Pythia – Deep #writephoto

C__Data_Users_DefApps_AppData_INTERNETEXPLORER_Temp_Saved Images_untitled(1)

Image: Sue Vincent

My offering for Sue’s Thursday Photo Prompt Deep #writephoto is a return journey to the Oracle at Delphi. A place mysterious, awe-some and a little terrifying. The answers being sought are always couched in unclear and misleading language. To give the true answer would change destinies and the mouth piece of the Goddess cannot interfere in human matters. Or so we are given to believe…

“Conflict reigns, you cannot see any way forward, any way backward. Relinquish what you have, for there is no safety in holding to the past. Seeker, open the source of your own flame. It lights the way but you feel helpless in uncertainty. Shadowed the way seems but that is only illusion, only what you believe is present. Seek counsel of your heart and mind. Let each infuse the other. Balance must reign, as on the inner and greater cosmos. The Primordial Ones watch, move our actions to their whims. You have a different destiny, Illumination beckons. Heed my words.”

So end the words of Great Ge falling like pearls from the Pythia’s lips. The goddess was never vanquished from her sanctuary, never supplanted by the One who walks in Light, fair Apollo. The eyes see what the conquerors wish them to see.

The Pythia watches closely, remote is she, filled with might and terror. Enthroned in shadows and flickering light, hidden deep within the cavern. Her eyes blaze with primordial fire, with knowledge of birth and death, a remnant of the Beginning and also the Ending.

“Come forward child, let me see what lies in your heart” so whispers Pythia.

Feet move forward slowly, heart beats furiously yearning to break free from its prison. Lips move silently, whispering words so ancient their meaning has been lost to human memory.

“Descend, power comes from above. Grasp it favoured one. The quest calls to you. You have been touched by profound things. Grasp it favoured one, lest hubris awaits.”

Eyes close and breathing slows, enraptured by fumes, transported by incense. She reaches into the soul, peers into the heart. She reveals mysteries beyond the veil, of a cosmos slumbering in stygian darkness. Pythia is satisfied.

“The Goddess has chosen. I return to the mists. Be ready at sunrise child.”

Her words drop like stones in a pool. The ripples spread throughout time.