Discover the MythCloud

While rooted in the earth, trees stretch skyward, bridging the natural and celestial realms. They embody the rhythms of life—growth, maturity, decay, and renewal—blossoming, bearing fruit, and shedding their leaves before awakening anew each spring.

For our ancestors, certain trees held profound spiritual significance, and traces of their reverence for these sacred intermediaries persist in folk traditions today. In this 19th edition of Blúiríní Béaloidis, hosts Jonny Dillon and Claire Doohan explore the deep cultural bond between nature and tradition. They discuss the sacred trees under which Irish kings were once inaugurated, the hallowed groves where both saints and madmen found refuge, and the votive offerings left on trees near holy wells. These trees, imbued with mystery and reverence, were sometimes feared as dwellings of otherworldly spirits coexisting with humanity in the natural landscape.

Join Jonny and Claire as they guide listeners beneath the metaphorical canopy of tradition, uncovering stories that offer the fruits of memory, meaning, and cultural connection. For an hour, shelter in the shade of this rich folklore and rediscover the enduring power of the sacred tree.

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Laima, deriving her name from the Lithuanian word laimė meaning "happiness" or "luck," is a central figure in Baltic mythology, revered as the goddess of fate and fortune.

Predominantly worshipped in Latvia and Lithuania, she plays a crucial role in the life cycle of individuals, from birth to death, marriage, and even the fate of crops and animals. Laima's influence permeates various aspects of daily life, particularly in matters of fortune, well-being, and success.

Laima is closely associated with the linden tree, which holds sacred significance in Baltic traditions. She is often depicted alongside Dievs, the sky god, and Saule, the sun goddess, forming a divine trio that governs human destiny. Together, they determine the length and fortune of human life. Laima's presence is particularly significant during childbirth, where she is believed to pronounce each infant's destiny. She also helps arrange marriages, oversees weddings, and protects pregnant women, ensuring the continuity of life and societal harmony.

In Latvian mythology, Laima is sometimes considered part of a trinity of fate deities, along with her sisters Kārta and Dēkla. While all three have similar functions, Laima is the goddess of luck and is more related to mothers and childbirth; Dēkla is in charge of children, and Kārta holds power over adult life.

Laima's role extends beyond individual destinies to the natural world, where she influences the fertility of fields and animals, particularly horses. Her blessings are sought to ensure bountiful harvests and the well-being of livestock, reflecting her integral connection to both human and environmental prosperity.

Understanding Laima's multifaceted role offers insight into Baltic cultural values, emphasizing the interconnectedness of fate, nature, and human life. Her enduring presence in folklore and tradition underscores the importance of destiny and fortune in the human experience.

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In the contemporary landscape of cultural reclamation, Kneecap represents a paradigmatic intervention into the performative dimensions of Irish national identity.

Operating at the intersections of linguistic revitalisation, post-conflict cultural production, and subcultural expression, the Belfast-based rap trio embodies a provocative reimagining of Irish vernacular practice.Their linguistic strategy—deploying Irish as a dynamic, living language of urban experience—simultaneously challenges historical modes of cultural preservation and instantiates new modalities of collective identity formation. By transmuting traditional nationalist narratives through hip-hop's transgressive idiom, Kneecap enacts a form of cultural translation that destabilises normative frameworks of political and linguistic belonging.

Their recent film and album further elaborate this critical project: a multimedia exploration of identity that refuses calcified representations, instead performing a nimble, irreverent negotiation of contemporary Irish subjectivity.

The Syrenka, or Mermaid of Warsaw, is one of Poland's most enduring mythological symbols, serving as the emblem of the city of Warsaw. Depicted on the city's coat of arms and celebrated in statues, murals, and other artworks, the mermaid represents strength, resilience, and protection.

Legends of the Syrenka tell of a mermaid who swam from the Baltic Sea into the Vistula River, where she chose to stay, enchanted by the beauty of the landscape. When threatened by fishermen, she is said to have promised to guard the city and its people, a vow reflected in her armed depiction with a sword and shield.

The Syrenka has become much more than a mythological figure; she embodies Warsaw's identity, symbolising the city's ability to endure and rebuild through periods of upheaval, including the devastation of World War II. The iconic mermaid can be seen across Warsaw, from statues like the famous one in the Old Town Square to modern reinterpretations in public art. Each representation offers a connection to the city's storied past and its dynamic present, illustrating how myth continues to shape civic and cultural identity.

Irish football supporters have gained international recognition for their distinctive approach to fandom, marked by joy, resilience, and a camaraderie that often transcends the outcomes of games.

Renowned for transforming moments of defeat into scenes of shared humour and positivity, they are widely regarded as goodwill ambassadors who regularly cheer for opponents, sing in the streets, and turn matches into events of communal celebration.

This reputation solidified during World Cups such as Italia 90, USA 1994, Japan 2002, and Euro 2016, where their warmth and good humour garnered global admiration. The enduring perception of Irish fans is one of loyal and optimistic supporters who celebrate each game as a communal experience, projecting a distinctive, resilient national identity that endures beyond the sport itself.

Gdynia stands as a modern myth of progress and national pride within the context of the Second Polish Republic.

Emerging from a small seaside village into a bustling port city during the interwar period, Gdynia became a symbol of Poland's rapid modernization and its aspirations for independence and prosperity. However, this transformation was also marked by deep political and economic tensions, revealing the complexities of Poland's socio-political landscape at the time.

The city's development encapsulated not only a triumph of infrastructure but also the struggles inherent in urban planning and the ideological narratives that shaped its growth. Gdynia’s mythos thus reflects both the aspirations and challenges of a nation in the throes of modernity, making it a powerful symbol of the interplay between progress, power, and political struggle.

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This woodcut, titled Haemorrhous, depicts a mythological snake and was crafted by designer Geoffroy Ballain and woodcut artist Jean de Gourmont in 1565.

The image was included in Jacques Grévin's Deux livres des venins (1568) and later in De venenis libri duo (1571). These works explored the nature of poisons and venomous creatures, blending scientific inquiry with mythological elements common to Renaissance natural history.

The Haemorrhous snake, referenced in these texts, was steeped in mythology and attributed with properties tied to bloodletting or venom, as suggested by its name. The woodcut is an example of the era's fascination with exotic and symbolic creatures, both real and imagined.

This piece, a woodblock created using the houtsnede (woodcut) printing technique, was acquired by the Plantin-Moretus Museum in 1876, reflecting the museum's commitment to preserving works of historical and artistic significance.

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Ossip Zadkine's Pomona, displayed in the Royal Museum of Fine Arts Antwerp, is a compelling piece that captures the mythological essence of Pomona, the Roman goddess of fruit trees, gardens, and orchards. Zadkine, known for his dynamic and expressive sculptures, infuses the work with his signature cubist influence, creating a striking modern interpretation of a classical theme.

The sculpture reflects Zadkine's deep engagement with mythology and nature, embodying themes of growth, fertility, and the interplay between humanity and the natural world. Its inclusion in the museum's collection highlights the artist's place among the significant figures of 20th-century art, celebrated for blending traditional subjects with avant-garde techniques​

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The 17th of March is celebrated worldwide as Saint Patrick's Day, a time of parades and revelry in honour of Ireland's patron saint.

But beyond the festivities, what do we really know about the historical figure of Patrick? How is he perceived in folk tradition, and what connections does he have to the pre-Christian, Pagan order he is said to have supplanted? These questions invite a deeper exploration of Patrick's life and legacy.

In this month’s edition of Blúiríní Béaloidis, hosts Claire Doohan and Jonny Dillon delve into the figure of St. Patrick, examining the pilgrimages still made in his name and his influence, not only in Ireland but across Europe. From Skerries in the east to Croagh Patrick in the west, and from Duhallow in the south to Lough Derg in the north, they follow the paths of devotion that celebrate the saint’s enduring impact.

Listeners are invited to join in honouring Ireland’s patron saint and reflecting on his remarkable legacy.

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Lankum, a Dublin-based folk group, has risen to prominence for its transformative approach to traditional Irish music.

Emerging in the 2010s, the band—comprised of Ian Lynch, Daragh Lynch, Radie Peat, and Cormac MacDiarmada—blends folk melodies with contemporary influences, creating hauntingly immersive soundscapes. Their music draws from a rich heritage of ballads, work songs, and laments but ventures into experimental realms, with drones and layered harmonies that push the boundaries of the folk genre.

Socially, Lankum occupies a unique space in modern Ireland's cultural landscape. They capture a deep nostalgia for Ireland's past while speaking to its present, addressing themes of migration, hardship, and resilience. The group is often lauded for its commitment to authenticity—reviving lesser-known songs and reinterpreting classics with raw emotional intensity.Culturally, Lankum’s significance lies in their ability to bridge generations. Their work resonates with traditionalists and younger audiences drawn to their bold, experimental edge. In doing so, Lankum challenges stereotypes of folk music as static or overly sentimental, proving its enduring relevance in a rapidly changing world.This post delves into their journey, unpacking their influences, and exploring how they’ve shaped the narrative of Irish music in the 21st century. Explore links below to further insights.

Finnish mythology, often associated with the ancient folklore of Finnish paganism, shares strong connections with the mythologies of neighbouring cultures, including Estonian, Slavic, Baltic, and Norse traditions. While Finnish mythology has evolved, its roots lie deep within an oral tradition of mythical poem-singing and storytelling, which continued to thrive into the 19th century.

Among the many revered elements of Finnish mythology, animals played a crucial role, with the bear being the most sacred. Known as karhu in Finnish, the bear was not only a symbol of the forest but also seen as an embodiment of the forefathers. Due to its immense cultural significance, the bear's name was rarely spoken aloud, and instead, it was referred to by various euphemisms, such as mesikämmen ("mead-paw") and otso ("browed one"). This reverence underscores the deep spiritual connection between the people and the natural world. While the bear was not strictly viewed as a god, it was an important figure in the Finnish spiritual landscape, reflecting a complex view of nature and ancestral worship.

To explore more about this fascinating mythology and its modern revival, you can refer to resources on Finnish folklore or visit dedicated cultural sites.

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The Title Page, 'Gevartius, Pompa Introïtus Ferdinand' (Inventory No. 11096), by Peter Paul Rubens, is a woodcut used for the title page of Pompa Introïtus Ferdinand, a work detailing the ceremonial entry of Ferdinand into Antwerp.

The woodcut frame features a variety of mythological figures, integrating classical themes into the work. This addition not only enhances the aesthetic appeal of the title page but also aligns the ceremonial narrative with the grandeur often associated with mythological symbolism.

The folk tale about the creation of the Sun, a sakmė or Lithuanian etiological legend, tells the story of a blacksmith who decided to create the Sun during a time when it was always dark.

For six years, he forged a shiny piece of iron, working tirelessly at his craft. Once completed, he climbed to the highest shed and hurled the Sun into the sky, where it has remained ever since. This tale reflects the folk tradition of explaining natural phenomena through creative, often fantastical, narratives.

The story is adapted and translated from How the Earth Came to Be: Lithuanian Etiological Legends (Kaip atsirado žemė: lietuvių etiologinės sakmės), compiled and edited by Norbertas Vėlius.

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This Lithuanian folk song was recorded by the prominent late 19th-century scholar Jonas Basanavičius and sung by villagers from Laukagaliai.

The original audio recording is preserved in the archives of the Lithuanian Literature and Folklore Institute, ensuring the preservation of this piece of cultural heritage. Additionally, the cover image associated with the song is also archived by the institute.

For further exploration, both the audio and image are available through the Lietuvių tautosakos archyvas at the Lithuanian Literature and Folklore Institute.

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The goddess Giltinė, a prominent figure in Lithuanian mythology, represents death and the transition to the afterlife.

Her name is derived from Lithuanian words like gelti (to sting) and geluonis (thorn), reflecting her role as a bringer of death. Often depicted as an elderly woman with a blue-tinged face, a long nose, and a poisonous tongue, her appearance is both fearsome and symbolic of her grim duties.

According to legend, Giltinė’s transformation from a youthful and beautiful goddess into her ghastly form occurred after being confined in a coffin for seven years. As the sister of the goddess Laima, who governs life’s beginnings, Giltinė’s role is tied to life’s end, marking the cyclical nature of existence in Lithuanian folklore.

Stories of Giltinė often portray attempts by mortals to outwit her, reflecting humanity's desire to postpone death. Over time, Christian influences introduced the image of Giltinė wielding a scythe, aligning her depiction with broader European portrayals of death. Her lore continues to be a compelling exploration of mortality and fate within Lithuanian tradition.

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Baltic brass rings featuring sun symbols draw inspiration from archaeological discoveries in the region, reflecting the rich cultural heritage of the Baltic peoples.

The sun motif, prevalent in Baltic art, symbolizes life, fertility, and the cyclical nature of time. Such rings were not only decorative but also held significant meaning, representing the beginning of the world and the pulsating rhythm of existence. The craftsmanship of these pieces showcases the advanced metalworking skills of ancient Baltic artisans and their deep connection to symbolic representation in art.

The Two Satyrs (Inventory No. 10558) is a work by Peter Paul Rubens that depicts two mythological figures from classical lore.

Satyrs, often associated with the god Dionysus in Greek mythology, are half-human, half-goat creatures that embody the wild and unrestrained aspects of nature. Rubens' portrayal of these figures reflects his mastery in capturing both the grotesque and the sensual aspects of mythological subjects, characteristic of his Baroque style.

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In Baltic archaeological findings, leather waistbands adorned with brass decorations and traditional patterns have been uncovered, reflecting the craftsmanship and cultural expressions of the region's ancient communities.

These belts, often featuring intricate brass fittings and motifs, served both functional and decorative purposes, indicating social status and identity. The designs frequently incorporate geometric patterns and symbols, such as the sun, which held significant meaning in Baltic cultures, representing life, fertility, and the cyclical nature of time. The combination of leather and brass not only enhanced the durability of these accessories but also showcased the artisans' skill in metalwork and leathercraft. Such artifacts provide valuable insights into the daily life, aesthetic preferences, and symbolic worldviews of the Baltic peoples.

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In the epic of Irish cultural regeneration, The Dubliners emerge as archetypal storytellers—modern-day bards who transformed traditional music into a living mythology of national resilience. Like the ancient seanchaí who preserved oral histories, Ronnie Drew and his companions became custodians of a sonic landscape that reimagined Ireland's narrative through song.

Their music was neither mere entertainment nor simple preservation, but a ritualistic reclamation of cultural memory. Each ballad—from the raucous "Seven Drunken Nights" to the plaintive rebel songs—performed a mythological function: reinterpreting historical struggle, challenging colonial narratives, and reconstructing a collective identity through sound. The band didn't just play music; they enacted a form of cultural resurrection, breathing contemporary life into traditional forms and transforming folk music from a nostalgic artifact into a dynamic, living mythology of Irish experience.

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The economic recession and sociopolitical upheavals of the 1980s necessitated a reassessment of national identity and mythologies. This episode discusses how the nation's resilience in the face of adversity contributed to a more nuanced understanding of Irishness, evolving the narrative of what it means to belong to this nation.

Directed and prouced by Seán Ó Mórdha, Seven Ages: The Story of the Irish State presents a narrative of Ireland's evolution as a complex interplay of historical events, national mythologies, and collective self-perception. This series underscores the significance of cultural narratives in shaping a nation's identity and trajectory, illustrating how myths and storytelling serve as powerful tools in the ongoing process of nation-building. Each episode explores critical events, political developments, and societal changes that have contributed to the formation of modern Ireland. The series stands as a testament to the rich and complex history of Ireland's evolution since its founding in 1921.

The series is further enriched by interviews with influential Irish figures, including former Presidents Patrick Hillery and Mary Robinson, and ex-Taoisigh Liam Cosgrave, Charles Haughey, and Garret FitzGerald. Contributions from Desmond O'Malley, Michael D. Higgins, and various experts in history, journalism, economics, and public service provide additional depth and context. By examining the interplay of historical events, collective self-perception, and the evolution of national mythologies, the series offers a comprehensive understanding of the complex history of the Irish state.

First broadcast in 2000, Seven Ages remains a valuable resource for anyone seeking to unravel the diverse tapestry of Ireland's past and its enduring impact on the nation's present. Produced by Araby Productions in association with The O'Reilly Foundation for RTÉ and BBC Northern Ireland."

Skellig Michael, a jagged island off the southwest coast of Ireland, is a testament to human resilience and devotion. Rising dramatically from the Atlantic, this UNESCO World Heritage Site is best known for its early medieval monastery, precariously perched on its slopes.

Established by monks sometime between the 6th and 8th centuries, the monastery's austere beehive-shaped huts and stone steps reflect the extreme asceticism of early Irish Christianity. For these monks, Skellig Michael was more than a remote retreat; it was a liminal space where the earthly and divine intersected. The island's isolation mirrored their spiritual quest for closeness to God, echoing broader trends in early medieval Europe that saw the rise of monasticism in wild and marginal landscapes.  Beyond its religious origins, the island's cultural significance has evolved. For centuries, it remained a symbol of Irish endurance and spiritual heritage.

More recently, Skellig Michael captured global imagination as a filming location for *Star Wars*, blending ancient mythology with modern storytelling and introducing this cultural treasure to a new audience. This post explores Skellig Michael’s layered history, from its origins as a sacred refuge to its role in shaping Ireland’s cultural identity. What makes this island so enduringly fascinating is its ability to stand as both a relic of the past and a muse for contemporary narratives.

The Toporzeł is a controversial emblem created by Polish sculptor and painter Stanisław Szukalski in 1935, designed to replace the traditional White Eagle. The emblem fuses the imagery of an axe (topór) and an eagle (orzeł), symbolizing a reborn Poland and reflecting Szukalski's deep nationalistic and Slavic fascinations. This symbol, intended to evoke strength and national identity, has a complex legacy, tied to Szukalski's vision of a revitalized Polish culture and heritage.

However, the Toporzeł also carries a darker connotation. In early 1940, during the German occupation of Warsaw, the symbol was co-opted by some Polish anti-Semites who used it to mark Christian-owned shops, promoting economic boycotts against Jewish businesses. This association with nationalist extremism and anti-Semitism has marred the emblem’s original intent, highlighting how symbols of national identity can be distorted for harmful political agendas.

Seals have long been woven into the fabric of coastal life in Ireland, inspiring a rich tradition of beliefs, stories, and customs. In folklore, seals were often seen as enchanted beings—wise women, fallen angels, or reincarnated fishermen. Many tales describe encounters where seals spoke, pleaded with, or warned fishermen who sought to harm them, reflecting their mystical connection to both land and sea.

Certain Irish families, such as the Coneelys, O’Kanes, Dowds, O’Sheas, and Gallaghers, were believed to descend from unions between mortals and enchanted seals. A recurring motif in folklore tells of mortal men discovering seal-women in human form on the shore, stealing their magical cloaks that allowed them to transform, and taking them as wives. These unions often ended when the seal-woman found her cloak, returning to the sea and leaving her husband and children behind.

In this edition of Blúiríní Béaloidis, Jonny Dillon is joined by Ailbe van der Heide to explore the folklore of seals. Together, they traverse Ireland’s coasts and islands, delving into stories that blur the boundaries between nature and culture, appearance and reality. These liminal beings offer a window into the interplay of human imagination and the natural world, inviting us to reconsider the mysteries that lie at the edge of land and sea.

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In reference to Anselm Kiefer’s 2016 exhibition at the Pompidou Centre, this piece offers an insightful overview of the artist’s powerful and complex body of work. History and myth intertwine throughout Kiefer's artistic practice, where the literal and symbolic representations of these themes are explored through both visual and literary channels.

The exhibition provided a comprehensive reflection on Kiefer's ongoing exploration of the past, trauma, and transformation, featuring works that invoke a deep engagement with European history, its myths, and the shifting nature of cultural memory.

On 29 October 2015, Kiefer was honoured with an honorary degree for general merit from the University of Antwerp, a recognition that underscores his contribution to contemporary art and intellectual discourse. The ceremony coincided with the opening of his exhibition Die Buchstaben (The Letters) at the former Raamtheater, highlighting Kiefer's profound connection with the city and its academic institutions. Johan Pas, in his reflection on this honour, touches on the significance of Kiefer’s work for higher education and the arts in Antwerp, positioning the artist’s impact within both the cultural and academic landscapes.

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Olga Tokarczuk's Nobel Prize acceptance speech, "The Tender Narrator", delivered in January 2019, addresses the pressing concerns of the modern world, especially in relation to information overload and the fragmentation of narratives.

Tokarczuk contemplates the dark consequences of universal access to information and how it has overwhelmed people’s ability to process knowledge meaningfully. She criticizes the loss of deep, reflective thinking in the age of instant access to facts, where superficiality prevails, and highlights the absence of new metaphors, fables, and shared myths.

She also explores the role of literature, emphasizing its capacity to offer alternative perspectives and to delve into the complexity of human experience. Literature, she argues, can provide crucial insight into the interconnectedness of all things and offer a "tender" approach to understanding and empathy in an increasingly fragmented world. The lack of language to describe modern complexities, she says, creates a void that literature must strive to fill.

Her speech speaks directly to the condition of modern discourse, where points of view and meaningful narratives are often obscured by the noise of media, politics, and unchecked information flows. Tokarczuk advocates for a reimagining of literature’s role, one that restores depth, metaphor, and the potential for new fables to help understand the changing world.

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