Olympian Goddesses and Gods: Coexistence
Available in ebook or print version
As children of the ocean, land-dwelling species humans have evolved ever more complex ways to survive on this lonely spinning piece of rock and water we call call home planet earth. As alarms now sound on the consequences of plastic and industrial pollution, some of us believe extinction is a real possibility. Our religious leaders assume God knows what He is doing, and we must have faith.
The old Gods of the ocean have a problem with humans. We don’t listen. Mostly we don’t believe in them though they are the guardians of the natural world. As are those who work to maintain life on dry land. It is, as it always has been, a coexistence between us all. As king captain Odysseus learned on his journey home from Troy city, the old Gods should be respected if we are to survive.
Featured Goddesses & Gods:
Circe, Amphitrite & Doris; Oceanus & Pontus; Glaucus & Phorcys; Scylla & Ceto; The Nereids; Tethys; Charybdis; Proteus & Nereus; Poseidon; Triton; Styx; Hygeia; Hestia; Ate & Litae; Pan, Silenus & Dionysus; Plutus & Aristaeus; Tyche & Nike; The Harpies; Morpheus, Hypnos, Moros & Moera; Hermpahroditus & Thaumus; Electra, Eurybia & The Graea; Fauna; Gods of the Winds & Storm; Hermes.
Available in ebook and print version:
epub urn: uuid:2282e868-ee70-4e19-9f54-75bf3cfcea02. ISBN: 0-9549863-1-8
Print version: ISBN 978-0-9576051-1-4
From the Beginning…
‘The waves tell a story,’ said Euterpe. The grey green ocean nodded and shrugged and shuffled shrouded in timeless conversation. Waves hurried to the sanded beach spilling their tale in surge of foam; others let theirs go sooner, sharing morals and chaos more widely.
It is a town like any other by the ocean: beautiful and ugly; full of life, full of death; busy making stories. Long ago it was no more than a cluster of shacks beside a stream; then came a mill and some houses and a church, then more houses and more churches. Now there are hundreds of houses perched on the green and custard coloured cliffs. But one by one its churches close doors as congregations fade away. I don’t know if God visits those churches. There are people in town who say He doesn’t exist and never did. They say that about my Gods too, and have done so for longer but at least my Gods come to visit me.
Those from the ocean tell me of unspoiled places with no plastic bottle slicks. They share the beauties of the deep, and its dangers and treasures. Others are not from the oceans, some come from the earth, or above and beyond, and below but where these realms are, I cannot say even though I have been there. It’s just that I can only go there when they take me. I would have to die to find them for myself, and I am not yet ready for that.
Why do they come, perhaps you wonder? It is because we invited them. We opened a book of the old Gods, Hesiod’s Theogony, published circa 700 BCE; raised an altar and spoke their names in welcome. The book listed the old gods and goddesses, how they got here and what they did. Around the same time, Homer told stories of how Gods and mortals coexist. Homer’s epic Iliad featured the famous siege war outside the walls of Troy city. Sequel Odyssey told of how the city was destroyed, and followed the problematic homeward journey of the warlord captain Odysseus.
He set sail with a fleet of twelve ships. It began well with a surprise raid and supplies seizure in the Cicone coast town of Ismarus: they murdered citizens, robbed its treasuries and stole its food; then they partied on the beach with gallons of Cicone wine and barbecued cattle. Odysseus was lucky to escape their revenge attack next morning. Out at sea, a gale blew his fleet off course, but they landed on the isle of Lotus Eaters whose hospitality of narcotic communism almost suckered them all had king Odysseus not roused them from their bliss. Reluctantly, they rowed away. They came ashore on the island home of the beautiful sorceress goddess Circe and stayed as her guests for a year.
I listened to the sound of the waves. Somewhere out there were those that carried King Menelaus’ warships to Troy city and wetted warrior Achilles’ ankles when he landed in the shallows of its beach. And King Odysseus too, adrift on the last piece of splintered wood; all that remained of his fleet.
‘Can a God truly turn a ship into rock?’ I asked the Muse goddess.