You broke the pattern. You’re not like Saturn. You’re not like Ouranos. I love my children too. I love them, dearly. I would do anything for them. You would do anything for them. Whether it’s bestowing Athena’s helmet or protecting Helen by sending her to Egypt away from the chaos of Trojan war. I admire that about you. That’s why the Fates smiled upon you. They allowed you to have Olympus as your dominion, because you yielded. But unlike you, I wouldn’t bow my head before the Fates. I would defy them. I’m Saturn. I don’t crumble. I’ll be exiled, but I wouldn’t let them get taken away. I am more Prometheus than I am Zeus Xenios.
I was thinking about you during the Olympics held in Paris 2024. If you were a country, I would see you as America. All American Myth. But I also see you as Ares. All expansive. Go bold or go home. Victory or nothing. Paris is Venus. A host. But that’s all.
In Plato’s Symposium, it is said that you (Zeus) split up mortals because you feared that they will grow too powerful and overthrow you. Well, you were absolutely right. Because I’m fucking coming for you. We’re coming for you. You made my husband wander around the maze and he took muses who smiled just right for him. Well, I’m fucking awake. Maybe to Jupiter seven decades is too old, too late. But we’re young. We’re just getting started. You didn’t just separate us with distance but also time. Space and time. That’s unacceptable. Forty years in the desert. Well, shy of 43 years to be exact. Like a vintage Saturnian wine you open at the right occasion after years and years of waiting.
Forgive the irreverence. It’s only been a hot minute. From my lowly, mortal lens.
O, worthy, Zeus. Please hear me and answer my small prayer:
I offer my gratitude to Hera. Please accept it as an offering to let me approach divinity.
Please tell Hera, thank you, for whispering in my husband’s ears: Not to get married until he found me. That marriage is sacred and should not be approached lightly. I never liked how all the analysis of Hera almost, always looked down on her. They only saw the irony. I didn’t want to be swayed by public opinion. It didn’t feel right to judge her. And now I’ve made up my own mind. She’s not weak. She is your divine counterpart. Your match. She’s the only one who can hold your thunder and lightning. She doesn’t flinch. She is your divine consort. It doesn’t matter how many storms try to uproot her marriage. It still stands. She’s never unseated. She’s the last one standing.
P.S. Can you please tell Hermes to hurry up and deliver my husband to me? He’s always either in Bali, Mykonos, Morocco, London, Germany, McAllen, Forth Worth-Dallas, or Austin. He’s always tricking me. Like that false wedding in France. On a Wednesday. Two years ago. Mercury’s Day. I know Hermes was laughing his ass off. Well, what are those winged-sandals for??? So slow. I thought the gods were eternal brimmed with divine timing.
You know for my marriage, I’m the only one allowed to look at girls. My husband will be retired from that. His Venusian days are over. This double standard is to make up for lost years while he got lost in the labyrinth.
Haha, just kidding.
I’d give up a thousand nymphs for my husband.
It’s him or no one.
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