For the ancient Minoan's, dance was a way of telling stories, preserving history and enshrining culture. Decorations on surviving pottery show an ancient bull-dance, in which young men and women, unarmed, would leap over a bull as it charges them.
It was a form of physical philosophy, a corporeal, carnal knowledge in the truest sense of the phrase. Flesh and thought as one, supported in the medium of music. They used it to tell stories, and to teach.
Eleven or twelve years ago, I visited the ruins of the original Labyrinth, on Crete. Some parts of the ancient palace are little more than flat stones marking where the floor used to be, other parts still have walls and even a roof. I remember being struck by two depressions in the ground where enormous door hinges once rested. How easy to imagine the great entrance to the palace; and where I stood, Minoan soldiers keeping watch through the warm Mediterranean nights.
Theseus, it is said, came to the Labyrinth against the wishes of his old, wise father, to free Athens from a terrible debt, and to slay the Minotaur, who devoured their young.
He came as a hero and a prince; touched by the gods, he was a man who had already slain many enemies.
The moment she saw Theseus step off the ship, Ariadne, the daughter of King Minos, fell in love with him. As the legend runs, she gave him a spool of thread to hold, to lead him back through the many twists and turns of the Labyrinth.
Theseus slipped into the darkness, alone, trailing the single thread behind, until he came finally upon the monster. They battled; the Minotaur's great strength and fury almost overcoming the young hero. In the end, though, Theseus did what he had always known he would; he slew the beast. He was victorious and the sound of his victory was the last breath of the Minotaur, whispering from the walls of his lair.
Sooner or later, I think, we are all there.
Slipping into the Labyrinth is easy, the way opens always before us, and the beast waits for us all. And that's when you learn the truth, as Theseus must have, alone under the rich soil of Crete. In the darkness of the Labyrinth, no one can see who is hero and who is beast. How easy to stay and take up the bull's head. How easy, in the blackness of the maze's heart, to forget which was the monster and why we came at all.
Better hope that the thin thread, tracing back into the dim corridors, holds. Cling to it tightly young prince, because now you know; it isn't the Minotaur that feeds on the flesh of the young. It is the Labyrinth itself. There, in the belly of the night, the Labyrinth is hunger and seduction and has swallowed you as surely as it swallowed the thing you slew. This is the meaning of the dance. This is why the young men must throw their bodies across the horns of the charging bull. Face the beast unarmed, leap and let the music be the thread that carries you back.
Slay the monster, and you can never be sure you won't find yourself howling hunger down the lonely passages. Hold on to the thread and let it carry you home. Cling tightly young prince and walk carefully, for the way back is long and the thread is weak.