Diana & Paul
We should not be surprised to find that the old world gods beat us old world folk to the new world - they are gods after all. They came here looking for peace and quiet. They did not bother the new world folk. The new world folk had their own gods and religions. The new world folk were so pious that they honored the old gods in their midst by completing ignoring them. Thus, the gods of the old world enjoyed a peaceful and obscure retirement. That is, until the old world folk came to the new world. For untold millennia the gods of the old world grew their religious empires. In this respect, an individual man and an individual god only differ in scale. A man's career, even the most distinguished and brilliant ends in retirement after a short few decades. He retires to write his memoirs, with the firm belief that his memoirs will be worth reading. It is how he will live forever. He dedicates his retirement to it. The gods already have eternal life. So, at the end of their significantly longer careers, they can devote their retirement to other things. But you can bet your last dollar that they keep up with the contemporary news concerning themselves. I have a good source who says Circe was rather pleased with Madeline Miller's book. I know that is four-year old news, but this type of news travels at the pace of the gods. They are retired and move like retired people do. At the end of three or four decades of being a novelist II hope to find myself at some, remote South American beachtown or at an ancient cafe in Montmartre. I hope my memoirs will be worth reading. Then I will go home and travel no more. But what does Odin do? What can Zeus or Jupiter do at the end of a storied career of decades of centuries? Where does Aphrodite go when she hangs up her divine uniform for the last time? I will count myself blessed if I end up editing my memoirs along the sea or in the haunts of my idols. I will count myself doubly best if I can split my time between two places in retirement. When retirement lasts forever one can sample everywhere on earth to find the most suitable spot for your infinite twilight years. That can be the only reason that the beautiful goddess of the hunt chose central Minnesota for a portion of that infinitude. There is a pool of water, flanked on three sides by pristine, green wilderness. The colors and reflected light that dance upon the lily pads are so vibrant and changing Monet would have had a seizure. At the far end of the lovely little pond is a small cave, a natural grotto that gives the place a look of the sacred. The stillness of the air that hangs heavily in the presence of that pool gives one the feeling of the sacred. At my first visit to the pool I was afraid I would profane the place with my presence. I turned to leave, lest I incur some god's wrath for trespassing on holy ground. I turned, but I could not walk. I had a vision. Erin and I were walking along the Paul Bunyan trail when we happened upon this natural shrine. The trail stands a little elevated over the impressionistic water and ancient grotto. There was no way to easily step down off the trail and into the Edenic temple. A bench in front of the pool invited us to sit. You may look but you cannot touch, it said. We sat. Immediately, Diana granted me the divine sight. As a mystic who regular has strange visions and a duty to somehow relate them I find myself in some strange and bewildering positions. This was the most unpleasant vision I have seen to date. The vision came to a conclusion as a thick swarm of Minnesotan mosquitoes chased us off of the bench. As we ran for our lives I told Erin my vision. I saw Diana in all her terrible glory, basking and bathing in that tranquil pool. Unlike in her long and illustrious career, may the huntress be praised forever, she was unattended for her bath. The minor deities, demigodesses and nymphs had also gone into retirement centuries ago. Where they had retired to the goddess did not care to share and I did not think it polite to ask. I saw only what she wanted me to see. I saw her naked, bathing herself in that idyllic pool. I saw the mighty Paul Bunyan striding through the virgin forest with great big steps. His broad axe and unironic lumberjack beard were a pretty obvious clue. His status as a giant confirmed my suspicions. As he was hollering out, "Babe," in search of the giant blue ox I achieved a Cartesian foundationalism, cogito. He too stumbled upon the bathing goddess. Paul's gaze lasted a bit longer than it should have. He became sheepish after he realized that his gaze had lasted much too long for propriety's sake. I saw him turn his back to her so rapidly that he knocked over a dozen or more trees with his careless spin. As the trees came tumbling down he begged her pardon in an astonishing array of colloquial Americanism. In her fury, Diana could not translate the words. She could not force them into a comprehensible context. Having long accustomed herself to a life of solitude she was mildly stunned by the encounter. She found she could do nothing but speak Latin in her apoplectic rage. The embarrassed giant apologized again before walking away. He may not have spoke a lick of Latin, but the tones of the goddess' voice negated any need for translation. She was not assuaged by his mea culpa. Though she was out of practice, she tried to summon her powers. Paul Bunyan's gait was so great that by the time she focused her mind on the blood vengeance necessary for atonement he was beyond her reach. The powers were already summoned and she figured she must do something to let off some steam. Her vengeance came forth as the ugliest and nastiest brood of mosquitoes who had spent generations upon generations in the darkest depths of Hades. She commanded them to go forth and atone for the great iniquity done in this place. The mosquitoes went forth and multiplied. Diana saw it was good and then hightailed it out of there. She sent a postcard from Buenos Aires a few months ago, but I haven't heard from her since. To be fair to her, I haven't been back to the pool for a while either.