|| The Evil Storm ||

This afternoon, when I settled downed for my siesta, the sky had darkened to a deep gloom in the west. Through the window facing the relatively lighter eastern sky, I saw the macabre dance of myriad streaks of sharply kinked purple lightning. Heavy with sleep my head sank on the pillow. Eventually, I had a dream and woke up disturbed. It was the strangest dream I have had in a long while.

I saw a goddess of exquisite beauty in sheer purple peplos fleeing from persecution by a band of priests in heavy black mat robes tied around their portly waist. Tall, grim and swarthy, with unkempt matted wavy hair and flowing beard, furrowed eyebrows above deep cavernous eyes, these Dionysiac priests had congregated to conspire against our Aphrodite, so that they could establish their orgiastic bacchanalian religion among people, replacing their devotion to the beautiful and kind goddess.

So the frail goddess – her beautiful face withered into a frail mien – flees, rendered powerless by the tyrants. With the priests in hot pursuit, it is a losing battle. While a light wind carries her away, in her wake a storm carrying the priests grows in strength and menace every flitting moment.

The hapless goddess sees a lone ascetic and begs for rescue. He has a heavy crosier in his hand. At its upper end a thousand dark and shiny tendrils sprout and ramify. Bidding her to stop, he gives her the crosier and tells her, “Turn around to face them. With all your inner strength, wish for your victory over their combined evil. Succeed!”

She turns around, and holding the crosier in her hand she faces the priests. They descend and close in upon her. Her eyes dimming, she musters all her inner strength and focuses on the crosier. Its tendrils wiggle and begin to brighten. They glow, and a blinding aura envelopes them. Then sparks fly from them in lightning streaks, striking the priests, burning them to ashes.

Aphrodite opens her eyes, and I find that she has regained her eternal radiant beauty. The sage takes back the crosier from her hands and goes away.

I wake up and find myself crying uncontrollably. I had been so afraid that such a beautiful goddess should be destroyed. The dark eastern sky outside the window is plastered by the persisting gloom in my mind.

After a while, my wife stirs and reaches for me. She says, “You know, while you slept, a devastating storm had come up. The sky grew completely dark. It was such a strong storm with so much lightning … that I was scared and almost woke you up.”
I say, “Oh! You should have.”
She says, “No, I couldn’t. You were sleeping like a baby.”

© mikupa / 28 April 2015