Mnemnosyne is the Goddess of Memory. She had 9 daughters, the Muses:
Calliope--epic poetry...(There once was a young man from Bangkok...)
Clio--history...(How long was the 100 Years War?)
Erato--lyric poetry and mime...(First word, sounds like...)
Euterpe--lyric poetry and music...(99 bottles of beer on the wall.)Melpomene--tragedy...(She swoons: I broke a nail!)
Polymnia--sacred song and oratory...(Yada yada yada...)
Terpsichore--dancing and chorals...(Ta-ra-ra BOOM de-ay!)
Thalia--comedy and pastoral poetry...(Where men are men and sheep are nervous.)
Urania--astronomy...(you were born under the sign of the yapping mouth.)
I jest but with serious intent, acknowledging them keeps the stories coming. Ask many writers and they'll tell you--the stories are there, they just act as scribes putting down that which already exists. We know there's a greater Mind that holds everything. We're blessed to tap into that and take what we want from the abundance.
Storytelling IS the oldest profession, forget the joke re: prostitution. Stories were used to explain the world and the unknowns, to call the spirits for good hunting and bless the newborns, to send the dead away with love and promises that they would not be forgotten.
The storytellers were the shaman of the tribe, some were healers, some just had the gift of memory to hold all the myths and customs and pass them down so that nothing would be lost.
Over 3500 years ago the Song of Amergin still resonates. I won't pretend I know what it means but it's strong, it's real and alive, it's full of mystery and promise.
I am a stag: of seven tines,
I am a flood: across a plain,
I am a wind: on a deep lake,
I am a tear: the Sun lets fall,
I am a hawk: above the cliff,
I am a thorn: beneath the nail,
I am a wonder: among flowers,
I am a wizard: who but I
Sets the cool head aflame with smoke?
I am a spear: that roars for blood,
I am a salmon: in a pool,
I am a lure: from paradise,
I am a hill: where poets walk,
I am a boar: ruthless and red,
I am a breaker: threatening doom,
I am a tide: that drags to death,
I am an infant: who but I
Peeps from the unhewn dolmen, arch?
I am the womb: of every holt,
I am the blaze: on every hill,
I am the queen: of every hive,
I am the shield: for every head,
I am the tomb: of every hope.