I am a goddess. So is she, she and she. I would like to be as Persephone was. Needed for all seasons. Valued and loved. Longed for in my absences. The very thought leaching warmth from you that only my return can bring back.
I think maybe I am mistaken for Hera, to be held at a distance and taken for granted. That I will endure anything for the sake of the fallacy you call love. Maybe once when I was young and foolish. Filled with a different kind of hope.
But that is not who Hera was, who Persephone was, who I am. I am as eternal as the goddesses that came before. But I am my own. There are haunting galaxies in my eyes, hard fought for love written in my bones, and a soul that is a vast flame in my body.
I shelter these things close. For very few have been able to survive even a hint of them. I treasure those that have. Will cherish them long past my youth. I wait for the one that joyously accepts all the growing parts of me.
I cannot be as Persephone or even Hera was. But I can learn from them. As I learn from others. I am a goddess. So is she, she and she.
You can hear it on the wind sometimes, her sobbing laughter. As her ghostlike arms clutched another innocent to her chest with desperation, such sadness, needless pain.
If you saw her, you might think she was the monster. Her hair a snarled mess, eyes hard as granite. Her once beautiful body, coveted by gods, punished for the same reason.
She held her victims in a thrall, striking and deadly. Hunted for what she had become, what they had made her. Until one day she was struck down.
In modern times you can still see her spirit in the rage of every innocent who has suffered at the hands and minds of the true monsters in the world.
You saw it in how they continued to fight no matter how many times they were pushed down. Told they didn’t matter. In each of them her spirit survived and pushed them to thrive.
Each one shows that she was not a monster, but rather a protector of those who suffered, suffered in their minds, at the hands of others. Suffered for their rights, beliefs, and growth. In them her memory lived on. Reckless and fierce.
Staring into the glossy surface of the water, she lets the stillness flow through her as she kneels by the shimmering lake.
A slow inhale and even slower exhale as her body’s tension drains. Her feet and legs molding to the earth beneath her as they conform to her body. Earth and woman made for each other.
The sun shines exquisitely over her, making the volcanic veins just beneath her surface shimmer and dance. Her fingers sink into the shore at her sides as her head falls back into shadow with a piercing scream.
Birds scatter in the trees, small animals run a little faster, but the larger animals recognize their own. A predator in soft skin, with a shrill battle cry, one who is fire itself. They slink slowly away from it even as they envy it.
The water ripples outward at the sound, moved beyond measure to its depths at this creature above it. It can feel the pull at the shore line, the power in her hands, the call of her voice.
Drops of her blood meet the water as they fall from her nose and ears, but still her cry rings out. At the scent of her blood the larger animals scatter even further.
Knowing she is not only capable of immense love and kindness this predator in soft skin. But that she will set fire to the earth around her, blazing her own path, salting it after she is done.
Burning tainted bridges without hesitation and building steel in their place from her very own spine. Her cry fades away and the sound of silence reigns as the dirt on her hands mixes with the blood on her face.
She walks into the blazing sun, not caring of the eyes that watch, what is the uncaring weight of few when she is the hope and joy of many?
Life is filled with different seasons, the ups and downs, moments-good and bad. That make up our lives and daily interactions. I’m always amazed when I see how far an artist goes for their work. Especially photographers. Laying in the mud, in freezing or blistering conditions, for that one perfect shot. That one perfect moment they can wait hours to capture. This image they have in their head that shapes the way they view things.
Artists have such a unique perspective of the world. Whether you’re a writer, a painter, a photographer, a sculptor. Or any combination of thousands of different talents that make you the artist and person you are. So full of life and willing to share with others, while still keeping a part of themselves unknown. Leaving their work open for the masses or the few to be viewed. For someone else’s perception of their personal work to become what it means to them as the viewer and not what it means to the artist.
Perspective in life, in whatever season you are in. Whatever artistic talent you do or do not possess is what shapes your actions and your reactions. Artist’s are all about changing perspective. Theirs and yours. When you find yourself in a season of change or maybe hardship, be like an artist, look for the best in what you see and if all else fails, change your perspective.
When the brightness of day gives way to a luminous night, the moons rays fall across her weary face.
She is at once the Maiden, Mother, and Crone of the old tales. Shining with an inner radiance you can see rippling across the surface of her skin.
As the worries of the day fade, the laugh lines around her eyes come out to play. The moon rises ever higher above her as she tosses her head back.
It’s light shines fully over her face and down her neck covering her body as she screams like a banshee of legends gone by, fully embracing her whole self.
In that one perfect moment, all else is forgotten except the oneness of moon and female brought together by the darkness of night and that which resides in her.
Her fury and wisdom are given free reign, not even the soreness of her throat or the tears on her reddened cheeks can disturb the peace found in the moons caress.
Maiden, Mother and Crone, a banshee of legend, she is everything you think she is not and nothing like you think she is.
She does not ask your permission for the space she inhabits. Only that you do not unwisely stray onto her path, less she takes herself from the peace of the moon and gives you the fire of the sun.
She travelled down a path she’d wandered many times over the years. Through the greenness of the forest, pass familiar trees with their broken branches and the new growth in its place.
Her feet brushing over soft moss and sharp-edged branches, the scent of blooming flowers nearby as she made her way to the fading light at the end of the path.
Once there her feet hit sand and she walked towards the shoreline. The water had always soothed her with its crashing waves against the cliffs on either side. A fierce caress to the jagged rocks.
It was a fanciful place, one of dreams past and present. It wove through her mind making her feel small against the oceans horizons. But as if any goal could be reached here.
They told her she should know her place wasn’t in the water, but amongst the trees. That she would never survive it.
But the ocean was much like her life, full of beautiful and happy things. It’s surface stunning, if at times unruly. Then beneath its surface when you dove into its layers, it had hidden coves and shadows within.
It was wild and untamed, never to be fully explored. Though few tried to look past its surface. She looked longingly at it as she felt the vines wrap around her feet. Whenever she got to close, they always pulled her back.
One day she thought, the water will welcome me, and I will be bound no longer to the fallacies of others.
She was a universe unto herself.
Her eyes held constellations undiscovered in swirling, always changing, yet ever the same patterns.
Her mouth held the sun and every blessed thing that could either waken her love’s soul or turn it into shards.
Her hands were like the moon, gentle yet strong, scars and lines showing the past, present and future of her life.
Her body was a northern star on the compass of a night sky. Always guiding her lover back home again to sink into her sweet embrace.
Her mind was at once a black hole where all the worlds wisdom rested in its glory only to be seen when chosen. It was the Milky Way with dancing thoughts and intricate lines.
She was a universe unto herself.
Brilliant, stunning, full of mystery and mirth.
She walked like only she knew the answer to a secret. Floating in the air, fully grounded in reality.
Slowly, it built, then all at once. Until my back was arching off the bed, head thrown back, neck straining, wrist coming to my mouth to muffle the sounds.
As a deep pink flush worked its way down my body from the tops of my cheeks, down my neck, over my chest and torso and beyond…
Until I was offering you everything and drawing you closer with every move, every caress of my ever eager hands and mouth.
Every gasping breath, moan, and whimper of longing, leading to this one moment of almost painful bliss.
The color fading from my vision, sounds fading away as if I’m deaf, yet I can see, hear and feel it all so exquisitely.
I feel as if I’m dying but also that I am reborn. Alive, in the way that makes me want to drag my mouth over your skin in sweet thanks…kill me again won’t you lover? From now until our end.
Pain may come in waves over time.
But you have seen rougher waters then this and you still shine like a beacon.
You are the lighthouse on the horizon, a symbol of home and safety for the ones you love.
At times their ships have been unsteady and they have strayed from their path. But always you have guided them back.
A burning light, a solid haven planted deep in your foundation. Strong enough to withstand the waves that have passed and the ones that will come.
There is infinite beauty in your curves and stature, waiting and watching for your ships to reach your harbor.