The Secret Liturgy of the Trojan Cupbearer

Upon the crystalline heights of snowy Olympus, where the golden halls echo with the laughter of the deathless, a heavy grief weighed upon the Trojan boy. Ganymede, the cupbearer of the Thunderer, looked ever downward past the ramparts of the sky, his heart wrenched away by a yearning older than the stars. Below, shrouded in the quiet reeds of the mortal earth, dwelt Heleigiri—the pure maiden of the lake, the innocent goddess of the drifting mist and the turning wheel of fortune, whom Zeus desired in his dark and unyielding breast.

To save her from the grasp of the Cloud-Gatherer, the boy knew he must tread the path of no return. Yet the iron in his mortal chest trembled before the dizzying void between earth and heaven.

Thus, in the quiet hour when the gods lay heavy with nectar and slumber, Ganymede sought the Herald of the Gods.

"O Hermes," whispered the prince of Ilium, his voice like the rustle of dry leaves in autumn, "take back your golden chalice. Take my freedom, bind my hands to the eternal service of the throne, and let my feet be chained forever to the marble of Olympus. But in exchange, grant me the boon of the fearless heart! Lend me your winged cunning, that I may slip past the hounds of the threshold and pierce the veil of the morning mists down to the dark waters where my beloved waits."

The nimble god smiled—a smile like the glint of a dagger in the moonlight—and touched the boy’s breast with his caduceus. In that breath, the fear of the heights fell away, replaced by a cold, singing courage.

Through the vaporous paths known only to the psychopomp, the Trojan prince descended, plunging from the golden cage into the gray, embracing arms of the dawn. There, upon the dew-swept shores where the lake met the forest, Heleigiri waited—the gentle mistress of the mist, whose breath rolls over the valleys and whose hand spins the threads of mortal chance.

In the sanctuary of the morning fog, where divine light mingles with earthly shadow, their secret union was sealed. Out of that profound ache of longing and the sweet sorrow of a love that defied the throne of Zeus, she bore a child beneath the weeping willows—Algomenes, the child of the deep yearning, born of the mist and the homecoming.

-Orpheda ( 433 BCE ) 

Repost by: Carla Grahams