Transcript
Ben (0:00)
Chat. In this episode of Hana Cosmos, we determine that anyone who performs a seance or uses a Ouija board is in fact, cooked.
Brian (0:09)
This episode is brought to you by Zilli Creative Works, bringing you face to face Family fun that is fierce, fast and affordable.
Ben (0:21)
The world is not just stuff.
Brian (0:28)
Minus 111.9.
Ben (0:39)
The widely publicized mystery of the flying saucers may soon be solved. Orpheus was a bard in the Thracian royal court of ancient Greece. One day, his father, Apollo, brought him a lyre and taught him how to play. Apollo, the God of music, trained Orpheus to become the greatest lord of song alive. His music enchanted gods and mortals alike until his reputation grew into something almost divine, worthy of veneration. As he matured, it was said that no living thing, friend or foe, could resist the moving charm of Orpheus's music. When he came of age, Orpheus was captivated by the beauty of a young dryad named Eurydice. He pursued her hand in marriage and poured all of his longing and strength into a song that won her heart. Eurydice gave herself over to Orpheus, and the two were wed. But a shade of doom was already falling over the couple. Hymenaeus, the God of weddings, prophesied that their perfect bliss would not last. Time passed until one day Eurydice walked through the forest with other nymphs. A Thracian shepherd named Aristeas caught sight of her and was bewitched. He craved her beauty for himself and gave chase to the beautiful dryad across valleys, ridgelines and hilltops until the web of fate was ready to tighten around the young nymph. One misstep meant the end of the world for both her and Orpheus. Beneath a tree, its tangled roots hollowed out by the nearby river, a coiled snake lay in waiting. Sensing the chaos approaching, the woman fleeing and the shepherd pursuing the snake rose in defense, preparing to strike at anything that threatened it. Then, in an instant, a bare foot landed above the root of its den and pressed deep into the soft dirt. The snake, fearing for its life, attacked. Its fangs, shot up from the roots and sank into Eurydice's ankle. And just like that, the chase ended. The beautiful Dryad herself, a child of the gods, fell dead. In the same breath, her body was swallowed by the earth. Aristeas, weary from the chase and ashamed of his failure, returned silently to his flock. Eurydice's soul slipped into the underworld. She crossed the black waters of the Acheron, passed beneath the watchful gaze of Cerberus, and entered the dim halls of Hades. And his queen, Persephone. Above in the world of light, Orpheus felt the horror of her death. Like a dagger to his chest, his heart burst. He wailed, tore at his clothes and sang songs of such grief that the earth itself seemed to mourn. Beasts, men, flowers and even rocks groaned at his sorrow. The gods, those who devour and rule, heard his lament and for the first time pitied him. Seeing creation soften toward the plight, Orpheus resolved to attempt the unthinkable. He made the perilous journey to the realm of the dead, finding his feet cooled by the lapping waters of the Styx. The shades like fog, smoke and mist reached out for him with their own prayers. But he cared nothing for them. He sought only the ghost of his love. If he could but glimpse her soul, he would know it and all else would fade away. So he waded through the sea of spirits and played his lyre for Charon, the ferryman of hell. Karen, moved by the music, relented from his eternal refusal and ferried Orpheus across the river. On the other side, Orpheus raised his lyre again and played a tune of overwhelming despair. Even Cerberus, the monstrous guardian of the underworld, was subdued, lulled into a sleep by the melody. Thus Orpheus passed through the gates that separate the dead from the living. He descended into the earth's cavernous belly, past the boiling fires of Tartarus and the golden fields of Elysium. His journey was a labyrinth of mystique and menace, traps and trickery set by dark magic through a night blacker than any known to man. Orpheus pressed on. He looked back in what could only be called an inverse beatific vision, seeing behind him the cruelty he had endured and scorning fate's vindictiveness. Then, turning forward again, he found himself face to face with the deathless rulers of the underworld. Hades glared with something like remorse. Persephone's eyes swelled with open hearted misery. And yet Orpheus trembled. What can man say to the gods? What can does a mortal have against the immortal? Naked and ashamed, Orpheus nearly abandoned his mission. He would have turned back, would have rejoined the miserable throng of men on the surface if not for the divine blood of Apollo that coursed through his own veins. He remembered his love. He remembered the delight of Eurydice. In desperation, Orpheus took up his lyre once more. Tears fell from his cheeks and whetted the strings. And so it was that the gods of death, the brother of Zeus and the daughter of Artemis, were moved by his grief. At Last, Orpheus collapsed. Exhausted, weeping, he knelt before the thrones of death. Hades stood and pronounced his judgment. He granted the resurrection of Eurydice, but only on one condition. Since no man had ever entered death without despairing of life. No man could return to life without despairing of death. Eurydice would walk behind Orpheus the whole way back to the land of the living. And he would be forbidden to look back at her for any reason. If he did, she would be lost to him forever. Though confused, Orpheus was overjoyed. Hope surged in his chest. He thought himself patient. He thought himself strong enough to endure any trick the gods might devise. He accepted the terms and left sorrow melting away, replaced by rekindled hope. He began his ascent. Eyes locked forward. He was ready. Ready for the screams that might come from behind. The kind of cruel deception the gods might conjure. He was ready for noise, for illusion, for anything. But what he wasn't ready for was silence. No screams. No laughter. No cries of torment or joy. Most troubling of all, no footsteps. He heard nothing. No sound of Eurydice following him at all. It was almost too much to bear. Was it all a cruel dream? Was Eurydice behind him, but only as a shade, an echo of herself, untouchable and fading? Would he even be able to see her if he made it back? For the entire journey, these thoughts plagued him. He fought the temptation to look back. With every step, he wrestled with doubt, clinging to a stubborn, threadbare perseverance. At last, as the light of the upper world broke into the cave, Orpheus faltered. How, he wondered, could the warmth of the sun reach him and still no sound come from behind? In a final and desperate moment of madness, Orpheus turned and he saw her. Her hand reached out to him, her face carved with grief and longing. And then, in an instant, she was gone, pulled backward into the shadows of Hades. Orpheus, only steps from the surface, had looked back. He lost his faith in the end. And with it lost Eurydice forever. Everyone is born with a fear of the dark. Children fear the absence of visible light. And sometimes, so do grownups. But a deeper, more mature fear of darkness is not about what we can or can't see. It's a fear of the unknown. The fear of doubt. We long to know things that it is not our place to know. Faced with this fear, humanity responds in one of two ways. One path seeks consolation in a faith that provides certain hope amid the darkness. The other path strives to peer behind the veil, to unveil what must remain hidden. For the Christian, it is the former. For the Christian, even death, the greatest darkness becomes a gateway to perfect, perfect, renewed life. But for the unbeliever, it is the latter. In his own way, he tries to wrest the infinitely complex knowledge of God from God himself. It is a fruitless task. For some, it leads to despair and nihilism. For others it leads to occultism, to the depravity of forbidden knowledge. And it is that final path that concerns us today. What happens when a man, whether purposefully or by accident, sets foot on the road that leads behind the veil? What dangers await him? What lies? In today's episode of haunted cosmos? We will find that both the dangers and the deceptions are limitless. In the realm of the unseen, unbound by time, man is a fish out of water. He will bite at any hook, no matter how unconvincing the bait. Just like Orpheus, the motives behind the longing to cheat the darkness don't matter. In the end, all such paths lead to the same place. Despair. Despair and destruction.