Join us at the campfire for tales from around the world, told by storytellers of all backgrounds and creeds. From the heros and heroines of old, let us relearn and rediscover the wisdom of our ancestors. Shhh..the story begins..

Many, many years ago, those who lived on the banks of the Yellow River thought of their world as a swirling cloud of chaos. Year after year, waves of dense dust, the color of ocher billowed over Northern China from the highest peaks of the Mongolian Steppes. When the dust clouds arrived, the people abandoned their plows and left their fields unattended.

Muffled in dark cotton scarves, the peasants hurriedly urged their plodding oxen back along the lanes deep with furrows, anxious to reach the safety of their homes before they were engulfed by the choking storm. Once inside, they sealed their doors and windows tightly against the dust that obliterated the earth and the sky and which, over the course of time, changed the face of the very landscape itself.

The people who lived along the Yellow River believed that the entire world had looked that way at the beginning of time when the giant Pan Ku appeared out of nowhere. He had no mother or father, so the story goes, but had simply slowly taken shape inside a whirlpool of dust and confusion. At first, Pan Ku had been sleeping, but he must have gleaned some form of nourishment from the thick clouds which surrounded him for, while he slept, he began to grow. His head became a huge globe, and his limbs legs grew broad and elongated until they reached unimaginable dimensions. Then, one day, Pan Ku awoke and his enormous eyes blinked open, but all he could see was darkness and disorder. In a fit of annoyance, he lifted his mountain of a fist and smashed the murk into a myriad of countless pieces.

In an instant, the clouds cleared. The shattered fragments of chaos floated gently apart. The pieces that were "yang" (those which were light and bright and hot) flew upward and became the sky. The pieces that were "yin" (those which were hard and dark and cold and heavy) dropped downward to form the earth. Pan Ku drew himself to his fullest height and stood between them. His feet were planted firmly on the ground and his immense head supported the dome which was the heavens. Some legends say that Kan Pu stood there for as long as eighteen thousand years and, all the time, the sky rose up higher and higher and the earth became thicker and heavier. Kan Pu continued to grow until he eventually formed a living column, thousands of leagues tall, that kept the roof of the world from crashing downward to crush the earth.

In order to pass the time, Pan Ku fashioned a mallet and a chisel and used them to chip away at the universe, carving it into a pleasing shape. He may not have been alone in his work, for certain old tales speak of three magical beasts who emerged from some unexplained elsewhere to keep him company. These companions were a dragon, a phoenix and a tortoise which would, for ever after, be regarded as the most sacred of creatures. When Pan Ku was finally satisfied with the appearance of the earth and was comfortable that the celestial spheres were fixed and firm, he set a massive sky-supporting mountain at each of the four corners of the world. This done, he yawned, stretched, lay down to rest with a satisfied smile and, well-pleased with his endeavors, fell asleep to never again wake.

Even in his neverending slumber, however, Pan Ku continued to serve the world. His breath became the white, fluffy clouds that sailed across the sky and also became the winds that swept the earth, keeping it fresh and sweet. His booming voice turned into the thunder. His eyes lived on as the moon and the sun, and his blood flowed into all the waters of the world--the oceans, the seas, the lakes, and the rivers. Pan Ku's skin and hair became the plants and the trees, while his bones and teeth dissolved into metals, minerals and precious stones...gold and cinnabar, jade and diamonds, pearls and rubies, iron and salt.

So glorious did Pan Ku's world become, that it was considered the pleasure garden of the gods who, up until that time, had remained aloof in paradise, never making their presence known. Now, however, they began to pay frequent visits to the earth in order to enjoy the beauty that it had to offer. They skimmed over the mountain tops, explored the caves, wandered in the meadows and the forests, and ate of the fruits which grew there in abundance.

One such immortal visitor was the goddess, Nu Kua, and she was dissatisfied with the pleasure garden that was earth. She swished her dragon-tail from side to side and searched restlessly, scanning the far horizon for something she was unable to find. Pan Ku had certainly made a wonderful start, but his creation was not quite perfect for there was something missing. The earth seemed lonely. Nu Kua knelt upon the ground and scooped up a lump of yellow clay. She toyed with it for a long while, tapping it with her curved dragon's claws, rubbing it into a ball in the palms of her hands, squeezing it...and pressing it...and molding it. She shaped a head with a broad brow, two eyes, a straight nose and a smiling mouth--much like her own. But, instead of bestowing a replica of her own sinuous, serpentine body upon the tiny figure, she sculpted a torso, two arms and a pair of legs.

She put the little clay doll carefully on the ground and breathed a cloud of warm, heavenly incense over it. Suddenly, the small arms flexed, the minuscule head swiveled, the tiny legs kicked out and the figure began to dance. Gathering more clay, Nu Kua made another figure...and then another...until the earth was full of people.

For a while, she sat entranced as she watched her creations explore the world around them, but soon it was time for Nu Kua to return to her own universe. She was reluctant to leave, but had one final task to perform before she was compelled to go. Although Nu Kua might be immortal, her small artifacts were not. They were made of clay and would eventually age, wear out and then die. So, she lifted them up, two by two, and whispered into their ears, instructing them, very delicately, in the art and purpose of marriage. Then, confident that the human race would now be able to perpetuate itself, she flew home to the magnificent palace in the sky where she lived with her brother, the dragon-god Fu Hsi.

Delighted with the tiny beings his sister had created, Fu Hsi decided to confer his own magical gifts on the fledgling species. Descending to the earth, he taught them, with patient fingers, to weave fishing nets, so that they might be able to feed themselves from the seas. To provide entertainment in their leisure hours, he manufactured the lute so they could reproduce the dulcet melodies that wafted through the courts of heaven. Then, so that they might not suffer from the cold, he showed the people how to make fire, by drilling wood against wood. Fu Hsi imparted skills to his sister's little clay figures that would enable them to survive and prosper. Last of all, he invented an alphabet for them to use and instructed them in the art of writing so that they could record all their knowledge for those who would come after them.

For a long time, the people of earth were happy, but then there was a war between two rival cosmic powers--the spirit of fire and the spirit of water--that almost destroyed their paradise. The conflict began in the heavens but swiftly spread to the earth. When it was all over, Nu Kua descended to view the devastation. She found her beloved earth in ruins. The smooth surface was scarred and pitted with deep canyons and cracks. The forests blazed with a fiery fury and the choking dust from which the earth had first emerged seemed to be swallowing it up once more. Waters threatened to flood the lowlands and wild animals roamed everywhere, menacing and preying upon the frightened humans that they encountered. The entire earth had tilted until even the sky itself was ripped and tattered. There were violent storms and winds which howled down from the heavens and rushed through the torn places to buffet the earth below.

Without further ado, Nu Kua immediately began to put the world to rights. Using her celestial powers, she quenched the smoldering forests and piled up the ashes of burned plants and reeds so that they would dam the floodwaters. She drove the wild beasts back to their lairs and tenderly soothed and calmed the terrified humans. Then, she turned to the most difficult task of all...repair of the badly damaged sky.

Nu Kua gathered up smooth, shining stones--choosing only those that were red, yellow, blue, white or black and which, from that moment on, would now be the primary colors of the painter's palette. Some of these stones she placed into a giant mortar and ground them into a fine powder. She then mixed the powder into a plaster which she used to mend the narrowest of the sky's cracks. Taking other stones, she placed them into a vast cauldron, melted them down and then refined them into a metal that glowed like jade but was harder than iron. With as much care as she had taken when she formed her clay figures, Nu Kua patted the metallic substance with her dragon-claws and painstakingly patched the gaping holes in heaven. "Now," thought Nu Kua, "this world and its creatures will be safe until the end of time."

Finally...and most important of all...Nu Kua swept away the swirling clouds of dust and debris and the world materialized once more from the tide of chaos. Ever since that time, on summer nights when the sunset is at its most glorious, Nu Kua's little clay children still look at the sky's glowing and glorious colors and know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that what they see there is the handiwork of their very own creator.