SO WITHIN AS WITHOUT. 
As someone who is interested in myths and archetypes as reflects of ourselves and as beings in their own rights sometimes when I read a story or hear a myth I some how have the strongest sense they are misrepresenting or obscuring mostly the female parts within this story. One of these has always be Medusa. Something about her story never sat right with me so I re-wrote it.

The Temple






There is a temple on a steep hill looking out over the sea. It is a temple of Aphrodite. It is not now what it once was. Only it's bleached marble bones remain. Once it was painted many bright colours and was full of the sound of women laughing, dancing and praying. For Aphrodite was the salt of tears and a woman’s sex, both full of power and magic. Once there had been a High Priestess of exquisite beauty. Her supple skin was like late summer honey. Her eyes sat between green and brown, were kind and warm. Her pure body was ripe and strong. Her lips had never touched a mans. She was wedded only some nights to the salty embrace of pilgrim wives seeking healing.
When the day came that men began to build a temple to Poseidon in a cove a few miles away she lost no sleep nor worried at all. The Goddess would protect them. Some came and left gifts for their wives at home, and some for their mistresses and lovers too. The Priests of Poseidon wore there hair long did not trimmed their beards and bathed in salted water daily. As it was in all that world they loved to compete with each over. They would swim and dive, ever pushing to be the strongest and fastest. The High Priest of Poseidon had a tattoo into his skin in a trident pattern on his left breast, wore nothing but a skirt of seaweed and had thick black hair and a fierce rage to his eyes of one who has seen too much.
It was not until a great festival did High Priest see High Priestess. She smiled at him politely and lead the singing and dancing without looking back. She did not feel his eyes upon her. She did not know the danger. For his heart was filled with theia mania. Not tender love, but a ravenous hunger to own and destroy. Something about her made him feel weak and he loathed and hated her for that.

She was not his first, there had been the barley sellers daughter. The incident had driven him from his village and into the priesthood. Then there had been the fisherman’s wife. Then the faces and names began to blur.

The festival was long and there were many women there. He was alone with her in his mind. At the end of the night the woman put their little lamps and candles into the water. These little bobbing lights mirroring the stars. They dipped their hands into the water and touched their foreheads and lips in reverence tot the Goddess.

The High Priestess followed her sisters and daughters home laughing and sing as they wound up the hill. She turned to look at the sea once more it's inky blackness peppered with lights being drawn out to sea. When he grabbed her she froze unable to breathe or think. Yet the moment passed and she fought him. She managed to free herself and she ran. Her lungs bursting. Her hair freeing it's self from their bounds. Once over the temple threshold she stopped leaning back against it's cool walls. Tears streaming down her face. Yet the bounds of honour, or mercy held him no sway and he grabbed her by her wrist twisting it behind her. She cried out. She fought and kick kicked him. He punched her in her mouth splitting it and blood poured. She stumbled and fell to the floor. He was on her ripping and biting and tearing. She screamed and struggled. Her sisters came running. First they tore at him with their hands then they beat him with a stick. They pulled the High Priestess from him. They lead her to the altar room where the Goddess herself sat in shire and lay her there. Blood poured from her. Tears poured from her. She prayed. She wept. She found a pair of shears that were used for the cutting of flowers and began to cut of her hair. It fell in uneven clumps to the floor and mixed with the tears and blood. She prayed and prayed. Then something happened. The statue spoke.

“Oh Medusa, what do want? How can I help you?”

The voice was rich with sorrow and love.

“Aphrodite, I want to be the most hideous create alive, so no man might touch me ever again.”

“Oh Medusa, it was not your beauty but I give you what you desire.”

The light receded and the sound of her sister grew louder and they brought the High Priest bound and beaten to her. Something inside her had changed. Something burned in her eyes.

As he was brought before her so she knew what she would do.

“Get up.”

He struggled to his feet and she looked at him deeply in the eye. He coughed and struggled for before him was not the beauty he had devoured but a monster. Her eyes were like pits of Tarturus and his bowels quickened. His breathe caught and he found himself unable to move..

Medusa called for sacred water bowl. It was brought. It was made of smooth cream stone and filled with sea water. She brought him down to his knees. She took the hand of her sister and they forced his face into the water, but they held firm. His struggles were in vain and soon his lifeless body slumped on the floor.

They took his body through the village and everyone stopped and stared at Medusa.

At the square she stop.

“Behold what becomes of man or God that defiles a woman in the temple of Aphrodite. I will hold the temple no more but let it be heard that if one takes a woman this way he should be brought to that cave where my sisters and I will live. He will face justice from the Goddess.”

She she and her sister walked into the cave and made it their home. Sometimes women would come to the caves. They would find comfort and healing their for the crimes of those who hurt them. Men were brought too. Young and old, rich and poor, the sisters drowned them all. Some were brought by crowds, others a few father and brothers. The beautiful Medusa with skin the colour of honey was not there any more, she was a monster and she thanked Aphrodite everyday.



I never believed that the Goddess would curse someone when they were innocent. I still don't. She gives us what we want.