MEDUSA

A vestal virgin of Athena temple made many visits to be alone in prayer to the goddess. Deeply devoted, the vestal virgin meditated in quiet solitude to express her love for the great goddess.

One day alone, the vestal virgin was in prayer at the quiet tranquil temple. There she was attacked, violently and brutally raped by a mortal man.

Legend goes because of this even Athena turned the virgin into a snake headed, slithering green Medusa for committing the sin of sexual acts in her temple.

This is the male version of treachery and woman turned against woman version. I don’t think so; Athena is too compassionate for such a trick. The vestal virgin was so traumatized she turned herself into a she demon. She had no choice – she had to become Medusa. She was abandoned by Athena, there was no arrest of this person, nothing, the event was never mentioned again, she was betrayed and abandoned, this rape eliminated all trust in humanity, and she was supposed to be protected in the Temple and Athena.

The virgin upon realizing this unreasonable, unexplainable, unjustified event became the hot molten lava, rage-full green snake she demon to lash out at all who came near her. She couldn’t understand that no one loved her enough to protect her. Medusa made her own justice by becoming a successful demon, devouring any human who looked in her direction.

Athena could do nothing to make her devoted subject return to peace, and as it is - - gods and goddesses do not have unlimited power, mortals forget this. Medusa has free will and Athena can only pray for her subject to come back to her for healing.

The former vestal virgin now Medusa found a cave to live, very near the dragons. The dragons didn’t mind because monsters know monsters.

For what seemed like centuries Medusa lived in her cave where conquerors came to slay Medusa, she successfully destroyed everyone.

Story has it that Jason and the Argonauts came and slayed her, another false ending in the hopes to destroy the belief that women can stand up for themselves and hiding what happened to the innocent vestal virgin.

Time went on and on and Medusa grew tired of being alone. She longed for love and interaction and peace. She left the cave for moments at a time – retreating back into the cave because she was unsure of what to do next.

Some days she could go into the sunlight. Other days she was too entrenched in rage to move. Instead she would barbeque some stupid man conqueror for lunch and lick her fingers of the blood and burnt skin and enjoys every minute.

Still Medusa knew she had to move out of the cave. Buy some fate each day that she went into the sunlight she lost a snake in her hair, her skin was returning to her normal dark olive, her body was being put back into place. An arm popped back, a toe, a foot, a hip in no particular order.

This was incentive enough to keep trying to re-enter existence, to be alive again.

Medusa asked no one to help her-not Athena-not humans. She was determined to survive this ordeal.

After years of living alone she learned to trust herself, she took a final plunge into the sunlight and became human again-a beautiful woman- far greater than the one trapped in the she demon.

Carefully she re-entered society getting work, making friends, being happy for the first time, no one in this new town knew her and she took a new name –Aster- which means Star forged from the tears of the gods.

Inside her mind and her soul the she demon never left because she is Asters very own protector from now on. She knew how to take care of herself.

She never went back to the Athena temple and kept a healthy distance from man, and that was perfectly OK.

She is enjoying and thriving with a second chance at having a well-rounded, balanced, normal life, far away from that brutal attack.

Maybe one day she’ll have children and a farm and a loving partner. Who Knows?

She had plenty of time to process her personal betrayal that ended with no satisfactory conclusion.

She leaned she is her own healer, her own advocate, her own strength, her own counsel.

She knows her life is now unlimited and nothing will hold her back. 

Georgia P

March 2020

I Am Not Your Lover

Listen, we need to talk

I am not your lover

You are human, I am a cat!

We are of different species

I have the DNA of Emperor, the Great Wildcat

Thousands of years ago

My honorable ancestors were pest control officers

Through Africa to Europe, America and Asia

Now we have lost all our skills to survive in the wild

It’s all because of you and your ancestors

Taming and keeping us as pets

I deserve respect as a descendant of the Great Wildcat

Yet you place me in a tiny sleeping pad in your small apartment

That bores me out of my mind

I look out the small window

Seeing no fields or hills that I long to run about

I walk in circles listlessly the whole day

Can only meow to whatever city noises that I don’t care for

Until you come home dead tired, asking for my company

You expect me to wag my tail, show my love and absolute loyalty to you

Oh, please!

I am not your lover

You are a human, I am a cat

Just don’t kiss my face all over while rubbing my ears

And don’t break my ribs by holding me too tight

I am tired of hearing your complaints at work

And broken romances with your merry-go-round girlfriends

I’d rather sit by the kitchen window saying hi to pigeons flying by

Oh no

Don’t treat me like your lover

Don’t dress me up like a human idiot

I have a beautiful fur coat of my own from my mom

I need no silly sweater on my back and socks on my four paws

Definitely no huge pink ribbon bow on my head

And no sunglasses on top of my nose

I hate you the most when you put me in a baby carriage

As if I am handicapped and I am a human baby

Really, it is not funny, stop humiliating me

Like the way you humiliate your girlfriends

This time

You’ve got to get it right

I am not your lover and I am not your therapist

I have no desire for human intimacy

I am a cat with pride for self-sufficiency and dignity

I now request you to leave me alone and respect my privacy

You will never take away my freedom nor

Coerce me to love you like a human being

We are of different species

You are human, I am a cat

Do you get it or not?

S.P. Ma

Feb 2020

The Fragrance of Chinese Tea

High wind howling out of the window

Meditative Chinese classical Guqin music

Simple tiny aging clay tea pot

Polished bamboo utensils

Special Porcelain pouring pitcher

Tiny Porcelain pairs of aroma cups and drinking cups

Spring water from the mountain

And tins of a variety of tea leaves 

From green to deeply roasted

All set on a low rectangular wooden table

The tea master, humbly settles into a Zen state of mind

Closing all senses to the surroundings

Three to four tasters sit in silence

Eyes following every move of the master

In handling the tea sets with a touch of musical artistry

From hot bathing the pot and sets of cups

Along with cleansing of the mind

After passing around the tea leaves for admiration of its aroma

The master gracefully steeps a pinch of tea leaves into the tiny pot

Allowing the leaves to stretch out their bodies comfortably in hot water

Effortlessly releasing the light, fresh, soothing fragrance in slow motion

The aroma radiates and lingers over multiple infusions

A complex aroma beyond description

Eases the hidden emotions and nurtures the neglected soul

                             

Upon the subtle invitation from the master

The tasters gingerly hold on to the rim of the aroma cups

With great respect and admiration

Breathing in deeply the delicate fragrance of the tea

There are no words to describe the release

Of the tea spirit bound by the subtle to intense fragrance

Spiraling up a mysterious and dreamy story from the high mountain

Simple flowers to a hundred year old tea tree

Wrapped in layers of floating clouds for century long

Raindrops falling in rhythms seeding the fragrance in the tea leaves

Chinese tea in a moody afternoon

Seduces a rainbow of fragrance to rest in the hearts

Of all admirers crossing the path

To the ultimate culture born in nature

Drinking the Fragrance of Chinese Tea

S.P. Ma

Feb 2020

A Single Flower

Not only was he compelled to send a single flower but he always sent a bouquet of flowers. Nothing less would do for him, in his world.

It had been a messy break up, resulting in both of them not knowing how to communicate. Hurt feelings were scattered everywhere like the petals of the dozens of roses he had sent, falling down the sides of the vases like tears falling down the cheeks of their abandoned love story. The tapestry their lives had woven, thread by thread, from living together had unraveled as families, friends, and traditions took up sides or disappeared completely. Landmines had been planted, waiting to explode upon the slightest harsh word or angry provocation.

No matter, he continues to send his flowers religiously every Valentine’s Day, every birthday and Mother’s Day year after year after year.  Strange how he continued this ritual despite the fact that they had stopped living together over thirteen years ago.

One could only guess why. Could it be he still loved her? Or was it the only way he could bring himself to show he was sorry. Then again, could this ritual be only self-serving, sending the flowers to try to ease his suffocating guilt as he thought about all he had done to cause the fissure between them.

A single flower, a bouquet of many….he will never stop sending them, this symbol of love, sorrow, guilt, regret, and remorse.

Ellen

Feb 2020

Untitled

Grand Avenue Insomnia

Another night of tossing and turning had led to the frustration of being wide-awake when I wanted to sleep. There was no use lying there when even warm milk had not helped, so I decided to go for a night walk to tire myself out. Leaving the house, I started my excursion eventually ending up by Maspeth Federal Bank where I picked up the first wonderful scent drifting and waffling down Grand Avenue. It was a wondrous smell recalling all the best memories of youth combined and intertwined in a tempting wave of goodness. Baked cookies, fresh bread and bacon cooking, all intermingled in a sprightly melody tantalizing the nostrils and sending me reminiscing to holiday seasons long past. As I was drawn down the quiet deserted avenue, the scent became stronger eventually leading me to the exhaust vent of the Glendale Bake Shop. I sniffed and inhaled the commingling of smells recalling youthful memories and hearing music playing in my head.

Anyone looking down from a window would have thought a bear was rooting through the garbage, but I didn’t care. Looking down from the grating and peering into the bakery from between slits in the gate I saw two pairs of eyes staring at me. Two little creatures who were animatedly talking to each other stopped and ran to the door. I heard the lock turn and the door opened just enough for me to slip in. Sure enough, the Gingerbread Men were beckoning me to enter after having put down their candy cane rifles deciding that I was not a danger, but simply a pastry fan.

Inside it was bright, quite a contrast to the blackness of a moonless night. The Ginger Bread Men straightened each other’s bow ties then picked up their candy cane rifles and resumed their posts as sentries guarding the door. A party was in progress and cookies were milling about dancing and socializing. Over on the oven bacon strips danced on the grill like a beach goer on a sweltering day without sandals while sunny side eggs looked on in amusement and Kaiser rolls split their sides laughing then lay down on the grill to get a nice tan.

If the vent had smelled wonderful, this was multiplied many times over in the bakery. A forest of cinnamon sticks, a grove of cloves, piles of ginger root and whole nutmeg, star anise hanging down from high above and piles of juicy raisins, dates, and figs along with dried fruits and citrons all added to the wonderful scented scenario begging to be eaten. Marzipan pigs and cows danced on top of a creamy white cake while gingerbread people tidied up their houses to await the opening of the bakery. Gregarious black and whites coaxed the pfeffernusse and chocolate drops out of their trays to the main dance floor on the counter. Pretzel rolls with their salty language argued with the Irish Soda Bread, always spoiling for a good donnybrook then calming down, the Soda Bread did a jig and a reel. Easygoing apple turnovers went along with the festivities while apple tarts fancily decorated in sugary icing flirted with them. Triangular Hamentashen cookies did a traditional dance and the Linzer Tarts, those spherical powdery treats with a delicious mouth watering jelly remained stoically regal. Everyone shied away from the Crullers knowing how twisted they were. Just then, the donuts rolled in looking a little glazed over after a night on the town. Sprinkle cookies adorned in their many bright colors associated with the rainbow cookies, which formed an arch in imitation of the atmospheric light show.

Suddenly the Ginger Bread Men told me I would have to leave since the baker would be out soon with the new recruits to ready for the opening. As I exited, all the pastries were quietly resuming their assigned places in their trays ready to go to sleep. I was feeling tired myself and anxiously retreated home to resume my slumber.

Jim L

Feb 2020