After years of writing openly for the public I have opted to change the privacy settings to friends-only. I warn you, it's quotidian stuff with a side of navel gazing, but if you wish to read Live The Freakiest Truth and have a Livejournal account, add me as a friend, send me a note at athenaislj@gmail.com and we'll go from there.

We did very well without the priests of Apollo.
Two hundred years without anyone claiming an earthquake
was a sign. But there it is: men always want to take over.

Though I will say this, the Dionysians are good company.
They bring excellent wine and they never poker up when
someone tells a bawdy joke. They can laugh at themselves.

I miss them in the winter. It gets cold here, and lonely.
In the old days people came to see us year round. Of course,
in the old days, we were still virgins. That's all changed.

Some things don't change, nor should they. Change is never good.
I've been Pythia for half my life, I know what I'm talking about.
No one truly wants change, not us, not the gods. Yet it happens.

Year after year the ritual is the same, as are the questions.
I've heard it all: spouses, lovers, merchants, kings, young, old,
all wanting reassurance, clarity, or a promise.

Tell me she loves me. Tell me my child thrives. Is war coming?
Can this illness be cured? Am I being cheated? Who is the father?
Could I have done something differently? Will I be found out?

The oracle speaks to everyone, great or insignificant. Some groan,
some cry, some are silenced by the answer, but it doesn't matter.
The oracle is sacred. Knowledge cannot be taken back.

Oh, some will ignore it, but that never ends happily. It's too bad
the gods don't interfere anymore. No one has been turned into a tree
or a nymph for years. We're given hints only, the rest is up to us.

So take my advice, Thekla. Spend your time wisely here at the temple.
The two years will go quickly, and when you go home do not forget
all anyone wants is for someone to take our desires seriously.

More work inspired by Elise's pendant "Nine Things About Oracles"

A Poem About You

I knew a dragon once who had your name,
Your way of seeing where the path starts
How one light falls on the flower
And on the mountaintop,
Your swift and sweeping discontent
At shuffling through quotidian
Where you should spread your glorious wings and soar
And, if you need to, eat your enemies.

--Jo Walton