I Really Am Capable of Imagining Anything

What did all this mean? That’s what I really wondered.

Now I began to understand why I didn’t get along with Athena and probably never would. She tried too hard to confine me and set limits. If my true nature were to be goddess of the imagination, of course I would detest limits. I found Athena too cold, too dry, too arid.

And if, as Goddess of the Imagination, I could attract and subdue Hades, what effect might I be having on other Gods?

What will happen to me as I become older? There’s a rumor going around that Hera might eventually leave Zeus. What will that mean for me? Why do I keep thinking about becoming the Queen of Heaven—Zeus’s consort—as well as Queen of Hell?

If I am the only deity who can be more powerful than Zeus, does that mean that I am the only deity who can truly be his consort—an equal to him?

I guess I really am capable of imagining anything.

You Are Our Highest Creation

“A life of only the imagination is too devastating. A life of only the imagination means you won’t exist. That really is the deepest secret of the mysteries.”

“Hades was unhappy—seriously disturbed—because he was confined to a life of all unreality. Of pleasures. Of pleasures of every kind, but ones that were of the darkness and of the phantasms and shadows.”

“We couldn’t let you be there all the time—or you’d lose your power. You need—indeed you must spend—your six months with us. I know you find it boring sometimes to do the ordinary things with us—but a life completely of the imagination does become pure Hell.”

“I know that when you are with us that you sneak away at night some of the time and that Hades is in your dreams…”

How did Mother know that? I can't imagine that I am that obvious….

“Then there are the times when you are not fully present but we realize that we can’t control you and we really don’t want to…”

“You are our highest creation.”

I Am Persephone: Queen of Hell, Queen of the Night, Princess of Desire, Goddess of the Imagination

Maybe that’s what’s going on with Hera?

Maybe that’s why she’s so strange around me? Maybe she’s afraid of me? If I subdued Hades, could I subdue Zeus? Or was this all megalomania? Was I really that important?

Was I coming into my own? Would there be temples built and adorned in my honor—why is it that temples are always adorned?

I am Persephone, Queen of Hell, Queen of the Night, Princess of Desire, and Goddess of the Imagination.

What sorts of songs could I inspire to be written in my honor?

Before my imagination could take me away any further, my mother’s voice called me back.

“This is why it’s important that you spend six months out of every year with me.”

Was I Really Rescuer of the World?

“Although we can feel Hades anger up above here, he has become much more tame, and we know that it is your doing and the doing of your imagination. You have a power now—that power of the imagination—that we sometimes are even a bit afraid of.”

“But, through you and your imagination, we have prevented Hades from destroying and maybe even devouring us.”

This was all pretty amazing to me. To imagine that I was part of such a major plot or to realize that Hades had been such a major threat to everyone. So—paradox of paradoxes—although it appeared as though Hades had abducted me—what in fact had happened was that I had subdued him.

Was I really the rescuer of the world—or at least the rescuer of Mount Olympus? Does that make more powerful than Zeus? Have I done something that even our Lord of Lords, Zeus, could not do?

Now You Are More Than We Ourselves Could Have Imagined

“So I was your sacrificial lamb?”

I’m too proud to think of myself as the victim—too belittling a way for me to think of myself—but that seemed to be what mother was telling me….

“Oh Persephone, we weren’t that cruel…”

“Hera and I began to realize that we might have misunderstood you and misunderstood the role you were designed to play in the cosmos. Why would anyone need a goddess of perpetual purity and virginity?”

That gave me something to think about.

I probably would have been very bored being the goddess of perpetual purity and virginity. So perhaps rather than looking at myself as the martyr and protector of all the other gods—which was kind of a downer—why did I have to help everyone else out—I could think of myself as having been spared the fate of being a goody-goody.

“We didn’t have someone to honor for the power of the imagination. So that was the gift that we gave you before we offered you to Hades.”

“And now, you are more than we ourselves could have imagined.”

The Goddess of Perpetual Purity and Virginity

“You were originally going to be the Goddess of Perpetual Purity and Virginity—sort of a “Mary” type.”

“Your singularity was that you were to encompass and unite both the urgency of desire and the primacy of purity. So you—in all your glory—would eventually become a target for Hades. But we were all beginning to realize we all might be targets for Hades.”

“Then Hera and I began to think seriously. What would happen if we offered you to Hades? He’d eventually get you anyway—as we feared he’d get all of us—but if we offered you to him first, what would the effect be on him?”

“Would having you calm him down?”

“Would we—by offering you to him—gain the power that we needed to protect ourselves from him? The more we thought about the plan, the more attractive it became to us.”

Mother and Hera Set Me Up to Marry Hades

“Even Mount Olympus began to tremble. Would Hades—in his anger—tear apart what we had? And then what would happen to us? What was Hades up to? Did he want to destroy us?”

This really didn’t make sense to me. How could Hades destroy us? But mother continued, answering my fundamental question.

“Even though we are immortal, there are ways we can be destroyed. Hades knew that. For example, Hades’ irrationality has the potential to destroy Athena’s rationality.

“What Hera and I began to realize is that we had to do something. Whether he knew it or not, Hades had become the God of Destruction and Hate, and we couldn’t let his power overwhelm us. So we came up with a plan.”

So this was it. Mother and Hera set me up to marry Hades. I knew Hera had something to do with it.

So this was how I became the Queen of the Underworld…

Everyone Was Concerned That Hades Didn't Have A Wife

“Years ago, everyone was concerned that Hades didn’t have a wife. He was miserable. And he took it out on us. Always glowering, always flexing his muscles. Full of himself. Hera and I went out for drinks—she even got me drinking, but only the most herbal of drinks—Chartreuse or something….”

Where was all this leading? My mother—the grain goddess—drinking? I keep hearing that fertility and drinking don’t mix….

“We decided that the time had come to domesticate Hades. Enough was enough. Even Zeus worried about him….”

This was an amazing story. I jumped in. “So what happened? That doesn’t sound like my daddy-uncle Zeus acting like his brother’s keeper?” (I love borrowing phrases from old religious texts.)

“That wasn’t the point. Zeus did have legitimate concerns. Hades was beginning to break things. He would get angry and he would begin to hit things and thrash about.

Before Hades ran off with you, the number of earthquakes was going up, and more volcanoes were erupting. And we knew that Hades was blowing off steam. We had good reasons to be concerned.

Is That Why You Sent Me to Hell?

I asked my mama Demeter what she felt like when she was pregnant, and she was surprised.

“Why do you want to know? Having children is wonderful, but it’s quite a responsibility.”

Why was she speaking to me in clichés, I wondered.

“Once you have a child, you begin thinking about that child’s future, and you discover that you can’t over plan things. But you want to—you want the best for that child.”

I had to interrupt her. “Is that why you sent me to Hell?”

“Oh darling, you shouldn’t look at it that way.”

I Am Always Alone

Hades came to me in a dream last night. He apologized for hurting me. I told him that I accepted his apology. Why are men so nice to you when you’re far away?

One of the things that is truly confusing is that when I’m up above, I’m no longer pregnant.

From a logical standpoint, it makes sense. The baby that I carry down below had its fate determined already. For whatever reason, “it” was determined that the baby would not have an earthly existence. And so, when I come up above, the baby is a pure figment of my imagination—we could call it Figment—whereas down below, the baby truly exists.

Maybe that’s why I’m particularly lonely on this trip up above. When I carry my little one, I’m never alone. Whereas, now, here, up above, I have to confront that I am alone. Sometimes I relish—I treasure being alone—but other times it hurts. It hurts so much that I want to die—a pain that transcends all of the hurt that depression can bring.

IS THIS MY DESTINY?

Maybe this is all part of my destiny—MY fate—that I perpetually must feel desire. When I am up above, I miss my baby, and I miss Hades. When I’m down below, I occasionally miss the sunlight and I feel the separation that my mother Demeter feels.

And so, I am always alone, for better or worse, always missing something and therefore always existing in a perpetual state of desire.

And then, because I feel desire and people—when they are with me—sense that desire, they open up to me—and my desire becomes their desire.














Maybe this is all part of my destiny—MY fate—that I perpetually must feel desire. When I am up above, I miss my baby, and I miss Hades. When I’m down below, I occasionally miss the sunlight and I feel the separation that my mother Demeter feels.

And so, I am always alone, for better or worse, always missing something and therefore always existing in a perpetual state of desire.

And then, because I feel desire and people—when they are with me—sense that desire, they open up to me—and my desire becomes their desire.

Hera Has Started a New Organization

One of the things that I do when I’m up above is learn more about what’s being done to take care of people who don’t feel good.

I can never really forget abut the epidemic of depression in Hell, and I feel better about being up here and away from Hades when I have a project to do.

Hera has started a new organization, the Center for the Propagation of Happiness. She sent me a formal invitation to come to one of the organizational meetings, and I guess I’ll go.

I wonder why she asked me. It’s hard to believe that she really wants me to be part of her organization, and I really can only be involved six months of the year.

I Never Know How Hades Will Be With Me

I feel his strength. I never know how Hades will be with me. Sometimes he’s rough, almost crude. Sometimes he’s matter-of-fact—almost business-like. He’s my husband. This is part of what he must do. But sometimes, he’s caressing, intentional, and extraordinary is too mundane a word.

Did he rescue me from what could have been a boring constrained life here on earth? Or did I rescue him from his singular loneliness and the emptiness that he found himself in down below in Hell?

I don’t think I could handle my six months up above unless I could run away at night and let my imagination triumph, being there for Hades and delighting that he then is there for me.

Is it true perhaps that I can truly only be myself In Hell?

Or is the imagination Hell?

This is too much to think about and so I sleep.

I Feel Like Crying

This is why, when I begin my six month stint of being up above, I feel so confused and even overwhelmed. When I’m down below, everyone loves my imagination—except perhaps Hades occasionally, and I can ignore him as I’ve been discovering—but here, here up above, on the Earth—many people—and Gods for that matter—regard me as sometimes even meddlesome.

“That Persephone. She’s always trying things out and trying to get people to do things differently.”

“She’s trouble.”

Often when I’m here, I feel like crying. Why did the Gods make me this way—make me with an imagination if I’m not supposed to use it or share it with everyone?

I’ll get to the point where I’m about to cry. But I don’t want anyone to see me in that state, especially Demeter who reserves the right to wander into my room anytime she feels like it—as though I were still a little girl.

So I take one of the pills that I bring with me from down below, and it gracefully puts me to sleep with the darkness engulfing me.

And then Hades comes.

Keep the Maiads and the Naiads Free

Maybe these younger Maiads and Naiads are—or will become—my true children. My tribe here on Earth that will carry the seeds of my imagination and spread its joys wherever they go.

That is—if their elders don‘t make too much trouble. That is—if they are allowed to be as free as they potentially can be.

Since we don’t have cars—or at least most of us don’t—and chariots usually don’t have bumpers, we couldn’t have bumper stickers saying, “Keep the Maiads and the Naiads free” wouldn’t work.

But there must be other ways that we can develop to keep this cause alive. Perhaps we could develop a perfume, calling it something like Naiad Freedom, and devoting the profits from its sales to the “Keep the Maiads and Naiads Free Fund.”

What Hurt in Particular

What hurt in particular is that most of the Maiads and Naiads had a truly wonderful time at the party. And many of them developed their own imaginative good thoughts, and so my imagination, with the help of Dionysus, actually began to propagate itself amongst the Naiads and Maiads. But rather than thanking me for the liberation that my imagination had brought, the Maiads and the Naiads—especially the elders of their tribe—felt that they needed to discourage delighting in the imagination and so they made an example of the poor errant Naiad.

I won’t tell you what they did to her—it’s too gruesome—the best that I will be able to do for her now is to negotiate that she can maybe join me in Hell sooner rather than later. And when she arrives, I will deify her, making her one of my princesses—who in her imagination—will provide delight to us all.

What is cheering though is that some of the younger Naiads and Maiads are grumbling about the elders. “Yes our heads hurt a little the next day, but so what…. We had fun. We were free. The pinot played with us, and the burgundy—well we won’t say what the burgundy brought us….

Who Had the Idea to Invite Dionysus?

Now the condition that the Naiads and the Maiads were groaning about is commonly referred to as a hangover. But, those innocent young creatures had never had hangovers before. In their chatter, they began to ask, “Who had the idea to invite Dionysus?” and they finally identified the errant Naiad who I had honored with my idea. The oldest Naiads and Maiads punished her, and she was unhappy for a long time to come.

That’s what I mean about my being uncomfortable up here.

I do what I am best at doing—coming up with new ideas—exulting in my imagination. Then its hard to get someone to buy into them and to develop them. And finally, if something goes wrong, people get mad at the person who used my idea—and worse yet, if they know about me and what I can do—they blame me. I don’t like that at all.

I Began to Imagine a Party

For example, a few weeks ago, I began to imagine a party that we could all throw in honor of Dionysus. Because I imagined it—people up above really are so deficient in the true skills of the imagination—and I planted the seed of the idea in an errant Naiad’s thoughs, the Maiads and Naiads threw a magnificent party. The pinot noirs and burgundies inspired delight in everyone who came.

But, the next day, there were faces—faces and groans. And even curses. “We knew—we knew, Dionysus, that we couldn’t trust you to leave us alone.”

“My head, my head….”

Everything Can Happen Because Nothing Can Happen

What I really like about being down below is that down there, my freedom is complete. I can do anything, any time, any place, any way that I want.

I wonder if I could have become the Princess of the Imagination if I had not gone down below? Somehow, I don’t think so. Imagination and limits don’t work well together.

So I guess its fair to say I’ve adjusted well to Hell where anything can happen—although ultimately nothing does because Hell indeed is the realm of the imagination.

That is truly a paradox. Everything can happen because nothing can happen.

Things are so much harder up above. You can’t just “make” things happen. In fact, there are times when I begin to see that my essence—my imagination—gets everyone in trouble.

Did I Look Skittish to Hades?

Sometimes when I’m up above, I feel strangely calm. I’m removed from everything. All of the clichés about smelling the flowers—though actually things often smell more like freshly cut grass or hay—come back to me.

I wonder what my life would have been like if Hades hadn’t become a part of the picture. Just being here is simpler.

I get up in the morning—usually fairly early without too much prompting—and take a walk before I do anything else. I just want to stretch. I want to look up above at my Uncle Apollo and give him the praise that he—as the Sun God—so justly deserves. My mother couldn’t do her work without him.

I notice the deer as they glance skittishly at me and sometimes run away. Did I look skittish to Hades when he grabbed me and took me away?