated hour. That thou hadst power to do so 'Is thy own safety; thou hast dated on 'Thy doom.' 'High Prophetess,' said I, 'purge off, 'Benign, if so it please thee, my mind's film.' 'None can usurp this height,' return'd that shade, 'But those to whom the miseries of the world 'Are misery, and will not let them rest. 'All else who find a haven in the world, 'Where they may thoughtless sleep away their days, 'If by a chance into this fane they come, 'Rot on the pavement where thou rottedst half.' 'Are there not thousands in the world,' said I, Encourag'd by the sooth voice of the shade, 'Who love their fellows even to the death; 'Who feel the giant agony of the world; 'And more, like slaves to poor humanity, 'Labour for mortal good? I sure should see 'Other men here; but I am here alone.' 'Those whom thou spak'st of are no vision'ries,' Rejoin'd that voice; 'they are no dreamers weak; 'They seek no wonder but the human face, 'No music but a happy noted voice; 'They come not here, they have no thought to come; 'And thou art here, for thou art less than they: 'What benefit canst thou do, or all thy tribe, 'To the great world? Thou art a dreaming thing, 'A fever of thyself think of the Earth; 'What bliss even in hope is there for thee? 'What haven? every creature hath its home; 'Every sole man hath days of joy and pain, 'Whether his labours be sublime or low 'The pain alone; the joy alone; distinct: 'Only the dreamer venoms all his days, 'Bearing more woe than all his sins deserve. 'Therefore, that happiness be somewhat shar'd, 'Such things as thou art are admitted oft 'Into like gardens thou didst pass erewhile, 'And suffer'd in these temples: for that cause 'Thou standest safe beneath this statue's knees.' 'That I am favour'd for unworthiness, 'By such propitious parley medicin'd 'In sickness not ignoble, I rejoice, 'Aye, and could weep for love of such award.' So answer'd I, continuing, 'If it please, 'Majestic shadow, tell me: sure not all 'Those melodies sung into the world's ear 'Are useless: sure a poet is a sage; 'A humanist, physician to all men. 'That I am none I feel, as vultures feel 'They are no birds when eagles are abroad. 'What am I then? Thou spakest of my tribe: 'What tribe?' The tall shade veil'd in drooping white Then spake, so much more earnest, that the breath Moved the thin linen folds that drooping hung About a golden censer from the hand Pendent. 'Art thou not of the dreamer tribe? 'The poet and the dreamer are distinct, 'Diverse, sheer opposite, antipodes. 'The one pours out a balm upon the world, 'The other vexes it.' Then shouted I Spite of myself, and with a Pythia's spleen, 'Apollo! faded! O far flown Apollo! 'Where is thy misty pestilence to creep 'Into the dwellings, through the door crannies 'Of all mock lyrists, large self worshipers, 'And careless Hectorers in proud bad verse. 'Though I breathe death with them it will be life 'To see them sprawl before me into graves. 'Majestic shadow, tell me where I am, 'Whose altar this; for whom this incense curls; 'What image this whose face I cannot see, 'For the broad marble knees; and who thou art, 'Of accent feminine so courteous?' Then the tall shade, in drooping linens veil'd, Spoke out, so much more earnest, that her breath Stirr'd the thin folds of gauze that drooping hung About a golden censer from her hand Pendent; and by her voice I knew she shed Long treasured tears. 'This temple, sad and lone, 'Is all spar'd from the thunder of a war 'Foughten long since by giant hierarchy 'Against rebellion: this old image here, 'Whose carved features wrinkled as he fell, 'Is Saturn's; I Moneta, left supreme 'Sole priestess of this desolation.' I had no words to answer, for my tongue, Useless, could find about its roofed home No syllable of a fit majesty To make rejoinder to Moneta's mourn. There was a silence, while the altar's blaze Was fainting for sweet food: I look'd thereon, And on the paved floor, where nigh were piled Faggots of cinnamon, and many heaps Of other crisped spice wood then again I look'd upon the altar, and its horns Whiten'd with ashes, and its lang'rous flame, And then upon the offerings again; And so by turns till sad Moneta cried, 'The sacrifice is done, but not the less 'Will I be kind to thee for thy good will. 'My power, which to me is still a curse, 'Shall be to thee a wonder; for the scenes 'Still swooning vivid through my globed brain 'With an electral changing misery 'Thou shalt with those dull mortal eyes behold, 'Free from all pain, if wonder pain thee not.' As near as an immortal's sphered words Could to a mother's soften, were these last: And yet I had a terror of her robes, And chiefly of the veils, that from her brow Hung pale, and curtain'd her in mysteries That made my heart too small to hold its blood. This saw that Goddess, and with sacred hand Parted the veils. Then saw I a wan face, Not pin'd by human sorrows, but bright blanch'd By an immortal sickness which kills not; It works a constant change, which happy death Can put no end to; deathwards progressing To no death was that visage; it had pass'd The lily and the snow; and beyond these I must not think now, though I saw that face But for her eyes I should have fled away. They held me back, with a benignant light Soft mitigated by divinest lids Half closed, and visionless entire they seem'd Of all external things; they saw me not, But in blank splendour beam'd like the mild moon, Who comforts those she sees not, who knows not What eyes are upward cast. As I had found A grain of gold upon a mountain side, And twing'd with avarice strain'd out my eyes To search its sullen entrails rich with ore, So at the view of sad Moneta's brow I ach'd to see what things the hollow brain Behind enwombed: what high tragedy In the dark secret chambers of her skull Was acting, that could give so dread a stress To her cold lips, and fill with such a light Her planetary eyes, and touch her voice With such a sorrow 'Shade of Memory!' Cried I, with act adorant at her feet, 'By all the gloom hung round thy fallen house, 'By this last temple, by the golden age, 'By great Apollo, thy dear Foster Child, 'And by thyself, forlorn divinity, 'The pale Omega of a withered race, 'Let me behold, according as thou saidst, 'What in thy brain so ferments to and fro!' No sooner had this conjuration pass'd My devout lips, than side by side we stood (Like a stunt bramble by a solemn pine) Deep in the shady sadness of a vale, Far sunken from the healthy breath of morn, Far from the fiery noon and eve's one star. Onward I look'd beneath the gloomy boughs, And saw, what first I thought an image huge, Like to the image pedestal'd so high In Saturn's temple. Then Moneta's voice Came brief upon mine ear 'So Saturn sat When he had lost his realms ' whereon there grew A power within me of enormous ken To see as a god sees, and take the depth Of things as nimbly as the outward eye Can size and shape pervade. The lofty theme At those few words hung vast before my mind, With half unravel'd web. I set myself Upon an eagle's watch, that I might see, And seeing ne'er forget. No stir of life Was in this shrouded vale, not so much air As in the zoning of a summer's day Robs not one light seed from the feather'd grass, But where the dead leaf fell there did it rest. A stream went voiceless by, still deaden'd more By reason of the fallen divinity Spreading more shade; the Naiad 'mid her reeds Press'd her cold finger closer to her lips. Along the margin sand large footmarks went No farther than to where old Saturn's feet Had rested, and there slept, how long a sleep! Degraded, cold, upon the sodden ground His old right hand lay nerveless, listless, dead, Unsceptred; and his realmless eyes were clos'd, While his bow'd head seem'd listening to the Earth, His ancient mother, for some comfort yet. It seem'd no force could wake him from his place; But there came one who with a kindred hand Touch'd his wide shoulders after bending low With reverence, though to one who knew it not. Then came the griev'd voice of Mnemosyne, And griev'd I hearken'd. 'That divinity 'Whom thou saw'st step from yon forlornest wood, 'And with slow pace approach our fallen King, 'Is Thea, softest natur'd of our brood.' I mark'd the Goddess in fair statuary Surpassing wan Moneta by the head, And in her sorrow nearer woman's tears. There was a listening fear in her regard, As if calamity had but begun; As if the vanward clouds of evil days Had spent their malice, and the sullen rear Was with its stored thunder labouring up. One hand she press'd upon that aching spot Where beats the human heart, as if just there, Though an immortal, she felt cruel pain; The other upon Saturn's bended neck She laid, and to the level of his hollow ear Leaning with parted lips, some words she spake In solemn tenor and deep organ tune; Some mourning words, which in our feeble tongue Would come in this like accenting; how frail To that large utterance of the early Gods! 'Saturn! look up and for what, poor lost King? 'I have no comfort for thee; no not one; 'I cannot cry, Wherefore thus sleepest thou? 'For Heaven is parted from thee, and the Earth 'Knows thee not, so afflicted, for a God; 'And Ocean too, with all its solemn noise, 'Has from thy sceptre pass'd, and all the air 'Is emptied of thine hoary majesty: 'Thy thunder, captious at the new command, 'Rumbles reluctant o'er our fallen house; 'And thy sharp lightning, in unpracticed hands, 'Scorches and burns our once serene domain. 'With such remorseless speed still come new woes, 'That unbelief has not a space to breathe. 'Saturn! sleep on: Me thoughtless, why should I 'Thus violate thy slumbrous solitude? 'Why should I ope thy melancholy eyes? 'Saturn, sleep on, while at thy feet I weep.' As when upon a tranced summer night Forests, branch charmed by the earnest stars, Dream, and so dream all night without a noise, Save from one gradual solitary gust, Swelling upon the silence; dying off; As if the ebbing air had but one wave; So came these words, and went; the while in tears She press'd her fair large forehead to the earth, Just where her fallen hair might spread in curls A soft and silken mat for Saturn's feet. Long, long those two were postured motionless, Like sculpture builded up upon the grave Of their own power. A long awful time I look'd upon them: still they were the same; The frozen God still bending to the earth, And the sad Goddess weeping at his feet, Moneta silent. Without stay or prop But my own weak mortality, I bore The load of this eternal quietude, The unchanging gloom, and the three fixed shapes Ponderous upon my senses, a whole moon. For by my burning brain I measured sure Her silver seasons shedded on the night, And ever day by day methought I grew More gaunt and ghostly. Oftentimes I pray'd Intense, that Death would take me from the vale And all its burthens gasping with despair Of change, hour after hour I curs'd myself; Until old Saturn rais'd his faded eyes, And look'd around and saw his kingdom gone, And all the gloom and sorrow of the place, And that fair kneeling Goddess at his feet. As the moist scent of flowers, and grass, and leaves Fills forest dells with a pervading air, Known to the woodland nostril, so the words Of Saturn fill'd the mossy glooms around, Even to the hollows of time eaten oaks And to the windings of the foxes' hole, With sad low tones, while thus he spake, and sent Strange musings to the solitary Pan. 'Moan, brethren, moan; for we are swallow'd up 'And buried from all Godlike exercise 'Of influence benign on planets pale, 'And peaceful sway above man's harvesting, 'And all those acts which Deity supreme 'Doth ease its heart of love in. Moan and wail, 'Moan, brethren, moan; for lo, the rebel spheres 'Spin round, the stars their ancient courses keep, 'Clouds still with shadowy moisture haunt the earth, 'Still suck their fill of light from sun and moon, 'Still buds the tree, and still the sea shores murmur; 'There is no death in all the Universe, 'No smell of death there shall be death Moan, moan, 'Moan, Cybele, moan; for thy pernicious babes 'Have changed a God into a shaking Palsy. 'Moan, brethren, moan, for I have no strength left, 'Weak as the reed weak feeble as my voice 'O, O, the pain, the pain of feebleness. 'Moan, moan, for still I thaw or give me help; 'Throw down those imps, and give me victory. 'Let me hear other groans, and trumpets blown 'Of triumph calm, and hymns of festival 'From the gold peaks of Heaven's high piled clouds; 'Voices of soft proclaim, and silver stir 'Of strings in hollow shells; and let there be 'Beautiful things made new, for the surprise 'Of the sky children.' So he feebly ceas'd, With such a poor and sickly sounding pause, Methought I heard some old man of the earth Bewailing earthly loss; nor could my eyes And ears act with that pleasant unison of sense Which marries sweet sound with the grace of form, And dolorous accent from a tragic harp With large limb'd visions. More I scrutinized: Still fix'd he sat beneath the sable trees, Whose arms spread straggling in wild serpent forms, With leaves all hush'd; his awful presence there (Now all was silent) gave a deadly lie To what I erewhile heard only his lips Trembled amid the white curls of his beard. They told the truth, though, round, the snowy locks Hung nobly, as upon the face of heaven A mid day fleece of clouds. Thea arose, And stretched her white arm through the hollow dark, Pointing some whither: whereat he too rose Like a vast giant, seen by men at sea To grow pale from the waves at dull midnight. They melted from my sight into the woods; Ere I could turn, Moneta cried, 'These twain 'Are speeding to the families of grief, 'Where roof'd in by black rocks they waste, in pain 'And darkness, for no hope.' And she spake on, As ye may read who can unwearied pass Onward from the antechamber of this dream, Where even at the open doors awhile I must delay, and glean my memory Of her high phrase: perhaps no further dare. CANTO II 'Mortal, that thou may'st understand aright, 'I humanize my sayings to thine ear, 'Making comparisons of earthly things; 'Or thou might'st better listen to the wind, 'Whose language is to thee a barren noise, 'Though it blows legend laden through the trees. 'In melancholy realms big tears are shed, 'More sorrow like to this, and such like woe, 'Too huge for mortal tongue, or pen of scribe. 'The Titans fierce, self hid or prison bound, 'Groan for the old allegiance once more, 'Listening in their doom for Saturn's voice. 'But one of our whole eagle brood still keeps 'His sov'reignty, and rule, and majesty; 'Blazing Hyperion on his orbed fire 'Still sits, still snuffs the incense teeming up 'From man to the sun's God: yet unsecure, 'For as upon the earth dire prodigies 'Fright and perplex, so also shudders he: 'Nor at dog's howl or gloom bird's Even screech, 'Or the familiar visitings of one 'Upon the first toll of his passing bell: 'But horrors, portioned to a giant nerve, 'Make great Hyperion ache. His palace bright, 'Bastion'd with pyramids of glowing gold, 'And touch'd with shade of bronzed obelisks, 'Glares a blood red through all the thousand courts, 'Arches, and domes, and fiery galleries: 'And all its curtains of Aurorian clouds 'Flush angerly; when he would taste the wreaths 'Of incense breath'd aloft from sacred hills, 'Instead of sweets his ample palate takes 'Savour of poisonous brass and metals sick. 'Wherefore when harbour'd in the sleepy West, 'After the full completion of fair day, 'For rest divine upon exalted couch 'And slumber in the arms of melody, 'He paces through the pleasant hours of ease 'With strides colossal, on from hall to hall; 'While far within each aisle and deep recess 'His winged minions in close clusters stand 'Amaz'd, and full of fear; like anxious men, 'Who on a wide plain gather in sad troops, 'When earthquakes jar their battlements and towers. 'Even now, while Saturn, roused from icy trance, 'Goes step for step with Thea from yon woods, 'Hyperion, leaving twilight in the rear, 'Is sloping to the threshold of the West. 'Thither we tend.' Now in clear light I stood, Reliev'd from the dusk vale. Mnemosyne Was sitting on a square edg'd polish'd stone, That in its lucid depth reflected pure Her priestess garments. My quick eyes ran on From stately nave to nave, from vault to vault, Through bow'rs of fragrant and enwreathed light And diamond paved lustrous long arcades. Anon rush'd by the bright Hyperion; His flaming robes stream'd out beyond his heels, And gave a roar, as if of earthly fire, That scared away the meek ethereal hours And made their dove wings tremble. On he flared. THE END 1819

like a Silenus on an antique vase - #3726 (810 left) by chair house 240226.mp3like a Silenus on an antique vase★第6号の動画マガジンを創って公開しました。またちょっと遅れて8曲となってしまいましたけど。素敵な出来栄えなら良いのですがいかがでしょうかね。映像は東京や北海道で昔撮影した写真を使って創りました。なんか良い感じだと思います。★第5号の動画マガジンを創って公開..

######## NEW 25th SELECTION ALBUM JUST RELEASED ######## "Blue Reflection" - the 25th selection album of piano ten thousand leaves youtube: FULL VIDEO with 20 full songs in very high quality sounds https://youtu.be/pjLlUyyLn4k?si=S4I-kavN3h-ISxty spotify: https://open.spotify.com/intl-ja/album/7CQvJQSJZdCVD66x8V6O2Y appleMusic: https://music.apple.com/jp/album/blue-reflection/1730008075 amazonMusic: https://www.amazon.co.jp/music/player/albums/B0CVBCB84V?&_encoding=UTF8&tag=tcjaz-22&linkCode=ur2&camp=247&creative=1211 all music streaming services: https://linkco.re/eU6sYdyZ?lang=en spotify playlist 18 hours 449 songs, makes you fully relaxed. https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0RCxA8SaySzoFzpQmTCLfo?si=92c44191513340ff This week's "Piano Music Magazine Video" available here.. https://youtu.be/oKCU7ZPB7WA?si=jx-Kaf8Q8_bsmBjd Happy if you enjoy this.. : ) #3726 (810 left): Feb. 25, 2024: Sweet-Smelling whose pure kinds I could not know (Japanese version)" again from Dec. 2, 2023) Today's pure primal piano music here. Happy if this music makes you feel peaceful.. : ) Looking for absolute natural beauty every day for Piano Ten Thousand Leaves. Target number is 4536 and 3726(82.1%) (Only 810 pieces remain) achieved today. Find my project.. : ) This piece may might have good 1/f fluctuation characteristic although I stopped investigating it each piece. My new message: "Does it make sense to preserve it for 1000 years? Today's cover ART is created by #Midjourney (Art Generating #AI), according to my wish. Happy if you like it. spotify playlist 18 hours 449 songs, makes you fully relaxed. https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0RCxA8SaySzoFzpQmTCLfo?si=92c44191513340ff I'm now making Archive site of Piano Ten Thousand Leaves project by utilizing #wordpress. Basically nice direction I've already gotten.. : ) Currently 1100 pieces already achieved. But this week I need to do something else, so I'm going to stop this task for a bit. ######## NEW 25th SELECTION ALBUM JUST RELEASED ######## "Blue Reflection" - the 25th selection album of piano ten thousand leaves youtube: FULL VIDEO with 20 full songs in very high quality sounds https://youtu.be/pjLlUyyLn4k?si=S4I-kavN3h-ISxty spotify: https://open.spotify.com/intl-ja/album/7CQvJQSJZdCVD66x8V6O2Y appleMusic: https://music.apple.com/jp/album/blue-reflection/1730008075 amazonMusic: https://www.amazon.co.jp/music/player/albums/B0CVBCB84V?&_encoding=UTF8&tag=tcjaz-22&linkCode=ur2&camp=247&creative=1211 all music streaming services: https://linkco.re/eU6sYdyZ?lang=en

Leviticus 17:7 Lev_17:7And they shall no more offer their sacrifices unto devils, after whom they have gone a whoring. This shall be a statute for ever unto them throughout their generations. unto devils: Deu_32:17, 2Ch_11:15, Psa_106:37,Joh_12:31, Joh_14:30, 1Co_10:20, 2Co_4:4, Eph_2:2, Rev_9:20 devils:Seirim, properly signifies hairy or hairy ones; and hence is used not only for he-goats, but also for some fabulous beings or sylvan gods, to whom was ascribed the form of goats. Maimonides says that the Zabian idolaters worshipped demons under the form of goats; and that this custom being spread among other nations, gave occasion to this precept. He-goats, however, are probably intended here, which were objects of divine honour among the Egyptians under the name of honour among the Egyptians under the name of Mendes. Herodotus says that all goats were worshipped in Egypt; but particularly he-goats. From these seem to have sprung Pan, Silenus, and the innumerable herd of those imaginary beings, fauns, satyrs, dryads, etc., all woodland gods, and held in veneration by the Greeks and Romans.

Hon var en internationellt erkänd skulptör, hon var svart och hon var kvinna. Men länge tycktes hon utraderad ur historien. Anna Blennow pusslar ihop några bitar i Edmonia Lewis exceptionella liv. Lyssna på alla avsnitt i Sveriges Radio Play. ESSÄ: Detta är en text där skribenten reflekterar över ett ämne eller ett verk. Åsikter som uttrycks är skribentens egna. Denna essä sändes första gången i oktober 2020.Utanför det som en gång var skulptören Antonio Canovas atelje finns Roms kanske märkligaste fontän. Över ett vattenfyllt kar i granit ligger en naken mansfigur utsträckt. Hans kropp är skulpterad i en vittrad, brungrå vulkanisk stenart, medan huvudet – en sorglöst flinande gubbe – är marmorvitt. Figuren föreställer den ständigt vinberusade halvguden Silenus. Hans mörka stenkropp – en återbrukad antik skulptur – skulle föra tankarna till den vilda och ociviliserade naturen.Kring år 1800 var Canova en av de främsta representanterna för nyklassicismens tolkning av antikens skulpturkonst, och han porträtterade samtidens kändisar alltifrån påven till Napoleon i bländvit marmor. Men vad man ännu inte visste var att antiken var allt annat än färglös. Grekiska och romerska skulpturer var ursprungligen bemålade i starka färger, men när de återfanns framgrävda ur marken från renässansen och framåt hade färgen flagnat, och eventuella rester tvättades bort. Antiken blev vit, och de bleka skulpturerna laddades med föreställningar om ett idealiserat förgånget.Under andra hälften av 1800-talet arbetade Roms stora koloni av konstnärer fortfarande i samma stil. Av dem var många amerikaner. Så många att amerikanska tidningar regelbundet rapporterade om deras verksamhet. I februari 1867 skriver The Evening Telegraphs utsände: ”I Canovas gamla studio fann jag miss Edmonia Lewis, som, förmodar jag, är den enda färgade skulptrisen i världen – en dam på kanske 23 år, med afrikanskt och indianskt blod i sina ådror. Hon kom till Rom för lite mer än ett år sedan som en främling okunnig i italienska. Men hon hade redan bestämt sig för vad hon skulle ägna sig åt…”Historien om Edmonia Lewis innehåller så många exceptionella detaljer att de spränger ramarna för vilken berättelse som helst. Ändå är stora delar av hennes liv fortfarande okända. Trots att Lewis levde i Rom i nästan trettio år tycks hon utraderad ur stadens minne, och trots att hon blev en av sin tids mest framgångsrika konstnärer var hon länge osynlig också i konsthistorien.Hon föddes i New York omkring år 1844, barn till en ursprungsamerikansk mor och en afrikanskättad far. Tidigt blev hon föräldralös och växte upp hos sin mors släkt i Ojibwe-stammen. Om den tiden skulle hon senare säga: ”Det finns ingenting så vackert som den vilda skogen. Att fånga en fisk, steka den över elden och äta den i det fria, är den största av alla njutningar. Jag skulle inte stå ut en vecka i stan, om det inte vore för att jag älskar konsten.”Men vägen från den fria skogen till den fria konsten var lång. Lewis halvbror, som hade tjänat lite pengar på att arbeta som barberare, bekostade hennes utbildning vid Oberlin College i Ohio, det första amerikanska lärosäte som välkomnade icke-vita. Ändå utsattes hon för rasistiska angrepp där, och efter att ha gått i lära hos en skulptör arbetade hon målmedvetet för att ge sig av utomlands. För det enda hon ville var att verka som konstnär utan att ständigt bli påmind om sin hudfärg, och det var inte möjligt i Amerika. Hon specialiserade sig på porträttbyster av kända slaverimotståndare, som sålde så bra att hon hade råd att resa till Europa, till Rom.Via kontakter etablerade sig Lewis snabbt i Roms konstnärsvärld, och följde självsäkert sin egen väg. Hon gjorde inte, som andra skulptörer, förlagor i lera för att sedan låta lokala stenhuggare arbeta fram dem i monumentalt format i marmor. Hela den tunga processen utförde hon själv. Hon brydde sig inte om att invänta beställningar på kostsamma större skulpturer, utan skapade de verk hon ville, och lyckades oftast hitta köpare till dem.Och i Rom förde hon en ständig frihetskamp i sin konst. ”Forever Free” visar ett afrikanamerikanskt par som lägger av slaveriets bojor. Skulpturgruppen ”Hiawathas bröllop” inspirerades av poeten Henry Wadsworth Longfellows dikt Hiawatha's Song, som byggde på ursprungsamerikanska myter. Lewis popularitet bara ökade, och hon reste ofta tillbaka till Amerika för att visa sina verk. Störst uppseende väckte en skulptur av Kleopatras självmord på världsutställningen i Philadelphia år 1876. Drottningens dödsögonblick framställdes av Lewis som en seger: Kleopatra kunde inte underkuvas av den romerska övermakten.Mot slutet av 1800-talet tappade nyklassicismen i popularitet, och konstens huvudstad flyttade från Rom till Paris. Lewis stjärnstatus dalade, och hon hamnade till slut i London, där hennes vidare öden är okända. Länge visste man inte ens var hon låg begravd, men för bara några år sedan lokaliserades hennes omärkta grav på en Londonkyrkogård. Där ligger nu en blank, svart sten med inskrift i guldbokstäver: ”Edmonia Lewis, skulptör”.Men under de senaste decennierna har man börjat rekonstruera Edmonia Lewis historia, som precis som många av hennes verk skingrats och gått förlorad under 1900-talet. Kleopatraskulpturen, som förblev osåld, hamnade till exempel som gravmonument över en kapplöpningshäst i en förort till Chicago, köptes senare av en lokal tandläkare, och förpassades sedan till ett förråd där en konsthistoriker fann den i slutet av 1980-talet. Idag finns den i Smithsonian American Art Museum.Få fotografier av Lewis är bevarade. Bara ett av dem kommer från hennes tid i Rom. Hon poserar klädd i en kritvit klänning med spetsar och volanger i lager på lager. Och historien om henne är ett lapptäcke av färg och vithet, historia och ideal, hud och kropp. Författaren Henry James raljerade över hur hennes hudfärg, som ”pittoreskt kontrasterade mot hennes material”, var den främsta orsaken till hennes berömmelse, svart mitt i den ”marmorvita flocken” av kvinnliga konstnärer i Rom. Men själv sade hon: ”Vissa berömmer mig för att jag är färgad, och den sortens beröm vill jag inte ha. Anmärk hellre på mina brister, för det kommer att lära mig något.”Lewis positionerade sig med självklarhet mitt i den västerländska, vita kulturhistoria vars centrum vid den tiden fortfarande var Rom. Hon signerade sina verk på latin: Edmonia Lewis fecit Roma. Hennes skulpturer av icke-vita individer avbildade i vit marmor tog plats i samtidskonsten utan den tidstypiska exotisering och sexualisering av det främmande som till exempel kom till uttryck i idén om den ädle vilden. Men varken Lewis eller hennes samtida visste att den värdighet som det marmorvita skulle låna sina bärare byggde på en felaktig premiss om den vita antiken.Och antikens skulptur var inte bara bemålad. Precis som i skulpturen av Silenus använde man färgad sten för att signalera det främmande hos såväl ociviliserade naturgudar som de avlägsna folkslag man införlivat i sitt rike. Också stensorterna kom från områden i romarrikets utkanter: grön marmor och röd porfyr från Egypten; rödspräcklig och svart marmor från Turkiet. Den färgade stenen blev både exotisk markör och maktdemonstration från väldet som sträckte sig över hela den kända världen. Kontrasten kunde inte vara större mot den frihet som genomsyrade Edmonia Lewis liv och verk.Anna Blennow, latinforskare och poetLitteraturEdmonia Lewis – internationally renowned sculptor, Charlotte Etinde-Crompton & Samuel Willard Crompton, 2020.The Lure of Italy. American Artists and the Italian Experience, 1760–1914, ed. Theodore Stebbins, Jr, Museum of Fine Arts, Boston, 1992.Barbro Santillo Frizell, ”Antikens marmorstatyer en vit lögn”, Svenska Dagbladet 2009-02-11Sarah E. Bond & Sean P. Burrus, ”Barbarians and Sculpture's Color Barrier in Ancient Rome”, Hyperallergic 2018-05-31Heidi Morse, ”Roman Studios. The Black Woman Artist in the Eternal City, from Edmonia Lewis to Carrie Mae Weems”, i Classicisms in the Black Atlantic, eds. Ian Moyer, Adam Lecznar & Heidi Morse, 2020.

The story of Midas, and how everything he touched turned to gold, is perhaps the most famous golden myth of all. His touch led to one of the most successful, long-lasting and under-rated technologies in history: coinage.Midas was King of Phrygia (now part of Turkey) and Dionysus - more commonly known as Bacchus - the god of wine, parties and pleasure - was passing through with his entourage, revelling as they went. Waking up one morning after a heavy night, Dionysus discovered that his tutor, Silenus, was missing. Silenus was a satyr, half man half goat. He had been drinking and he'd wandered off and fallen asleep in a rose garden, a garden that belonged to King Midas. Midas enjoyed spending time there with his daughter, who he loved more than anyone else in the world.Midas found Silenus lying on the ground and took him in, no doubt nursing a hangover. Silenus stayed with Midas for over a week, delighting him with songs and stories, enjoying his wine, food and hospitality. On the eleventh day, Midas took Silenus back to Dionysus, who was so delighted to see his old mentor safe and well, he offered Midas whatever reward he wished for. Midas thought hard and then asked that everything he touched should turn to gold. Dionysus urged the king to reconsider, but Midas was sure and so Dionysus granted his wish.Initially, Midas was delighted. He turned a twig, then a stone to gold. When he got home, he touched every rose in his garden, and they all turned to gold. Delighted, he ordered his servants to make him a feast, but, when his food and drink turned to gold, it dawned on him that perhaps his gift was a bane.His daughter came to him, crying that their roses had lost their smell. Midas hugged her and she too turned to gold. What had been his beloved daughter was now a statue, albeit a golden one. Despairing, he prayed to Dionysus to deliver him from his curse. “Go and wash your hands in the River Pactolus,” Dionysus told him.Midas did so. Dionysus's cure worked. Midas' power flowed into the water and the sands of the river turned to gold. Whatever he put in the water, his daughter included, was turned back into what it had been before Midas touched it. So does that part of Midas' story end.The obvious moral to the tale is of the tendency of lust for wealth to overpower good sense, to make us lose sight of what we love. But there is another tale that Midas left there in the sands of the River Pactolus.  The Western World's First CoinsAt its height, the Lydian empire stretched across all western Asia Minor, and the Pactolus flowed right through the middle. The Lydians were, around 700BC, says the Greek historian Herodotus, “the first of all those we know to introduce the use of gold and silver coins and the first to deal in retail trade."The Chinese might have something to say about that. Their bronze spade money and knife money dates back to the 16th century BC and the late Shang Dynasty. The money gets its name from its shape, which resembles a spade or hoe, with a pointed end, a flat or round base, and a central hole for stringing them together. But it wasn't round, so technically I suppose it isn't coinage as we know it.Given that we still use coins today, coinage has proved a remarkably successful technology. Indeed the Chinese ‘yuan' and Japanese ‘yen' both mean ‘round shape' – referring, of course, to the shapes of coins. “History became legend, legend became myth,” wrote Peter Jackson in his screenplay for The Fellowship Of The Ring and here is a case in point. Midas did actually exist. Most Greek mythological figures did before they became legend. Something similar happens now. The sports stars of today will become the gods, heroes and legends of tomorrow, just as those of our childhood now enjoy such status. One of Midas' descendents was the Lydian King Alyattes I, the first western king to mint coins. He minted his coins from the alluvial electrum (a gold-silver alloy) found in the beds of the Pactolus, the gold left there by Midas. These coins, the western world's first coins, formed the base of the Lydian empire.Alyattes' innovative son, Croesus, had the electrum coins of his father melted down to separate the gold from the silver, and then re-minted. On one side of his new coins was the image of a lion and a bull, on the other were punch marks to show their value. (Faces did not appear on coins till later). Effectively, Croesus launched not only the first imperial currency in the history of the world, but the bi-metallic standard.His coins were not only accepted, but demanded throughout Asia Minor, Greece and beyond. This universal acceptance played a key role in developing Lydia's prosperity. With his coins circulating so widely and effectively, Croesus' reputation as an extremely rich man was secured for all time. Not only was he as rich as Croesus, he had, it seems, the Midas Touch. That touch lasted. His basic denomination was subdivided into smaller denominations of thirds, sixths and twelfths and these reforms evolved into the 24 carats and ounces we use today. Coin values reflected the actual value of the metal content. Within 100 years coinage had spread to Persia in the east, across Asia Minor and Greece and at least as far as Sicily in the west. Roman and Celtic coins would later follow the same principles.Coins provided both geographical and social mobility. People could move around and carry value with them. Trade spread with a newfound ease, and the development of civilization could and did accelerate. My show on gold at the Edinburgh Fringe this August will take place at Panmure House, in the room in which  Adam Smith wrote Wealth of Nations. You can get tickets here.And if you are interested in buying gold, my recommended bullion dealer is The Pure Gold Company, whether you are taking delivery or storing online. Premiums are low, quality of service is high. They deliver to the UK, US, Canada and Europe, or you can store your gold with them. More here. This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit www.theflyingfrisby.com/subscribe

The story of Midas, and how everything he touched turned to gold, is perhaps the most famous golden myth of all. His touch led to one of the most successful, long-lasting and under-rated technologies in history: coinage.Midas was King of Phrygia (now part of Turkey) and Dionysus - more commonly known as Bacchus - the god of wine, parties and pleasure - was passing through with his entourage, revelling as they went. Waking up one morning after a heavy night, Dionysus discovered that his tutor, Silenus, was missing. Silenus was a satyr, half man half goat. He had been drinking and he'd wandered off and fallen asleep in a rose garden, a garden that belonged to King Midas. Midas enjoyed spending time there with his daughter, who he loved more than anyone else in the world.Midas found Silenus lying on the ground and took him in, no doubt nursing a hangover. Silenus stayed with Midas for over a week, delighting him with songs and stories, enjoying his wine, food and hospitality. On the eleventh day, Midas took Silenus back to Dionysus, who was so delighted to see his old mentor safe and well, he offered Midas whatever reward he wished for. Midas thought hard and then asked that everything he touched should turn to gold. Dionysus urged the king to reconsider, but Midas was sure and so Dionysus granted his wish.Initially, Midas was delighted. He turned a twig, then a stone to gold. When he got home, he touched every rose in his garden, and they all turned to gold. Delighted, he ordered his servants to make him a feast, but, when his food and drink turned to gold, it dawned on him that perhaps his gift was a bane.His daughter came to him, crying that their roses had lost their smell. Midas hugged her and she too turned to gold. What had been his beloved daughter was now a statue, albeit a golden one. Despairing, he prayed to Dionysus to deliver him from his curse. “Go and wash your hands in the River Pactolus,” Dionysus told him.Midas did so. Dionysus's cure worked. Midas' power flowed into the water and the sands of the river turned to gold. Whatever he put in the water, his daughter included, was turned back into what it had been before Midas touched it. So does that part of Midas' story end.The obvious moral to the tale is of the tendency of lust for wealth to overpower good sense, to make us lose sight of what we love. But there is another tale that Midas left there in the sands of the River Pactolus.  The Western World's First CoinsAt its height, the Lydian empire stretched across all western Asia Minor, and the Pactolus flowed right through the middle. The Lydians were, around 700BC, says the Greek historian Herodotus, “the first of all those we know to introduce the use of gold and silver coins and the first to deal in retail trade."The Chinese might have something to say about that. Their bronze spade money and knife money dates back to the 16th century BC and the late Shang Dynasty. The money gets its name from its shape, which resembles a spade or hoe, with a pointed end, a flat or round base, and a central hole for stringing them together. But it wasn't round, so technically I suppose it isn't coinage as we know it.Given that we still use coins today, coinage has proved a remarkably successful technology. Indeed the Chinese ‘yuan' and Japanese ‘yen' both mean ‘round shape' – referring, of course, to the shapes of coins. “History became legend, legend became myth,” wrote Peter Jackson in his screenplay for The Fellowship Of The Ring and here is a case in point. Midas did actually exist. Most Greek mythological figures did before they became legend. Something similar happens now. The sports stars of today will become the gods, heroes and legends of tomorrow, just as those of our childhood now enjoy such status. One of Midas' descendents was the Lydian King Alyattes I, the first western king to mint coins. He minted his coins from the alluvial electrum (a gold-silver alloy) found in the beds of the Pactolus, the gold left there by Midas. These coins, the western world's first coins, formed the base of the Lydian empire.Alyattes' innovative son, Croesus, had the electrum coins of his father melted down to separate the gold from the silver, and then re-minted. On one side of his new coins was the image of a lion and a bull, on the other were punch marks to show their value. (Faces did not appear on coins till later). Effectively, Croesus launched not only the first imperial currency in the history of the world, but the bi-metallic standard.His coins were not only accepted, but demanded throughout Asia Minor, Greece and beyond. This universal acceptance played a key role in developing Lydia's prosperity. With his coins circulating so widely and effectively, Croesus' reputation as an extremely rich man was secured for all time. Not only was he as rich as Croesus, he had, it seems, the Midas Touch. That touch lasted. His basic denomination was subdivided into smaller denominations of thirds, sixths and twelfths and these reforms evolved into the 24 carats and ounces we use today. Coin values reflected the actual value of the metal content. Within 100 years coinage had spread to Persia in the east, across Asia Minor and Greece and at least as far as Sicily in the west. Roman and Celtic coins would later follow the same principles.Coins provided both geographical and social mobility. People could move around and carry value with them. Trade spread with a newfound ease, and the development of civilization could and did accelerate. My show on gold at the Edinburgh Fringe this August will take place at Panmure House, in the room in which  Adam Smith wrote Wealth of Nations. You can get tickets here.And if you are interested in buying gold, my recommended bullion dealer is The Pure Gold Company, whether you are taking delivery or storing online. Premiums are low, quality of service is high. They deliver to the UK, US, Canada and Europe, or you can store your gold with them. More here. This is a public episode. If you'd like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit www.theflyingfrisby.com/subscribe

In the Birth of Tragedy, Nietzsche portrays art as a response to the horrors of existence. In this episode, we discuss his place in German 18th and 19th century philosophy, the distinctions he draws between the Apollonian and the Dionysiac drives, the wisdom of Silenus, and Nietzsche's claim that Socrates and Euripides destroyed tragedy.

Raymond de Oliveira joins Brendan to discuss the value in the Universe, whether it emerges from the logic of reality itself or is arbitrarily chosen, whether existence is inherently of value, nihilism and Buddhism, the QRI grand narrative of replicators vs. consciousness, the role of suffering in wisdom, and the "Three Realms" of conscious experience. 0:00 Introduction 1:43 From Is to Ought? 9:17 Is Life a Net Negative? Utilitarianism, Gnosticism, Transhumanism 22:30 Dual-Aspect Monism and Suffering 25:52 Is Consciousness Worth It? 31:00 Teleology and Agency 32:58 Fighting a Meme War against Potential Gods 36:50 Values and Vows 40:03 The Law of Choice 42:36 Is Wisdom Earned by Suffering? Nihilism and the Truth of Silenus?

What's courage? Are there different kinds of courage? Why is courage important? Let's see what Plato and Paul Tillich think! 

In today's episode we look at the origins of King Midas and his golden touch. ► Want more? » ALL Mythology Explained: https://bit.ly/MythologyExplained » ALL Messed Up Origins: https://bit.ly/MessedUpOrgins » Astrology Explained: http://bit.ly/AstrologyExplained » Disney Explained: https://bit.ly/DisneyExplained » Norse Mythology: http://bit.ly/NorseMythologyExplained » Folklore Explained: https://bit.ly/FablesExplained » Messed Up Murders: https://bit.ly/MurderPlaylist ▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬ ► Social Media: » Twitter: https://twitter.com/JonSolo » Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/JonSolo » Facebook Fan Page: https://facebook.com/TheRealJonSolo » Official Subreddit: https://www.reddit.com/r/jonsolo ► Join the Official Channel Discord: » https://www.patreon.com/JonSolo ► Send Fan Mail to: » SoloFamMail@gmail.com ► Business: » jonsolo@messeduporigins.com (Business Inquiries ONLY) ▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬ ▼ Credits ▼ » Written by Jon Solo » Researched by Jon Solo and Meredith Walker ▼ Resources ▼ » my favorites: https://messeduporigins.com/books » Midas Overview: https://www.theoi.com/Heros/Midas.html » Poetic Translation of Metamorphoses Book 11: http://classics.mit.edu/Ovid/metam.11... » King Midas and Marigold: https://www.theoi.com/articles/import... » Silenus: https://www.greekmythology.com/Myths/...

Keçi ayaklı, keçi kulaklı, minik boynuzlu, yaramaz sapıklar hakkındaki hikayemiz devam ediyor dostlarım! Yaşlı Silenus hakkında bilinenler. Sosyal Ağ Adreslerimiz: İnternet sitesi► www.mitolojikhikayelerim.com Youtube► mitolojik hikayeler ata ışınay Mail (contact)► Mitolojik_Hikayeler@outlook.com Instagram► https://www.instagram.com/mitolojik.hikayeler https://www.instagram.com/astro_tarology https://www.instagram.com/skalerart --- Send in a voice message: https://podcasters.spotify.com/pod/show/mitolojik-hikayeler00/message

We talk Fools Game (new EP!), Last Man Out (new songs!), a forthcoming Fools Game/Risk split, Street Fight Records, Hartmann's moshing, Anti-racist Skinheads/Skinhead culture, Submerge, Silenus, Conduit, Last Wishes, Simulakra, Shackled, Buried Dreams, Off the Tracks, Reaching Out, Hardknock Records, the Bad Idea Collective, NYC Shootout, Stabbed, Jab, and close the show w “Deceivers” by Killing Me.

In Greek mythology, Silenus is the adoptive father of Dionysus – the god of wine. And despite having a taste for the drink himself, Silenus's mind is keen and cunning. Which makes it all the harder for King Midas to use him as a pawn in his schemes.  Learn more about your ad choices. Visit podcastchoices.com/adchoices

Nuestros amigos de Silenus nos comparten como empezaron en el culto de la cerveza artesanal en Tijuana así como su consolidación como una de las cervezas artesanales más reconocidas en la República Mexicana.

I Don't Wanna Hear It Podcast150 – Deep Dives For Dummies: SamiamThis week we're positively busting to talk about one of our favorite bands of all time: Samiam. This is one of the only episodes where there will be no screams of frustration or invocations of hate. We love this band and if you aren't stupid, you will too.Check out more of our stuff at I Don't Wanna Hear It and join the Patreon, jabroni. I mean, if you want. Don't be weird about it. Oh, and we publish books now at WND Press because we want to be bankrupted by a dying medium.Episode Playlist:Samiam and FriendsEpisode Links:Pass AwaySilenusSamiamSamiam on the Jon Stewart Show"Capsized" music video"She Found You" music video"Storm Clouds" music videoSome of our old bands are on Spotify:Absent FriendsWe're Not DeadYears From NowMusical Attribution: Licensed through NEOSounds. License information available upon request.“5 O'Clock Shadow,” “America On the Move,” “Baby You Miss Me,” “Big Fat Gypsy,” “Bubble Up,” “C'est Chaud,” “East River Blues,” “The Gold Rush,” “Gypsy Fiddle Jazz,” “Here Comes That Jazz,” “I Wish I Could Charleston,” “I Told You,” “It Feels Like Love To Me,” “Little Tramp,” “Mornington Crescent,” “No Takeaways.”

Caminhando por seu domínio, Midas encontrou Silenus dormindo bêbado, levou-o para seu palácio e cuidou dele, quando Silenus disse a seu filho Dionísio o quão bem Midas o tratou Dionísio como agradecimento concedeu-lhe um desejo

Midas found Silenus sleeping drunk, he took care of him in his palace, when Silenus recovered he told his son Dionysus how well Midas treated him, then Dionysus offered the king a gift, whatever he wanted

IN THIS REPEAT: The third episode in the six-part series on The Faun's Bookshelf. Part FOUR releases 10/4/21. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ This is the third show in a mini-series of podcast interviews on The Faun's Bookshelf. The previous show went into detail about chapters one to three of the book. This episode goes in-depth into chapters four to six (the second part of The Faun's Bookshelf, entitled "Narnian Reality, Terran Myth.") As before, Dr. Charlie Starr, the author of the book is back to talk with Dr. Sarah Waters and William O'Flaherty. Be prepared to learn about The Life and Letters of Silenus, why fauns are men and nymphs are women (and what that means), as well as "Why Sylvan Myths Matter." ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Listen to Episode 2 of Faun's Mini-series Listen to Episode 1 of Faun's Mini-series Learn about the March 2022 Event at Presbyterian Heritage Center Purchase The Faun's Bookshelf Listen to Single Episode on The Faun's Bookshelf Listen to other shows with Dr. Charlie Starr  Hear other podcasts with Dr. Sarah Waters Other Useful Links: Knowing and Understanding C.S. Lewis YouTube CHANNEL  Listen to All About Jack on iTunes Purchase C.S. Lewis Goes to Hell Visit ScrewtapeCompanion.com Visit EssentialCSLewis.com Purchase The Misquotable C.S. Lewis  

Long Islands' most sinister Metallic Hardcore act Silenus talk with us about blood, sweat, fear, horror and haunted dulcimers. Brothers Joshua and Benjamin discuss their origins and inspirations as well as Electronic music, Coldplay, tours, trains and beyblades.

This is the third show in a mini-series of podcast interviews on The Faun's Bookshelf. The previous show went into detail about chapters one to three of the book. This episode goes in-depth into chapters four to six (the second part of The Faun's Bookshelf, entitled "Narnian Reality, Terran Myth.") As before, Dr. Charlie Starr, the author of the book is back to talk with Dr. Sarah Waters and William O'Flaherty. Be prepared to learn about The Life and Letters of Silenus, why fauns are men and nymphs are women (and what that means), as well as "Why Sylvan Myths Matter." ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Listen to Episode 2 of Faun's Mini-series Listen to Episode 1 of Faun's Mini-series Learn about the March 2022 Event at Presbyterian Heritage Center Purchase The Faun's Bookshelf Listen to Single Episode on The Faun's Bookshelf Listen to other shows with Dr. Charlie Starr  Hear other podcasts with Dr. Sarah Waters Other Useful Links: Knowing and Understanding C.S. Lewis YouTube CHANNEL  Listen to All About Jack on iTunes Purchase C.S. Lewis Goes to Hell Visit ScrewtapeCompanion.com Visit EssentialCSLewis.com Purchase The Misquotable C.S. Lewis  

THE GARDEN IS BURNING.  Join us this week as we sit down with John and Ben from the Long Island, NY band Silenus.  We discuss their influences, trends in music, and take a left turn into horror movies.  Keep an eye on these guys, they're going to be HUGE! Silenus Bandcamp Instagram:  https://www.instagram.com/nubreed_podcast/ Email:  Nubreedpodcast@gmail.com Twitter:  https://twitter.com/nubreed_podcast Facebook Group:  https://www.facebook.com/groups/nubreedpodcast/ Tim Twitter:  https://twitter.com/timLSD Jay Twitter:  https://twitter.com/horsecow YouTube Channel: https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCrlK456FML4jtXN1YF7fxHg

Hon var en internationellt erkänd skulptör, hon var svart och hon var kvinna. Men länge tycktes hon utraderad ur historien. Anna Blennow pusslar ihop några bitar i Edmonia Lewis exceptionella liv. ESSÄ: Detta är en text där skribenten reflekterar över ett ämne eller ett verk. Åsikter som uttrycks är skribentens egna. Denna essä sändes första gången i oktober 2020. Utanför det som en gång var skulptören Antonio Canovas atelje finns Roms kanske märkligaste fontän. Över ett vattenfyllt kar i granit ligger en naken mansfigur utsträckt. Hans kropp är skulpterad i en vittrad, brungrå vulkanisk stenart, medan huvudet en sorglöst flinande gubbe är marmorvitt. Figuren föreställer den ständigt vinberusade halvguden Silenus. Hans mörka stenkropp en återbrukad antik skulptur skulle föra tankarna till den vilda och ociviliserade naturen. Kring år 1800 var Canova en av de främsta representanterna för nyklassicismens tolkning av antikens skulpturkonst, och han porträtterade samtidens kändisar alltifrån påven till Napoleon i bländvit marmor. Men vad man ännu inte visste var att antiken var allt annat än färglös. Grekiska och romerska skulpturer var ursprungligen bemålade i starka färger, men när de återfanns framgrävda ur marken från renässansen och framåt hade färgen flagnat, och eventuella rester tvättades bort. Antiken blev vit, och de bleka skulpturerna laddades med föreställningar om ett idealiserat förgånget. Under andra hälften av 1800-talet arbetade Roms stora koloni av konstnärer fortfarande i samma stil. Av dem var många amerikaner. Så många att amerikanska tidningar regelbundet rapporterade om deras verksamhet. I februari 1867 skriver The Evening Telegraphs utsände: I Canovas gamla studio fann jag miss Edmonia Lewis, som, förmodar jag, är den enda färgade skulptrisen i världen en dam på kanske 23 år, med afrikanskt och indianskt blod i sina ådror. Hon kom till Rom för lite mer än ett år sedan som en främling okunnig i italienska. Men hon hade redan bestämt sig för vad hon skulle ägna sig åt Historien om Edmonia Lewis innehåller så många exceptionella detaljer att de spränger ramarna för vilken berättelse som helst. Ändå är stora delar av hennes liv fortfarande okända. Trots att Lewis levde i Rom i nästan trettio år tycks hon utraderad ur stadens minne, och trots att hon blev en av sin tids mest framgångsrika konstnärer var hon länge osynlig också i konsthistorien. Hon föddes i New York omkring år 1844, barn till en ursprungsamerikansk mor och en afrikanskättad far. Tidigt blev hon föräldralös och växte upp hos sin mors släkt i Ojibwe-stammen. Om den tiden skulle hon senare säga: Det finns ingenting så vackert som den vilda skogen. Att fånga en fisk, steka den över elden och äta den i det fria, är den största av alla njutningar. Jag skulle inte stå ut en vecka i stan, om det inte vore för att jag älskar konsten. Men vägen från den fria skogen till den fria konsten var lång. Lewis halvbror, som hade tjänat lite pengar på att arbeta som barberare, bekostade hennes utbildning vid Oberlin College i Ohio, det första amerikanska lärosäte som välkomnade icke-vita. Ändå utsattes hon för rasistiska angrepp där, och efter att ha gått i lära hos en skulptör arbetade hon målmedvetet för att ge sig av utomlands. För det enda hon ville var att verka som konstnär utan att ständigt bli påmind om sin hudfärg, och det var inte möjligt i Amerika. Hon specialiserade sig på porträttbyster av kända slaverimotståndare, som sålde så bra att hon hade råd att resa till Europa, till Rom. Via kontakter etablerade sig Lewis snabbt i Roms konstnärsvärld, och följde självsäkert sin egen väg. Hon gjorde inte, som andra skulptörer, förlagor i lera för att sedan låta lokala stenhuggare arbeta fram dem i monumentalt format i marmor. Hela den tunga processen utförde hon själv. Hon brydde sig inte om att invänta beställningar på kostsamma större skulpturer, utan skapade de verk hon ville, och lyckades oftast hitta köpare till dem. Och i Rom förde hon en ständig frihetskamp i sin konst. Forever Free visar ett afrikanamerikanskt par som lägger av slaveriets bojor. Skulpturgruppen Hiawathas bröllop inspirerades av poeten Henry Wadsworth Longfellows dikt Hiawathas Song, som byggde på ursprungsamerikanska myter. Lewis popularitet bara ökade, och hon reste ofta tillbaka till Amerika för att visa sina verk. Störst uppseende väckte en skulptur av Kleopatras självmord på världsutställningen i Philadelphia år 1876. Drottningens dödsögonblick framställdes av Lewis som en seger: Kleopatra kunde inte underkuvas av den romerska övermakten. Mot slutet av 1800-talet tappade nyklassicismen i popularitet, och konstens huvudstad flyttade från Rom till Paris. Lewis stjärnstatus dalade, och hon hamnade till slut i London, där hennes vidare öden är okända. Länge visste man inte ens var hon låg begravd, men för bara några år sedan lokaliserades hennes omärkta grav på en Londonkyrkogård. Där ligger nu en blank, svart sten med inskrift i guldbokstäver: Edmonia Lewis, skulptör. Men under de senaste decennierna har man börjat rekonstruera Edmonia Lewis historia, som precis som många av hennes verk skingrats och gått förlorad under 1900-talet. Kleopatraskulpturen, som förblev osåld, hamnade till exempel som gravmonument över en kapplöpningshäst i en förort till Chicago, köptes senare av en lokal tandläkare, och förpassades sedan till ett förråd där en konsthistoriker fann den i slutet av 1980-talet. Idag finns den i Smithsonian American Art Museum. Få fotografier av Lewis är bevarade. Bara ett av dem kommer från hennes tid i Rom. Hon poserar klädd i en kritvit klänning med spetsar och volanger i lager på lager. Och historien om henne är ett lapptäcke av färg och vithet, historia och ideal, hud och kropp. Författaren Henry James raljerade över hur hennes hudfärg, som pittoreskt kontrasterade mot hennes material, var den främsta orsaken till hennes berömmelse, svart mitt i den marmorvita flocken av kvinnliga konstnärer i Rom. Men själv sade hon: Vissa berömmer mig för att jag är färgad, och den sortens beröm vill jag inte ha. Anmärk hellre på mina brister, för det kommer att lära mig något. Lewis positionerade sig med självklarhet mitt i den västerländska, vita kulturhistoria vars centrum vid den tiden fortfarande var Rom. Hon signerade sina verk på latin: Edmonia Lewis fecit Roma. Hennes skulpturer av icke-vita individer avbildade i vit marmor tog plats i samtidskonsten utan den tidstypiska exotisering och sexualisering av det främmande som till exempel kom till uttryck i idén om den ädle vilden. Men varken Lewis eller hennes samtida visste att den värdighet som det marmorvita skulle låna sina bärare byggde på en felaktig premiss om den vita antiken. Och antikens skulptur var inte bara bemålad. Precis som i skulpturen av Silenus använde man färgad sten för att signalera det främmande hos såväl ociviliserade naturgudar som de avlägsna folkslag man införlivat i sitt rike. Också stensorterna kom från områden i romarrikets utkanter: grön marmor och röd porfyr från Egypten; rödspräcklig och svart marmor från Turkiet. Den färgade stenen blev både exotisk markör och maktdemonstration från väldet som sträckte sig över hela den kända världen. Kontrasten kunde inte vara större mot den frihet som genomsyrade Edmonia Lewis liv och verk. Anna Blennow, latinforskare och poet Litteratur Edmonia Lewis  internationally renowned sculptor, Charlotte Etinde-Crompton & Samuel Willard Crompton, 2020. The Lure of Italy. American Artists and the Italian Experience, 17601914, ed. Theodore Stebbins, Jr, Museum of Fine Arts, Boston, 1992. Barbro Santillo Frizell, Antikens marmorstatyer en vit lögn, Svenska Dagbladet 2009-02-11 Sarah E. Bond & Sean P. Burrus, Barbarians and Sculptures Color Barrier in Ancient Rome, Hyperallergic 2018-05-31 Heidi Morse, Roman Studios. The Black Woman Artist in the Eternal City, from Edmonia Lewis to Carrie Mae Weems, i Classicisms in the Black Atlantic, eds. Ian Moyer, Adam Lecznar & Heidi Morse, 2020.

This episode we sit down with Lola and Silenus stardust from the Children of the Crossroads Coven ATC, and Hosts of Witches and Wine on Youtube. This episode turns into a hang out session where we have a blast and enjoy conversation...and Lady Bookdragon is VALIDATED!

King Midas, wandering one day in his garden, comes across the wise satyr Silenus who was rather the worse for wear after a night's drinking. Midas is feeling generous and gives the satyr food and drink to restore his spirits and is in return granted a wish from Dionysus. WHAT WOULD YOU WISH FOR IF YOU COULD HAVE ANYTHING IN THE WORLD? The king, already famous for his wealth, chose to be given the magical ability to turn any object he touched into solid gold. Can you imagine that scenes from this story can be seen on Greek pots of clay made the whole way back in 560 BCE! That means it is 560 years before Jesus was said to be born.AMAZING!Please Subscribe, rate and review!Bonus Material available weekly on Patreon! https://www.patreon.com/landofnodlearning?fan_landing=trueJoin us on Instagram!https://www.instagram.com/landofnodlearningJoin our Facebook page!https://www.facebook.com/landofnodlearningListen on Apple podcastshttps://podcasts.apple.com/ie/podcast/land-of-nod-kids-stories/id1539956312Listen on Spotify https://open.spotify.com/show/69uOzUlxEwNaoCnkMV92OUListen on Castboxhttps://castbox.fm/channel/Land-of-Nod-%7C-Kid's-stories-id3807844?country=ieSupport the show (https://www.patreon.com/landofnodlearning?fan_landing=true) See acast.com/privacy for privacy and opt-out information.

On today's Apple Seed Extra, enjoy “The Golden Touch” by Heather Forest. In today's full episode of The Apple Seed, we talked about how the King Midas story told by Big Joe in the episode was a little different from the original Greek tale. Heather's version -- today's Apple Seed Extra --  is a bit more faithful to the 8 AD text—Dionysus is the wish granter, Silenus the Satyr is the creature Midas cares for, and Midas cleanses himself in the river Pactolus. That said, Nathanial Hawthorne's addition, where Midas turns his daughter to gold, still makes an appearance. It's kind of fun to see the difference between Big Joe's piece and Heather's.

11 The Dreaming Silenus, c. 1610-12 SASHA SUDA: In The Dreaming Silenus, we encounter this god who reports to Bacchus - himself the chief partier - drunken after a long night of revelry. Behind Silenus himself, we see two satyrs, both of whom are still indulging, and in the center right of the painting, we have a quite incredible still life. That includes contemporary glassware, tableware and other objects that would have been collected extensively in 17th century Antwerp. NARRATOR: The beautiful panther beside Silenus was probably painted in by Rubens's friend Frans Snyders, who specialized in animals. He and Rubens could have seen real exotic animals in the royal collection in Brussels, as well as in prints and books. SASHA SUDA: One can't help but think that he could pounce at any moment, and all of these very fragile objects on the table could be destroyed. It's a painting that reminds us that happiness, indulgence, calm, can be momentary. But it also celebrates the everyday life and indulgences of those people who would commission such a painting.

The Early Rubens audio guide was produced by the Fine Arts Museums of San Francisco, Legion of Honour and includes interviews with the following people: Sasha Suda, curator of Early Rubens, formerly Curator of European Art, AGO and now Director and CEO, The National Gallery of Canada. Kirk Nickel, curator of Early Rubens, formerly Assistant Curator of European Painting, Fine Arts Museums of San Francisco. Nico van Hout, Head of Collection Research – Curator of Seventeenth-Century Paintings, Koninklijk Museum voor Schone Kunsten, Antwerp.