[It’s the end of an era and the start of something new. I’ve been primarily working with goddess archetypes as part of my practice since I was fourteen. Now it seems its time for me to move on. But, in honour of the feminine archetypes that have guided me thus far, this is the goddess series.]

When I was getting dressed this morning, I knew exactly what I was going to write. Now that I’m sat here however…

Medusa: Why are you writing this, what is its purpose? What do you have to say that only you can say, in a unique and personal way? Who is this for, what message do you have to give or portray? Why is this important? Why should people read it? (I expected a woman with vicious looking snakes for hair, a grotesque face and fangs dripping with venom, not this woman sat before me. She looks like a nun, a simple pleasant face, dark brown hair combed neatly and parted in the middle, olive skin that matches her long tunic dress.)

Me: That’s easy. There is no point to this, I have nothing important or interesting to say and no one’s going to read this, maybe me when I’m editing. Done. 

Medusa: Fine. The hard way it is. What do you know of me, tell me my story.

Me: Surely you know your own story?

Medusa: I know it, I want to know if you do. Tell me a story, telling stories is what you do.

Me: You were… Not many stories are told about Medusa, none that start at the beginning anyway. Medusa is the gorgon, the hideous monster that all men fear. If the tale was started from the beginning, naming her the villain would become uncomfortable, and sit unsettled in the stomach. 

Medusa was beautiful, adored by all who saw her. The problem with Medusa, however, was not her looks, but her vanity. A woman must be beautiful, but a woman must also be modest, she must never know she’s beautiful, she must be oblivious to it. 

Medusa’s beauty caught the eye of the sea god Poseidon, who upon seeing her, had to have her, whether she wanted it or not. He chased her relentlessly, refusing to accept that she wanted nothing to do with him. Eventually she came to a stop at a temple dedicated to Artemis. She felt she would be safe there, under the protection of the goddess. When Poseidon found her, he showed no respect for her, or for the goddess’ temple, and raped her.

Artemis became furious at the violation of her sacred space, she decided the best punishment would be to take away what Medusa cherished the most, her beauty. She transformed Medusa into a repulsive monster with snakes for hair, and if any man were to look upon her, they would turn to stone.

Medusa: That’s the story that everyone knows?

Me: Yes.

Medusa: How simple people have become. You should call Pandora back, you should hear her story, I fear you’ve got her all wrong too.

Me: What’s your story then.

Medusa: You got the beginning nearly right, but the rest is all wrong. For a start, in your tongue, my name would be ‘Wisdom’, I was named in honour of the goddess’s I grew up worshipping. They were the wise women of my world, and my mother wanted me to share that. She wanted me to have the intelligence of the goddess, and not be limited like she was, and her mother before her. 

Poseidon did pursue me, and I did run to the temple of Artemis for sanctuary. She couldn’t protect me from being raped, the gods have no power over each other, but they do have power over us. In my grief and despair, Artemis and I made a deal. She would give me the strength and wisdom I needed to never be hurt like that again, and to protect other women. The women who came to me became my sisters, and we became known as the gorgons. 

I understand why, the men who would eventually write my story would change the facts, from here my tale becomes a little less wholesome, brutal in fact. 

I made a home for myself, a sanctuary for me and any woman who needed it, but soon word got out, what man can resist stories of a house filled with beautiful women. Blessed by Artemis, I kept myself safe and I taught my sisters to do the same. Whenever men came to our home with ill-intentions, we would castrate them. We displayed their severed members to deter further trouble, until eventually men became too petrified to even look at us. 

Now, doesn’t that make more sense then a woman punishing another woman for being raped? Women only came to hate other women, because men told us we did, over and over, until we started to believe it. 

Speak to Pandora again, let her tell you her story.

Me: Okay.

There’s a scene in Dogma (1999), where the muse played by Salma Hayek says that God’s a woman. She told the story of God to the writers of the Bible, who were all men and because of their own gender bias, they wrote that God was a man. Any story told is selective, we leave things out we don’t like, we add things we wish were true. 

We always want to know the unknowable and when something is only partially revealed to us we seek to know more. I want to know more. I want to know everything. Don’t you? Why is Pandora always late?