Aphrodite

Writing Prompt: Dreams of Aphrodite

I have never dreamt of Aphrodite. The perfect woman, the perfect dream. Flawless, the culmination of love presented on a clam shell flowing out of sea foam like the mermaid who wish herself away for the sake of love.

I have never dreamt of Aphrodite. Or Eros. Or Freya. Or Ishtar. Or Venus. Or Kadesh. Or Rati.

The idea of flawless love does not appeal to me. The sea overflowing, giving, destroying wantonly- love. The perfect hold no sway within my mind, within my heart. Aphrodite is not my Goddess, not my dream- either to be or to hold.

If I had to dream, I would take solace with Hephaestus. The lame God, hidden away within the fires, devoted, working, revered and reviled for who he is and what he does. I would sit within the heat and fire of the volcano- far away from the tormented sea of love and bend down to the anvil.

Beating and beaten.

His focus is also love. His creation also beauty.

Imperfect and flawed and beautiful. A beauty that calls to perfection with its flaws. Aphrodite swoons for his fault. Yet she falters, drawn to destruction instead of creation.

No. I do not dream of Aphrodite. She is torn by perfection. Stuck in between of creation and destruction.

This is where perfection has no choice but to reside. For it is ethereal. Caught between being and unbeing.

It can never be caught.