Gravespeak

‘Leave Krete and come to this holytime,
where the graceful grove of apple trees
circles the altars smoking with frankincense.
Here roses leave shadows on the ground
and cold springs bubble through the apple branches
where shuddering leaves pour down profound sleep
In our meadow where horses graze
and wild flowers of spring blossoms
anise shoots fill the air with aroma
and here, queen Aphrodite pour heavenly nectar into the
gold cups
and fill them gracefully with sudden joy.
Sapphos of Lesbos


Prologue

Where do I begin? How can I begin to explain to you the meaning of my existence? A tale is to be told. In fact many tales that span centuries. Let me say, that I am no mortal being. I can remember, the ancient times, the world that once was but a glimpse ago. I have never been mortal and never was. There ancients times, include my conception. I was born of a mighty being and a mortal man. I am proof of these myths as you call them. I share Hercules birthing. I met him once, very strange fellow, handsome but not too smart. Yet, I digress, you must excuse me, I am seldom the conversationalist.
Spirits, souls, the dead, they speak to me and when they whisper, I must listen. I have tried to block them out , they awaken in my presence calling out to me their most pitiful ales. The desperation for their unremembered lives awaken my sight. I am like the vulture spanning its wings and gliding across seas and continents compelled by whomever seeks me. There I descend upon the crumbling stones, or barren plots of meadow where the daises spring up and the worms squirm through the rich earth. Here is where these spirits lay, certainly not at rest. Rest Hah Something I shall never know. I shall live a thousand lives, and still have tales that need to be recanted. I shall live to tell these tales until the world collapses under the weight of humanity.
The spirits whisper in my ears, through the most extraordinary means. Even mere objects speak to me, homes that hold the imprints of these long dead mortals rehearse the same scene for all eternity. It is my job to solve this, to stop these restless spirits. A mere doorknob, or rusted tool awakens my heightened senses.
Contrary to popular literature, I am not a psychic vampire or witch, no I am the original. I am the Oracle. I doubt you, in these times have heard of me. I was a might priestess for the god Apollo at Delphi. Now, does that spark your memory? I am known as the ancient mystery and some say that my existence was a hoax. Let, me assure you I am no hoax. It was my life dedicated to interpreting what Apollo desired or do not desire. Occasionally, those persons would arrive seeking their futures. Surely, Apollo the great god, would not be interested in a simple goat herders life, so sure, sometimes, I made it up. I fell to the floor and shook, sputtered, laughed anything that was considered insane, I did. You can call me Pythia. I have told you of my mystical parentage. A mortal and immortal mother. I do not recall my mother, only a feeling a faint presence that blew by me then and now.
But father,yes, I remember him well Do you think one as ancient as myself would forget? I too, have human stirring, longings and melancholy. I cry for my father. I watched as time ravaged his beautiful physique. I looked on him as he moaned in agony from an intense pressure in his guts. I could do nothing for him, but I pleaded with Apollo and even thought of bargaining with the gods to save his life. But, it wasn’t to be so. They would not hear me and Apollo assured me that it was not my place, I was the oracle nothing more and nothing less. I was aware of the fragility of human life, for I had seen many pass me by on their way to the place I will never see. They were all aglow, calm, serene, brilliant light emanated from every facet of their translucent forms. They never noticed me, there hollow eyes were focused on something I could not see, wasn’t supposed to see. Then they were gone, the radiant light that was around and in them disappeared and I was alone again.
Father never allowed me to visit his deathbed, not that I was allowed to. I had never know any part of the world, no stream nor seas, for I was the bride of Apollo and that is where I stayed. I felt his release from mortal life, from the mountaintop I watched his cottage, I watched as his youthful spirit ascended to Olympus. The sky was alight with fire and the clouds were heavy with raindrops. I was grateful for the visage. A simple Shepard, the father of an immortal being was blessed, he was not going to Hades, no. Olympus with my mother. I collapsed upon the fragrant earth and heaved blood red tears unto its skin. I felt that my living was over and at the age of 25 I felt myself begging for death. I had not known, that I would remain this age forever. I loved him so much. He was exquisite my pap, so exquisite and fragile. Not like myself, he was not an abomination forced to watch in terror as all love was ripped form his sight. I tore at my long hair and scratched out my eyes. Yet, I felt no release. Only an impenetrable pain. It heals slowly. After that day, my eyes were never the same. New eyes formed in my sockets and I felt the itch. It was unbearable. They grew and healed themselves so slowly. So I learned of aching pains and of my ability to regenerate.
I wept for a century. I cried for my love and I began to sincerely lose my touch with seekers and the great god Apollo. To die, to have the spark come to an end. Oh, I will it. But it is not so for one as I am. Enraptured and immortal. I have many powers. I can will myself to any place simply by closing my eyes and I can read a mortal mind. So, if by chance I brush by you in the most innocent of ways, perhaps in a street corner. I will know you. It comes in a flood , images and a thousand unuttered thoughts. How predictable most of you are. In modern times, it seems to be how much more paper currency you can make, how much more you need and how little time you have to get it in.
I tell you all of these thoughts so that you will come to understand me, so you will understand my words. Here within these paper copied pages lat the true voices of many powerful spirits. I can offer up no judgement to pass upon some of these condemned souls. You the reader I challenge you to judge. I am not fit to place myself in their places. I can no longer feel such passion. Nor, should I have ever warranted those sweet sufferings.

You must understand, I seem to find solace and a morbid companionship with the dead. I am affronted and confronted at all times. All around me they speak. Some are louder and even more mavalent than others. Some spirits are so great that they carry with them peace. Those are the ones that see, to frighten me. Yes, their great power and heir holy light are so intimidating. Yes, those are few and when I chance to encounter such a specter, I allow its mere presence to possess me. I become totally and hopelessly enraptured in its end times.
As I said before I am confronted constantly. Sometimes I am transported to a place simply because a specter wills it. It may seem a bit frightening but it is not. At times I welcome it, such is sweet surrender. It is as if another has taken mo over and I am no longer burdened with the responsibility of self possession. These transportations are simply comical at times. I was once whisked away in the middle of a gravespeak and needless to say the spirit I was talking with certainly cursed me.
I am part goddess. Which one? Well, I am not at liberty to speak her name for me it would be certainly blasphemy. However, I shall proceed to give you a small taste for a single moment. A small taste of her origins. She encompasses all love and lovers. When the garden is in bloom, unfurling its tender tendrils towards the ebony sky, she is there. When lovers consummate secret trysts she is the very reason. To know her is to love her, and if a mortal beheld her true visage, nothing more than a dribbling child would be left in their place. Her beauty is so very penetrating that not a person nor beast can resist her .
So, now that you are enlightened enough to know that a mere mortal such as my papa could not possibly resist her, you may understand some of the complications. She took a young mortal lover, quite easily, for if the gods cannot resist her, what could stop her burgundy lips from tempting a mere mortal. There she appeared, in the grove where he often took solace. She was disguised as a simple maiden . They bathed in a pool of verde tranquil waters that sweet narcissus drowned in soon after that. They were united under the watchful eye of the great gods and they reached ecstasy together as the forest nymphs giggled in splendor.
That is when I was conceived, at that very moment. I can remember the sound of sloshing water, the humming of the birds.
I know that you have not heard of me, I can sense it. However, I shall decide to ignore that small bit of negligence on your part . I will see it as a child sees her oversight as a pointless procedure. Besides, I would not benefit from your knowledge. Rather to be sought after and chased the world around would only deepen my sorrow and loneliness. For which I do not seek to be aware of.
Fashions have come an gone, despots have risen and fallen and yet I am still here. Throughout it all, I was not alone. For I have had many companions over these times. Sadly, one who had condemned me to this existence still hold his hands around my very heart. Paris, he was as fair and as masculine as any of the god. An underling to the great Alexander. He sought out Delphi, traveling over mountains and rivers, to seek knowledge. He requested a seeing with the great oracle and there I glimpsed his fate in the smoke that rose up from the center of the chamber. But, I was startled, for the first time I was involved in a mortals life. As Paris looked upon me I knew his thoughts, How lovely and how fierce his eyes seemed. He longed to touch me, he dared without speaking and I was so shocked for I hadn’t been touche din a hundred years, that I allowed my mortal feelings to shine through. The temple was silenced and his breathing laborious as he murmured my name.His hands stoked my bare arms and lifted my chin. He was dangerous Oh, if the great god Apollo had wanted me truly forever, he would have gotten rid of Paris quickly. But, he did not.
How sweet I had been You must understand that by no means has any man considered my a homily being. My visage is sweet because my father and mother were both the sweetest fruits that were ever plucked from the vine. I am their aged wine, and at the time I met Paris what a lush wine I did make. My hair as long and flowing. I had been brushed to a luster many
times and infused with olive oils to make it shiny and soft. Besides that, my height was rather impressive. I surpassed Paris only slightly in height.. His boy was a golden goose as well. Toned and weathered but by no means beaten as the old man who works his farm is. No, not weathered in that way. Instead, Paris was browned from many days in the sun. These many days were spent in journey and roving throughout the ancient world with his master Alexander. At that time I had never been anywhere but Delphi. Though I was more than a hundred years of age. No and I had no knowledge of the places he mentioned, Carthage or Athens. Only ideas, it is not heat I did not possess the powers at that time. But, I was made aware of these powers until our children were born and I was cast out by the gods. Again, I digress and have jumped ahead. How uncivil of me. I had not met to make this introduction so lengthy.
I loved Paris and he tempted me, I was not the temptress he could have claimed. Merely, I was mysterious other world another creature from another time. It really was a beautiful union. I never felt such pleasure. The air was thick with frankincense and the temple began to hum with its own energy. Paris looked deeply into my eyes and vowed complete and utter love. What fools we were.