Myths have a strange ability to transcend time, blurring the distinction between fiction and truth. Among these ancient myths, Medusa stands out as a narrative of tragedy, transformations, and power dynamics between gods and mankind. But how many more Medusas must emerge from the shadows before we realize that this tale is more than just a faraway legend, but a chilling reality?
What if Medusa had the opportunity to speak up and disclose the truth? What if Poseidon’s lustful actions were laid bare for all to witness? Medusa’s presence looms large in our families and circles of friends, waiting to be acknowledged.
Medusa, a mortal priestess, was cursed into a creature with snake-like hair. What if Medusa isn’t a single entity? What if she exists in other incarnations, concealed beneath familiar faces? Each silent victim, each abused soul—these are the Medusas we don’t see. She transformed into a creature with snakes for hair and became a symbol of horror. What if Medusa could break her stone silence?
Poseidon, the sea god, played a role in Medusa’s transformation. His actions, fueled by lust and superiority, turned her into a monster that everyone dreaded. However, Poseidon’s power stretches beyond Medusa, perpetuating a cycle of victimization. For every Medusa, there is a Poseidon who multiplies misery. His acts destroyed another soul, yet he remained unscathed. Medusa deserved an opportunity to drown him in his own realm, where his reign was supreme.
Athena, the goddess of wisdom, cursed Medusa as punishment for an offense she did not commit. By transforming her into a monster, Athena muted her voice permanently. However, this curse was intended to humiliate rather than protect. Medusa’s suffering became a cautionary tale, a warning to others. Athena’s act to chain Medusa’s voice was not one of justice; rather, it was perpetuating shame. Why should Medusa face the burden of her own victimhood?
It is time to release Medusa. We do this not by forgetting her, but by keeping her narrative alive. By addressing her sorrow, we reveal the truth behind the mythology. Medusa was not a monster, but a victim. Her gaze petrified not out of malice but out of fear and pain. Poseidon, too, must face the repercussions. If Medusa’s curse persists, we should curse him as well—not with snakes for hair, but with accountability. Allow him to be perpetually impotent, foiled in his predatory pursuits.
Should we turn everyone into Medusa, with their eyes reflecting the anguish they’ve been through? Or should we hurl Poseidon into the depths of Tartarus, where his power can no longer hurt anyone? Perhaps the solution is to enable victims to speak up. And we denounce the perpetrators, ensuring they never cause damage again.
The truth has no disguises. It is not malleable, nor does it come in many shapes. It is, however, transmitted with the intent to cure, expose, or be free. Why do lies persist, like allergies to reality? Perhaps because truth is poisonous—to those who thrive on deception.
We praise Aphrodite for her beauty and recognize her allure. However, when it comes to Medusa, we attribute her tragedy to her own allure. Why the double standard? Medusa’s demise was not her fault. She was a victim, caught up in Poseidon’s desire. Her beauty should not condemn her but rather inspire us to seek justice.
Poseidon, in today’s context, is a r****t. By using euphemisms, we reduce the gravity of his crime. He should not be lauded among the gods but rather condemned, just as another Medusa appears.
Let us reinvent our pantheon based on accountability rather than flawed deities. Poseidon’s punishment should reflect Medusa’s suffering—a fate etched into stone, a testament to reality. Medusa’s myth is no longer limited to old literature; it exists among us. Let us retell her story not as a cautionary tale but as a rallying cry for justice. And as for Poseidon, let him drown in the abyss of accountability, leaving no place for more Medusa to suffer. The myth—in which victims find their voices and perpetrators suffer their consequences.
Medusa, a mortal priestess, was cursed into a creature with snake-like hair. What if Medusa isn’t a single entity? What if she exists in other incarnations, concealed beneath familiar faces? Each silent victim, each abused soul—these are the Medusas we don’t see. She transformed into a creature with snakes for hair and became a symbol of horror. What if Medusa could break her stone silence?
Poseidon, the sea god, played a role in Medusa’s transformation. His actions, fueled by lust and superiority, turned her into a monster that everyone dreaded. However, Poseidon’s power stretches beyond Medusa, perpetuating a cycle of victimization. For every Medusa, there is a Poseidon who multiplies misery. His acts destroyed another soul, yet he remained unscathed. Medusa deserved an opportunity to drown him in his own realm, where his reign was supreme.
Athena, the goddess of wisdom, cursed Medusa as punishment for an offense she did not commit. By transforming her into a monster, Athena muted her voice permanently. However, this curse was intended to humiliate rather than protect. Medusa’s suffering became a cautionary tale, a warning to others. Athena’s act to chain Medusa’s voice was not one of justice; rather, it was perpetuating shame. Why should Medusa face the burden of her own victimhood?
It is time to release Medusa. We do this not by forgetting her, but by keeping her narrative alive. By addressing her sorrow, we reveal the truth behind the mythology. Medusa was not a monster, but a victim. Her gaze petrified not out of malice but out of fear and pain. Poseidon, too, must face the repercussions. If Medusa’s curse persists, we should curse him as well—not with snakes for hair, but with accountability. Allow him to be perpetually impotent, foiled in his predatory pursuits.
Should we turn everyone into Medusa, with their eyes reflecting the anguish they’ve been through? Or should we hurl Poseidon into the depths of Tartarus, where his power can no longer hurt anyone? Perhaps the solution is to enable victims to speak up. And we denounce the perpetrators, ensuring they never cause damage again.
The truth has no disguises. It is not malleable, nor does it come in many shapes. It is, however, transmitted with the intent to cure, expose, or be free. Why do lies persist, like allergies to reality? Perhaps because truth is poisonous—to those who thrive on deception.
We praise Aphrodite for her beauty and recognize her allure. However, when it comes to Medusa, we attribute her tragedy to her own allure. Why the double standard? Medusa’s demise was not her fault. She was a victim, caught up in Poseidon’s desire. Her beauty should not condemn her but rather inspire us to seek justice.
Poseidon, in today’s context, is a r****t. By using euphemisms, we reduce the gravity of his crime. He should not be lauded among the gods but rather condemned, just as another Medusa appears.
Let us reinvent our pantheon based on accountability rather than flawed deities. Poseidon’s punishment should reflect Medusa’s suffering—a fate etched into stone, a testament to reality. Medusa’s myth is no longer limited to old literature; it exists among us. Let us retell her story not as a cautionary tale but as a rallying cry for justice. And as for Poseidon, let him drown in the abyss of accountability, leaving no place for more Medusa to suffer. The myth—in which victims find their voices and perpetrators suffer their consequences.
Post a Comment
Any comments and feedbacks? Share us your thoughts!