How Earth Came to Be, a Romanian Myth

There is an exceptional story from Romanian folklore, a myth explaining how the earth came to be.

It goes like this…

A mere handful of mud, but a symphony of amber and cinnamon, alive within the water, ruddy clay and sticky, rich and prolific, was pulled out into the light from the depths of the great sea. And it grew, the way dough blooms with goodness and love, smelling sweet and earthly, and ready to become bread. A sweet loaf, a round loaf. Full of life, for the mud had a tale to tell.

It grew, that handful of rich clay pulsating with life, it expanded starry-eyed still guarded, cushioned by the same waters it emerged from, now floating on them . It grew, and it enlarged still retaining its bountiful consistency. While the blue entity it emerged from still spread around it, reaching to the four corners of the sky and further on. While the clay, now earth, it solidified.

So vast were the waters that surrounded our earth then, boundless today still, and so great are they, that we float on them , and we will float on, forever and ever, while the infinite marine will stretch even beyond the foot of the blue sky. And higher still.

‘Sister #flowers‘ are those flowers that grow during the same time of the year but never near each other.

Pick them and throw them on a moving water so they can finally meet… and your sins will be forgiven. #FolkloreThursday #Romania pic.twitter.com/NGAMLnaLLw

— 💙💛Patricia Furstenberg, Author #Im4Ro #DREAMLAND (@PatFurstenberg) January 21, 2021

So great is this water in its live-giving power, and so small is the solid goodness of our earth in relation to this aquatic vastness, that the ruddy clay, now the earth, may rightfully be compared to an oak leaf perched atop a mighty haystack at summer’s end. At the mercy of its surroundings.

Old Romanian folk tales speak of this sea as being the beginning of life and of death; rising towards, and finding refuge in the sanctity of heaven, then descending and burying itself in the heart of this earth.

The sea, as a motherly figure, as a Goddess, as a fertile woman, gives life for in the beginning, when there was nothing but endless darkness, a black sky over an endlessly deep sea, then… a whirlwind of blessed foam rose from it, and God emerged – so say the old folk. While the land, as a solid rock, symbolizes stability, and the man.

This is why in Romanian folklore the waters are governed by a goddess known as Știma Apei. With blue, serene eyes and the body of a maiden she is calmness personified. But don’t anger her, for she will stand on slender, womanly legs and walk out of her streams, her long hair dragging the waters behind, and covering the earth with a flood.

In Romanian #mythology, Spring, Summer, Autumn are personified by the girl, maiden and woman. Winter is an old man wt white whiskers, a mane adorned wt icicles, always shivering from cold in spite of the twelve skins he wears. Surrounded by dry trees, atop a frozen earth. #Im4Ro pic.twitter.com/jtQMb4cyDl

— 💙💛Patricia Furstenberg, Author #Im4Ro #DREAMLAND (@PatFurstenberg) April 25, 2022

Not only the rivers, but the sea also takes what she believes is dutifully hers. She takes can carried on her waves, like slender arms, the souls of lost sailors, of warriors, and ships, resting them to sleep in her silent depths. And then?

Old folk believed that in the depths of dark bodies of water monsters with bodies as scaly and slippery, cold too, as a fish’s, creatures with dark eyes that take in, but never give, twisted, nameless entities that none thought deemed to offer a name to – make a living causing cramps in swimmers with their evil touch and even making holes in ships if they fancy it. Stirred, as they are, by the devil that is chained to the bottom of the gloomiest, tightest corner of the sea where it stirs and twists tries in vain to pull itself free.

Is it #folklore or #witchcraft?

Place your babe in the flour basket as the mill grinds the wheat, and he will be as garroulous as a foaming stream.

Read about it in “Water Mills from Rudaria” in #Dreamland the #book:https://t.co/aruucbzVEo #IARTG #IB6 #HistFic #Romania pic.twitter.com/1Qn0ibYd5s

— 💙💛Patricia Furstenberg, Author #Im4Ro #DREAMLAND (@PatFurstenberg) July 6, 2022

And that’s why iron-smiths hammer once (although no other work is to be done), on a Sunday. They hit the hammer against the anvil alone, and with gusto, the echoes carried by the wind, and thorugh the earth, for this is what strengthens the chains that hold the evil sprite down.

Now, above all these the earth, with its rich umber darkness, streaked with gleaming blue veins and lively green shoots, the promise of abundance, floats. Our forever home.

Thank you for your support this passing year. It is for you, my blogger friends and readers, that I write. Wishing you and yours a Blessed Festive Season!
Merry Christmas and a VERY Happy New Year!