The oracle of Delphi by Anne Rodopoulos

THE ORACLE OF DELPHI

They have given me the name Phythia that myths tell, the ancient name of Delphi ..

I have stayed and watched the evening sky exhibit a wreath of glittering stars..

a million is too few for to count..

As yet, there is no number given nor exists..

The cool, moist and leaf scented breeze of evening, caresses my face with gentle fingers..

The silvery feminine light of the moon shines and turns the clumps of Emerald moss..

into a vibrant jewel encrusted shawl adorning the ancient rocks who in their welcoming..

hands hold the sacred water of my Kastalia Springs and on these hands a tracery of long

lost, white lichen..

Silvery pure water from the copper lion’s head spout is long gone, as now this water is directed to the village for what the populace terms practical uses..

It’s history was always practical and spiritual in every sense known..

Do they not know that we are still here and the perfume of Laurel leaves lingers

in the misty shadows where I dwell, amongst the lichen covered rocks and worn steps

so white and pure, of marble, all kissed by the light, Clair de Lune..

I still hear the ancient sounds of music from Apollo's temple below..

Music so pure and in such refined chords and melodies in ancient modes..

Strings vibrate the harmonics of disciplined order for children to learn..

a Hymn is played in homage to Apollo accompanied by the sounds of the stream..

as the priests direct those that seek me to answer them  in wisdom all seeing and knowing..

The heavy sweet perfume of the laurel wreaths adorn the heads of all..

of the mighty and poor as they slowly and reverently appear on the steps..

to reach the Spring’s purity to prepare for the entry to Apollo's realm..

who will speak through my body, as his vessel of knowledge sings clearly in silvery tones..

I am here although hidden by the shifting curtain, mists of another dimension..

It was said that my answers were tainted by gas from fissures of ancient volcanoes..

or from the sap of oleander trees and their smoke, in abundance growing..

in beautiful hues, we know of the mystery and there are no answers..

except can I say we are born of this way and are chosen for purity of soul..

A gift from a God to enter the realm of knowing and seeing beyond simple answers..

I thank you dear Praxias, for we can still see, your heavenly sculptures..

and columns of light although where I sit, in this modern dimension they are not intact for all to see..

To Plutarch, you as my High Priest have betrayed me by discrediting my prophesies..

yes the perfume so sweet as to be from afar was indeed truly part of some gifts from the

Gods and not derived as you say..

These are your words long forgiven now..

“ the chamber, where Phythia dwelled..

 an expensive perfume, occasionally and fortuitously..

filled the space with a godly sweetness most expensive..

and the breeze sending it forth"..

Would Kings and Noblemen travel afar on arduous journeys..

Anne Margaret Ruth Rodopoulos..