to the once-“savage,” long-silenced
Sea Peoples heritage:
long, luminous, & liberating—
A wild-hearted prehistoric (Minoan) man “Sweet Wine” fights to go forward by the light of his visionary sister—killed as they strove to resist the conquest of their people’s ancient life. With many loved ones sailing at his side is a bright little orphan named Zoe, her nose cut off by the spite of Crete’s new masters. A mountain-youth who lives in honor to fight their lawlessness, but fights their way and risks his soul. A woman who will forge new civilized links out of ruins from Cyprus to Sicily—and after so much hardship and success in a new land, here come the first Israelites, from Samson to Samuel.
FLASH: The Western heritage is deeper and more dazzling than books.
Take hold of 100 years of discoveries everyone can see, and we break out of a psychotic circle of suffering. That’s where People of the Sea comes from and goes.
If I start my idea of human being with Tradition Till Now, with Homer’s conquering heroes and The Bible, I follow a map that doesn’t match the road, and crash into where I am. It turns out to be where we’ve been, only worse: All Hail, King Me! New lord of The Catastrophe Cycle.
Remember “the rise and fall of empires” from old history-books? Each one is a more disastrous trip around this wheel, from the latest “charismatic leader” to his crash.
The good news is, the last 100 years of human disasters and discoveries show that we have what we need to step out of this, and do far better—once we grasp the best cosmic anchors we can find. As for marching along without them, the last 3500 years have turned our day into crunch-time, where consequences converge toward systems collapse.
About that long ago, the increasingly autocratic rule of men, fathers and kings (patriarchy) emerged from ways older, more balanced and successful. Consider A) that 3500 years is only 3.5% of at least 100,000 years of thinking human beings; and B) how much needless suffering and destruction date from that fraction of our time.
This is the story of a man of memory who learns his way out of violence. Here you have what drove the years behind it: the murder of a 20-year-old woman named Eve, whom I knew and loved in New York City 37 years ago. This was a shattering that, in time, showed me human goodness never heard of. As of this the day we met (February 11th), I offer here entwined what happened and what I found: unexpected hope with both feet in the facts.
Skip along as you will. There’s complexity and darkness to walk through. But I have a clew of thread from Ariadne. Allow me a new alignment of historical time, and see if I fail my promise that it leads to a real, beautiful new (old) inheritance whose knowing helps and heals.
Past As (Oh, God) Prologue: or
How Trump Makes His-Storical Sense
You know it’s bad when “the world’s foremost authority,” mad genius Professor Irwin Corey says it best: If we don’t change direction, we could end up where we’re going.
The Trump regime is more than what’s left of the GOP/Dems’ treasonous puppet-show. When you know what we’ve really been for most of our human time, you know he comes straight down the Western line of our first “omnipotent” self-wrecking kings—Greek Agamemnon, Hebrew Saul and David—what His-Story and Newspeak call a “charismatic leader.” Long on promises, destructive in results, and a gift for hustling fears and hopes to his advantage while it lasts.
Like the whimsical flesh-groper Zeus, like The Bible’s volcano-born father so jealous of attention, he validates the frightened rage to make Life feel one’s power, in spite of all actual failure with it. The world in his head called Business dreams Nature and people as enslaved “externalities” of no concern to the profit/power formula. Fear and failure fuel their “alternate reality,” a puerile wish to somehow “separate” from Nature, from Woman, from responsible human community; hence the constant welter (a wailing wall) of wishful representations that most people see are false to the reality in our midst. A spiraling derangement from the real. It’s not easy, dragging the everyday sensible world into catastrophe.
Contemptuous of learning and so with virtually nothing to offer, he “the man” must denigrate, terrorize, rape, rob, and silence because what’s different, alive and free feels to him like laughter in his frightened face. Who are these people who don’t know enough to be afraid, as he is?
Surrounded by yes-men, goaded behind the show by failed souls with uglier dreams, the new Decider has us fooled that his hair looks swell and that Earth waits to buff his Guccis. But his “logic” is the spiral of a serial-killer’s violence. For the man (sic) is even more afraid each time Life comes back to talk reality. More afraid, more violent. Now comes choice, as Susan Griffin shows in Pornography & Silence: to heal and grow up into merely human being, or to try to force the world to resemble his wretched wishes, till they destroy him and ever-more.
Let’s start over?
The hard facts everybody sees are few but wondrous. We’re sailing infinity on a blue-green bubble of living plenitude, in a body with a soul in a Garden of Eternal Now, with no limits for ill or good. Think of it—Against this, the first and new King-Dumbs steal and hoard for thrills, then wall themselves in screaming “Me Greatest Ever” to the prisoners and fresh targets of Might, Right and Freedom. Till they fall.
“Progress” can’t be measured till we state the goal: no one has or will. For those who wonder, then, “What are we doing?” comes the Cycle’s same old contempt for observation, thought and feeling, learning, fact and truth on the way down. “Put no faith in your own observation, and obey The Lord” (The Bible’s “Book of [sic] Wisdom”). “This is not a reality-based campaign” (Karl Rove).
Each time around just happens to divest “other” demonized, brutalized peoples of their souls, lives, lands, freedoms and resources. A very few skim wealth and power as each dollar leaves most people a handful of dimes. Huddling at last in the ruins, ashamed, numb and paralyzed, we wonder what in hell we were thinking.
Even The Bible’s good ol’ prophet Samuel knew: these guys will take, take, and take till there’s nothing left—and you will curse the day you went along.
Don’t. Resist. Break free once and for all. You can know right now the facts that say we’re born to do better.
At 25 in 1980, I was a writer with the sun in my chest in thrumming New York City. More ignorant than educated, a civilized half-macho wolf, benign if blustery: a homesick anti-hero questing by pen for cosmic connection. One February morning at a midtown freelance job, I met Life.
Moving rhythmically, Goddess at her loom (a xerox-machine), was Eve—the 20-year-old Eve Helene Wilkowitz of Bay Shore, Long Island. So beautiful: smart, funny, with gentle eyes brown like her hair, toothy smile, long legs, unafraid, talkative; and as I swayed beneath the thunderbolt, her name to my book-born brain said its meanings. Life, The Mother of All Living. Immortal mate of Adam, tending their vineyards together on the Mountain of the World, before any Fall. The City Adorned as a Bride…
I thought I was living eyes-open. Instead as said before in Melville’s words, “until I was 25 I had no development at all: I date my life from that year.” In the WordPress work here Eve, Spring, Flowers, are the six weeks of our falling in love that spring.
You only need recall your own youth’s crowning days of exaltation. Both of us always talking, Eve’s hand in mine as we drank the city. Eve’s grief was her mother’s young passing, her purpose to care for her father and little sister: she aspired to college and social work, she reveled in friends across office cliques, and they knew her kindness while she fought for her own new life. She feared and resented being sometimes shadowed home along dark streets from the train to her then-unhappy house.
The day she brought me a ravishing rose (with this card) to fix a small misunderstanding. The morning when, in spite of her wanting us to take it slow, she showed up early at my door for a pre-work breakfast. The sun poured in on my crummy little table and the whole world was glowing from within, bad coffee our ambrosia.
The first I Love You with The One. From there, first talk of living together (and Yes I said Yes I will Yes). The fall of rain on a garden in our first deep kisses of surrender. I look at you/ I see/ the long trail of your coming (Susan Griffin). Surrender? Not quite: Eve wouldn’t yet stay the night. She needed rest in the middle of the cycle damned for her as Eve’s Curse. And when she fell asleep anyway in my arms, I did what Eve wanted and woke her for the night’s last train out to Bay Shore. In the crowd at Penn Station, she insisted she’d be fine going home alone. Instead, at some point of her journey, she was abducted.
After three futile days that broiled the brain in my skull, Long Island’s Suffolk County Homicide found Eve’s body, hands tied behind her, lying in the backyard of a house close by her own. Held alive all that time, she was strangled at last, and then dumped where they found her. Shattered, I mumbled a question for detectives, if this happened very often.
“Every day,” one answered. “It’s an everyday event.”
Puns on Eve’s name not likely intended, and still true, in headlines and exploding varieties of form: the Woman-Beautiful-As-Life turned into corpse and commodity. Everywhere. Body and soul, what’s done to Her is done to us. Shocking! and just like yesterday.
But when you have raged without hope and cried uncontrollably for two years and at last the old shell you call a self cracks open—to its own simultaneous nothingness and infinite loving connection with Eve-rything—you live no longer to settle for this necrotic load of patriarchal cosmic shit for which, as Edgar Allan Poe declared, “The most poetic subject in the world is the death of a beautiful woman.”
By chance I guess, Eve left a spool of thread behind. From the day I found it, it was Ariadne’s clew, a guide through a man-eating labyrinth where memory brings you out reborn. Start with your eyes, in human art histories. Trash the one that told me how, in Minoan Crete (where?), early Western women “lacked enough shame” to cover their breasts. Trash ones that teach “there is no great art without militarism” (Kenneth Clark).
The crowning fact coming out of the ground is that for the first and longest-standing Western peoples, Woman was visibly the core of spirituality, the Imago of being alive. But this was/is turned against Her, and us. From Scripture to pornography and their news-infotainment hybrids, “His religion,” said historian Barbara Mor, “is Her death.” It’s the ritual central to Murder For Progress. And each time it fails, the answer is, Do It Harder.
Were we doomed to this or not? I lived the cry of Fuck Every Fable in the way of finding out, became what Paul Goodman (Growing Up Absurd) called “the young man who mistakes his dead lover for The Muse.” And then, turning over stones at the New York Public Lie-Bury, there were the Minoans.
That’s what I said. Let them knock you off your shoes in five minutes’ facts, and glimpse the foundational magnitude of what’s at stake. Here’s the short report after 40 years of study—a human story never taught in schools, and a door to a positive inheritance whose second half is People of the Sea.
The West was not born from Athens’ pseudo-democracy or an Exodus into sudden monological morality. Archaeology knows better. By every hard-nosed world-class digger I can find (check them out in Sources here), this is only a fair summary of facts:
From at least 3500 to the 1400s BCE, the families of Minoan Crete and their surround of Mediterranean peoples kept on developing their web of cultures centered in cycles of Nature, in their ancestors, kinship, festival and trade across most of their differences. Because of them, the first 2000 years of Western heritage— centered round a primeval, elegant Earth Mother—progressed without entrenched kings, without slavery or war as a way of life. Longer than Rome. Not Utopia. Just very old and very smart.
New finds unearth Crete’s Paleolithic roots (130,000 years ago), Knossos older than Gobekli Tepe, Malta, Stonehenge, Pyramids. Their world’s highest average living-standards rose from a free landed middle class who tended family tombs for centuries and knew how to build common ceremonial ground among proud differences. They built their tech and arts from observation, experiment, exploration and exuberance—and their central way, a path to life-eternal rising out of nature and their matriculture, the woman-centered damos of their families’ political will.
That’s a central part of the meanings of the doubled two-part symbol you see here: a lunar-solar cycle still turning in our skies, that laid wise limits round their leaders and nourished the lives of their souls. Our timing of Olympic Games and 4-year terms of political office are remnants of these realities.
Clearly Minoan life had important roles for men: the difference is between their sometimes-male “CEOs” with limited power and tenure, and the later lifelong, hereditary, unilateral Deciders we know today as kings—virtually guaranteed to get it wrong more often than not, since many voices bring wiser decisions than one can. If there ever was a Minoan Minos, the unique tradition around this “king” was that he had to re-consecrate his powers in a cycle of (8 or 9) years; which is to say he was answerable, facing evaluation and possible replacement. After a century of pure inventions about a Minos’ dynastic rule, archaeology now sees perhaps a “priest-chief” of ceremony with seniority among Crete’s factions.
(In the novel Ariadne’s Brother, that young fellow’s name is Deucalion till he serves like his father as a Minos—and in People of the Sea, he lives to look back on himself as almost “a king of things other than war.”)
Language-studies too present a pattern to the point. While names and titles such as Potnia and Wanassa denote Minoan females whose importance Nanno Marinatos called “architectural,” the later-emergent word for quasi-king (Wanax) wavers in meaning, crucially, between “Husband” and “Lord.” One denotes a male who helps to build the household and garden: the other, a male who works to make the world believe only he has power. As for Minoan political time before those changes, the scientists’ hammered-out word for this world with no visible kings—heterarchy—points to a sharing of power that unified different points of view.
And every time the Earth shook down Minoan towns, they rebuilt better, then went on with their crops, trades, innovations and the next festival, centered in the turn of Nature’s wheel of seasons through The Now.
Of course Minoans had a self-protective force of men at arms. But instead of living by war, they competed to see who could mount the best-ever ceremonies, feasts and sports. The biggest-volume finds are cupboards chock with little clay drinking-cups. With a simple elegant calendar of suns and moons, they lived rhythms of the heavens’ lights and shadows on a breathtaking landscape. Their way was neither reckless “growth” nor a forced march of Progress. Fundamentally sound, it was what many today are building again: an omni-inventive dynamic steady state.
This exaggerates nothing. That was The West at the beginning, and it went on that way longer than any age that followed it to ours.
The Big Turn
So began Ariadne’s Brother: A Novel on the Fall of Bronze Age Crete (1996), and People of the Sea speaks further from the adventures of these unheard ancestors, returning to the sun in dramatic new digs.
Their independent days ended more by misfortune than mistakes. After the first 2000 Minoan years, the worst-known volcanic eruption (Thera-Santorini, circa 1625 or 1525 BCE) staggered Crete. The long odds were that, as usual, they’d rebuild better, but invasion by opportunistic mainland proto-Greeks brought radical change—and drove new generations of their small kin-groups to migrate and mix with their neighbors, from Troy to Gaza, from Cyprus to Sicily, from Libya and Egypt to the Near East.
While archaeology finds “Aegean” and post-Minoan new lives in these places, there’s still no unanimous view of what drove new waves of collapse and destruction through the eastern Mediterranean soon after 1200 BCE: long drought, resource-crises, in-fighting and/or revolutions. But ten generations after the fall of Knossos Labyrinth, their “loose confederacy” was tearing down every kingdom in reach, scarcely stopping to plunder or occupy. By this time, some were closely entwined (that’s life!) with Myceneans, their old families’ conquerors.
The master-theory is “systems collapse” (where many crises converge). Did these tribes and families also share common cultural cause—making war on kingship itself, which had emerged in their memory and wrecked their ancient way? Was this the post-Minoan world’s own pain-driven experiment with War as a solution?
People of the Sea cracks these questions at the roots—human lives moving through a multicultural maelstrom.
Heading by sea and land with their families toward The Nile Delta’s vast breadbasket, these tribal groups finally exhausted themselves (1186? 1177 BCE? uncertain), against forces mustered by Ramses III. Thousands must have died, more vanished into slavery—and still there were thousands for whom Ramses, with his own needs in the aftermath, found clothing and supplies and a place where their settlement could serve him. If you read this book you’re going with them.
What then do the sciences now say of these soon-to-be Philistines’ creation of Palestine, in the post-Egyptian wreckage of old Canaan? How did they build new egalitarian lives with trade that reached Sri Lanka?
By living out unconquered what they were. Once protectors of the sea-lanes in Minoan days, they were now (in the wake of colossal defeat by Egypt) Middle Eastern road-warriors, charged by Pharaoh to keep good order on the East-West highways of his wealth—or else. Such was the Philistines’ Promised Land.
The pattern was that whenever somebody troubled those roads and Pharaoh’s enrichment, his priests sent him back in raging violence. But for the next 300 years there was no need. Fine-tooth-combing of records by Itamar Singer and Donald Redford confirm that soon, Egypt was reaping unprecedented wealth. If the strength was gone for the old way of conquest, nor was Egypt bleeding the weaker states of Canaan, the likelihood is that the Sea Peoples now were meeting their side of the promise.
The highways, rivers of trade reaching beyond Aram Damascus and toward India, must have flowed with caravans well-guarded against ancient banditry, through highlands and choke-points where, otherwise, “each man was law unto himself.”
For experts like Yasur-Landau, they homesteaded-in by small groups with good scouting and old local connections, this at the meeting-point between Spice Road and the western sea. While we still lack Philistine maritime remains, their links across the Med never ceased. Earth Mother (Pyto-Gayah) had worship from Delphi to Ekron. In Ascalon they cooked in Cretan pots. As Moishe and Trude Dothan showed, their agriculture gave rise to craftsmen and builders, with a core of practices from Gaza (first called Minoa) to Dor. Their love of public life, music and festivals kept binding their differences together with raucous holy music, dance and drink and sacred sexuality. (Good studies of their “entanglements” by Australian archaeologist Louise Hitchcock.)
Small human-sized temples, open to both (or all) genders, included the usual (Minoan-style) benches where people sat sharing sacred meals and spoke their minds. Each holy of holies brings to light an eclectic range of ritual objects, their blendings of old Aegean, Syrian/Canaanite, Egyptian and even early Hebrew practices.
Apparently, who’s who was less important than the prayers. I steal that apt descriptive phrase from about 10 Minoan archaeologists. People of the Sea takes you there among the living human beings.
After generations of displacement, stress and wandering, the tribes who mixed to become Philistines beached and unloaded skills and symbols of ways never lost, planting olives and new standards of urban life. No totalizing political maniac got any traction in their midst: for this old and fiercely-independent political way (called “loose confederacy”), you’ll find that His-Story faults their “lack” of Me-First nationalism.
They failed to invest in Fearless Leader, War and The Catastrophe Cycle. Instead—not “disappearing,” but turning their living backs on what was coming—they handed down what science calls the First Scientific Discovery, the Saros cycle of lunar/solar eclipses that had served Minoan times as part of a constitution against tyranny. Ego, flags and the scams of domination had little to offer. They never cursed natural death, wise enough to savor instead (like Crete today, The Bible’s land of “liars and lazy animals”) the comforts of this the only life we know.
Find, friend, the fundamental turning-points, and see what was changed into what. Did these Sea Peoples, then, “sorely oppress” the inland Hebrew tribes, as The Bible claims, to keep the emergent Israelites “in their power”? Archaeologists’ short answer: No. (Their longer one is laid out in Calendar House Chapter 9.) Hence the tale of this man Sweet Wine, a dispossessed priest-chief whose life stretches into those times. His tale explores fact with fiction, and fiction with fact.
The first “Israel,” according to Israeli archaeologist Israel Finkelstein, was “an aggressive northern entity” of the inland high country flanking the trade-highways. In light of the pattern that Pharaoh always returned to smash through problems with those roads, it’s significant that “Israel” is first visible from the outside in a list of peoples attacked by the latest Egyptian campaign circa 1210 BCE.
While tradition itself insists on the ideological differences that drove Israelite “separation” from unbelieving others, today’s new ethnic studies by Anne Killebrew and others agree that, as their herdsmen took to settled living, it was not their wont to traffic much with even their planted mid-country Hebrew relations—whose lives on the land were anything but hostile to their neighbors’ love of the goddess Asherah. When The Bible finally became a book several centuries on, it was still demanding that its own people burn, break, bury and forget Her.
In Israelite high country they built good homes, terraced stony land and lived as they pleased. Fine: so did the Philistines along the southern coast, where Pharaoh the ruler of that world placed them in Canaanite ruins, facing enemies of his own imperial make. Nothing suggests any Philistine ambition far inland, any wish or means to dominate (let alone “exterminate”) anyone. Nor is there any ground for a claim from the highlands on the seacoast.
In fact, with so much in common—from intense religious life to bad experience with Egypt, from their tribes’ fierce joyful independence to their mutual hatred of kings— the old narrative of a Culture War between Philistine “pagans” and Children Of The One True God no longer holds. (The more archaeology digs, the more they use the word “entanglement” as the real norm: in parallel, it’s clear now that The Trojan War wasn’t fought over Helen.) Something more thumpingly obvious must have come between these peoples. That’s what this new work searches out in the lives of families on all sides.
Try Again, Shall We? Results of the His-Story Experiment Are In.
You’re living quite well in a certain way for a long time. Then, you radically change/invert your ways, and it brings catastrophe after disaster, each a fraction of that long well-being. Do you look at these results of your experiment? Do you A) go on with this till it kills you because “change is hard,” or B) go back with honorable humility to where you last really knew and enjoyed where you were, so you can get it right?
A) goes forward anyhow (like the rest of Nature), but ass-backwards on a fearful wish that the future will be what the past never was.
B) points forward by facts into life’s sublime (partly frightening) adventure in evolution.
OK—Go for the “ideal” wished for under Plan A. FLASH: “Every word of The Bible is literally true!” And then what? Does anyone imagine that this multicultural planet will ever conform to what Christopher Hitchens called “a celestial North Korea”? Yes, some people do imagine that—a violent minority with nothing real to offer, “leading” worse than nowhere. Their greatest hope is that most people know, feel and do nothing.
The growing-up it takes to face results of our wrong turns brings the reward of unlimited potential: our true inheritance. We awaken from a bad dream—“just a brief forgetting,” Barbara Mor said. To heal, we name what we learned, and go on. People are good—unless they get too much power, that’s all: a note from our most successful ancestors, written in light as you’ll see below.
Hell & High Water: Catastrophe Cycle Redux?
Who can help us most going forward? We’d better sort this out fast. If you haven’t noticed, Trump’s National Security Advisor is already humping freshly fatuous 2017 legislation for “world war against a messianic mass movement of evil people”—meaning his own mortally-confused counterparts on the Muslim side of (sigh, again) The Bible. At home the aim is to “deconstruct” the last defenses of democracy against its own working people.
The first hurrah of Mycenean “heroes” was the conquest of their teachers in Crete, their last the sack of Troy and ruin all of two centuries later. Walled-in body and mind, they got confused and seized at a senseless system driven to plunder, because hucksters convinced them it was always so and would be. Sounds too familiar—and the crises are converging, the consequences of the status quo.
Old Testament “guides” forbade any treaty with outsiders: their sudden new choice from a god unknown to them was to serve, to leave, or to die. Alexander imposed “light” till his sword and his Homer failed him. Many disasters later (including Rome’s imperial fathers and then 1,000 years of medieval stagnation, ending in plague), the sons of Europe’s failed Crusaders fused this with investment-corporations, weaponized them, and colonized everything westward. Their aim was to “reduce and reform” self-sufficient peoples, in the Pope’s words 50 years before Columbus, to perpetual slavery and profit. “Else, our voyaging and our profit are naught,” chimed in the later “promoter” of America, Richard Hakluyt.
A planet filled with independent cultures is reduced to a global gulag of the Dis-Advantaged, since that is what the generic cheat “profit” and its tyrant-child “advantage” most produce: you make Progress only by taking more than you put in. The March West (in a circle) arrives home: now with no more easy silent victims, the empire turns on its own, every worker and citizen inside the fort. Who dares to whisper for humanity on all sides faces the flaming sword that keeps us from The Garden: “antiSemite.” God forbid a real man face mistakes and get it right.
To pretend that Nature and people will stand for this is pure nihilism. Yet, such is the core model still: a spiraling derangement from the real.
“Ideally,” or I-deal-ly (as in Art of the Deal), the suckers never know they’re in the nightmare-loop. Well, Minoans and Sea Peoples real as ourselves remind us we have a way out.
If we don’t take it, Nature has a darker promise too, in People‘s Coda: She Wild Alive…will burst the world laughing in Her fangs before She bows in holy boredom.
Myth is what we have as we sail through space forever. We shape stories of meaning, and they shape us and the world according to our dream. Our dreams so far from Homer and The Bible had 3000 years to show themselves. What, then, will it be from here? Sick of this Cycle’s hope named Apocalypse, I’ll take the tale 10 miles closer to facts we all can see.
The moral of that story is worth building on: harmony with Nature, honor of women’s wisdom, a heterarchic global household.
Without Eve that Spring of 1980, I walked the streets a shattered shade while the trees of New York City blossomed out. It was Reagan’s turn at the wreckers’ helm. Yet alive inside the thrumming monster, I plucked off a bookstall Colin Wilson’s study of watershed Western-spiritual moments (Religion and the Rebel), when he asked a question worth these years of answer: “Is the Outsider strong enough to create his own tradition?”
I invite you into real and different lives whose heritage empowers.
The Garden is remembering we’re in it.
*** *** ***
And then the day came
when the risk
to remain tight in a bud
was more painful
than the risk it took
FIRST REVIEW of PEOPLE OF THE SEA:
“This is an ancient epic and an astounding recovery of our real, wise and most successful Western ancestors. It shows the goodness and values that were lost as the conquerors wrote their versions of history—a history we should all know, as these relevant new stories can take us once again where humanity yearns to go.”
Karen Tate, Voices of the Sacred Feminine, Blog Talk Radio
LOTS OF WAYS TO COMMENT, SHARE,
GO FURTHER & PARTICIPATE!
(please bear with the building list!)
KINDLE Edition xx
Enjoy 6 Excerpts (No Spoilers!):
See what people say about People
Why Sea Peoples Matter: The Minoan Legacy, & The End of Ethnocentric Error
Jack reads Excerpts from People of the Sea:
Blog Talk Radio, Voices of the Sacred Feminine
Enjoy these 2 interviews on Minoans & Sea Peoples:
“Secrets of Minoan Crete’s Success”:
“Post-Minoans, Palestine & The Bible”:
PUBLIC FORUM on People of the Sea
State-of-the-Art Studies of Minoans & Sea Peoples:
Fiction That Takes You Into Minoan Reality:
Ariadne’s Brother: A Novel on the Fall of Bronze Age Crete (1996)
Explore the Minoans’ Sacred Astronomy, Their Life-Ways & Legacies:
Two Cutting-Edge Archaeologists Talk About Sea Peoples in Palestine:
Dr. Aren Maeir, “New Light on the Biblical Philistines: Recent Study on the Frenemies of Ancient Israel.”At The Oriental Institute, 2014:
Dr. Lawrence E. Stager, “Ashkelon: Seaport of the Philistines.” A Sunday at the Met Talk, 2012:
and Don’t Miss the Full Free Richly-Illustrated Journey from Minoan Crete to Palestine:
CALENDAR HOUSE: Clues to Minoan Time from Knossos Labyrinth