Meeting Hades: The Journey Toward the Other

Meeting Hades: The Journey Toward the Other

What if through the tunnels of the Story chapter within #StarflightVR we could find the other. We could find Hades, and Hades could find himself?

What is it like to move into the surrealistic experience of an archetype? #VirtualReality just enhances the experience of being fully immersed in that very moment, and in this way, serves to stop our minds racing into other directions.

Or check the Huffpost for more of the story! Huffington Post


Persephone’s song is nothing without
Persephone’s becoming a grown empowered being
does not exist without Hades.
He is after all the motor of transformation for her
potentially, for himself.
He carries the weight of the otherworld,
filled with disconnection and void,
hatred and destruction,
and with that, the gulf of loneliness.

Right now
seeing from his perception.
From his own perspective.
The story within the story.
That is not necessarily the way,
Not necessarily the unfolding
But his way of holding the weight of the Underworld.

Looking sharply outside
Looking around his very own kingdom
He seems slightly perturbed
Slightly restless,
a bit of a human mess.

“So sick of that girl Persephone.
Always looking for a dragging tone,
Always spoiling the party.
Wretched wretch.
Wish sometimes I could give her some colorful candy.
Candy to hold in her hand.
That way be the rightful queen of the land.
A fresh breath of air, I wish
that she could be just a light swish,
with a fun and laughing countenance,
instead of her exhibiting her dragging dance.”

He mutters to himself.
Sitting in a corner.
Retreated slightly,
Sitting lightly
on orange pillows, brocade and silk.
He melts into the landscape of tunnels and white washed walls.
Covered they are
with ornaments and gold,
with sculptures that reach out with hands and feet
and mouths gaping wide open,
protruding out of rococo fountains.
Reflections upon reflections, mirrors, jewels and shine.

“Really, if you could see those eyes at times”
He reflects deeply to himself,
agreeing to his own seeing,
sinking further in his own believing.

“She is drippy and depressed
Pathetically repressed.
I wonder why,
I wonder how,
I even bothered to whisk her into my Kingdom?
Tiptoeing into the domains of Zeus
Was a challenge for me,
Forlorn, looking for love.
Fighting within myself,
getting even close to that old familiar scent,
of righteous light,
of unrecognizing comments,
of snarly nasty faces.”

The dogs at his feet growl,
as if they sense his loss,
his challenge.
His right hand wanders to them,
Gently and loving,
feeling their acceptance,
feeling their loyal sense.

“So I could bring her with me here.”
He continues,
encouraged by the canine audience.
“I thought she was a laughing, fun girl,
that in her way,
she would just stay
happy and light.
Disappointment indeed-“

He stares around-
He is as if removed
The dogs hidden by his vestments,
all enrobed in the dripping decorations.
He leans on the little cafe table,
the white linen covered with dark red trimming.
And, gold, of course can be found there too-
His train of thought continues
As if accelerated by its own propulsion,
its own birthing convulsion.

“Little did I know that she would spend so much time pouting,
as if she was biting
lime, lemons and sucking them dry.
Little did I know that her way of rising in the morning
was this long conniving,
of plans and thoughts on how to change me.
Just like those familiar scents
from Zeus’s kingdom.
The memory of rejection,
the sharp pain of unfair correction.
She truly thinks that I do not know,
that she constantly wants to redress me so.
I feel it like a bite in the neck-
it is quite so-
and, what the heck:
I just wanted her beauty and charm
instead I ended up with this-“
He gestures into thin air
with commanding frustration,
and despising prostration.
“-this state.”

He putters further into his own head
He meanders down corridors that cannot be seen
clutching to his own internal scene,
making it bigger,
more grand,
more at his command.

“My eyes wander
I keep looking yonder.
I keep seeing the shapes of possibilities,
to get me out of this space of inequalities.
Here I am stuck,
in this sort of rut,
I am there,
without love,
without recognition,
without permission,
of being who I truly am.
And that,
that is quite unbecoming of a god.”

His shoulders shrug in his own acknowledgement,
of his very own predicament.
He sighs as if he had the audience,
he has always wanted.
Yet for some odd reason,
No one seems to notice the man
in the alcove.
Sitting slightly withdrawn
muttering and acknowledging.
A god indeed? Or a pitiful mortal?
“ I cannot tolerate this state,
I need to redress this fate.”

He goes on with himself
with gusto,
driven by his internal voices,
focused on the redress of his choices.

“What to do?
My hand just wanders at times,
as I am mesmerized by the beauty
of these beings of obvious acuity.
They just happen to land here.
They are giving me admiration and respect,
my heart just gives way at the sheer prospect!

Finally I am seen.
Finally there is a being
that comes close to me and reaches
me, for who I am.
If it wasn’t for her constriction,
I would be flying out of her jurisdiction.

Sometimes I sit and ponder,
What keeps me from sending her yonder?
Back to her mother and all her strange stories,
Back to her world of weird phonies.
Never quite understood any of them at all.
Feels as if I had landed in some kind of a mall:
stores abound of nondescript items,
things to be picked from and through,
in useless overabundance.
Those things that to me,
just seem full of nebulosity
Who on earth wants that stuff?

Not me,
I burn with my own fire,
I rule as if leading a choir.
The music I make,
is for each individual personalized wake.
Death is my fate.
It really does not get much better than this.
So I reflect again.
I sit in this place of total clarity,
And I just know that I mesmerize-
Not sure why,
But I do.”

Persephone has spotted him from afar.
She has noted some weird
and strange allure
to the way he is perched there,
on the pillows,
hidden behind pillars, and alcoves and things.
He sees her too and his thoughts collide
into anger, rage and the sinking inadequacies
that seem to fill his opportunities.
Because of her sheer presence.
“Here she comes again
She looks like a pathetic wet rat.”

She is now close and leans towards him,
as if expecting some kind of support.
“Hi and how do you feel now?”
She asks-

He does not answer.
Thinking, mind racing,
in his head potential loves pacing.
There are images there of much more beautiful features.
Persephone replies to his thoughts immediately.
“I feel rotten quite frankly.
I would love to get a hug.
Maybe later we could get a whole mug
of that great coffee
and a toffee?”

He reaches out automatically to the dog at his side.
Leans there and sees that he actually dreads the thought.
His head abuzz anew.
“Really, I just want to run away from this invitation.
Hang for real with the much more interesting sparkling libation
of new arrivals and beautiful guests.”

He turns
Readjusts his composure
“Oh, darling. I am busy you know that-
No time to just lay.
No time to sip pots of coffee.
I have to keep this machinery
in order without
hick ups and mess ups.
Duty calls.
No time for idleness here.
How about you, are you done?”

She cringes,
and Hades can see that of course she is not.
The whole place could use improvement.
It could use a whole different movement,
not one coming from a wet rat.
To top all that,
she looks like she is about to cry.

He cringes,
and Persephone can see how his mind is absorbed so totally.
His thoughts keep coming at him,
She is just not the right thing.
They speak to him in a very clear tone,
let him know how to redress his image:
“Another thing I abhor
these public displays of
pathetic emotions.
The crying and pleads
leave me wanting to fill my needs.
I look like an idiot then
not the rightful ruler of this pen.
My heart starts gesticulating
in my chest,
I am perpetuating in my thoughts.
Then the whirls take over,
my feet move towards the next lover.”

He snaps:
“I am so sorry. I am sure you can handle it
after all you have your mother’s wit.”
And leaves.
dogs in tow,
wondering why he is moving so fast.
Dark hair flowing,
garments glowing,
reflections barely catching the exit from the room.

Will she retort to his obvious dismissal? Will he change his ways instead? Has our heroine become entirely lost in the whirl of the archetypes?

"The curious paradox is that when I accept myself just as I am, then I can change."      Carl R. Rogers