The Gift of Poseidon

On May 7, 2013 the journey turned westward along the coast until we came to a place where the God  Poseidon holds great influence. It was there that the long path traveled across the lands found lands end. The next adventure would put me under the sea.

It would also be the first chapter in The Journeybook to be named directly after one of the Gods. Something that might seem odd considering the entire tale involves Hera, Zeus, and myself  and yet it would be Poseidon - a seemingly unrelated God - who would come to change the impact and range of everything.

It's still unclear which side Poseidon favors. Hera and I or his brother Zeus. But the gift Poseidon was to grant might also be seen as him being neutral about the whole thing. The tribute required by Poseidon in order to gain access to the sea realms was costly but the benefits that would come of it would be of equal measure.

This photo (left) is but one of the 75 stills I took while filming this chapter of The Journeybook and this tiny creature packed a powerful punch when it came time to post the photos - instantly becoming the single most popular image taken from the entire series to date.

The release of the photo manifested in a massive boom and is quickly circling around the net in multiple forums, creating a huge increase in the viewer range of the series. A story isn't much of anything unless it is being told.

Attentions are being draw with every step I take. Every day I get closer and closer to taking on the battle that many are already holding their breath to see. The gift of Poseidon would come to be a net cast over tens of thousands of people who would turn their eyes and become witnesses to this very tale.

Many of the landscapes and images captured in this journey are ethereally beautiful, haunting, and enchanting. It has been a relatively calm adventure thus far this season. But that sense of calm wont last. A very long path still lies ahead and that path will not always be beautiful nor will the challenges to come upon it be easy.

Only one quest westward remains before the turn south and the long march begins to the end of Zeus.

 

The Fountain of Neaera

To the north, near the shoreline, there is a winding path that runs along a creek, 'round a lagoon, and into a garden that is warm and bursting with life no matter the season. At the center of this immortal garden rest a fountain belonging to the nymph Neaera. And there, hidden in among the forever blooming flowers, is also an effigy of Pan who is said to frequent the garden himself to gather drops of the enchanted water.

I'm set to travel to this garden tomorrow in order to collect a vile of the same waters and bring it back to the Altar of Hera. The vile of water from the Fountain of Neaera is but one ingredient in a potion that I'll write of later.

The coming adventure is in stark contrast to the rusty, drab landscape seen when obtaining the Hammer of Hephaestus. The forested path and hidden garden are the personification of the enchantments (and dangers) of classical beauty. It is the type of place that inspires lamenting poetry, where travelers begin to dream dreams and see the apparitions of loves that never existed and almost were. The type of place that assaults the heart and lulls the soul with sweet music. Enticing one to lay down and sleep in order to dream until death. An enchanted isle of precious moments, as intoxicating and warm as the arms of a beautiful woman.

Neaera's enchantments over her fountain and the garden that surrounds them manifests as whispering voices on the breeze, hidden, illusive, as if it were the flowers themselves that were quietly singing the gentle lullaby. Makes the mind wonder of hidden mysteries and soft, delicate shadows. Makes the heart aches for hearth and home. But also awakens something much more primal deep within the soul.

Neaera's smile sets fire to the resolve of men. Burning them up from the inside out. They see her reflection in the waters of the fountain. So crisp, so pure. They feel an overwhelming need to run to her, to embrace her, to feel her warm touch. But the pool is unforgiving, unkind, cold. It breaks the apparition with icy fingers and those who have lost their hearts to fair Neaera drown in their sorrows long before they drown in the liquid crystal waters of the fountain where their dreams appeared so clearly.

No fault to fair Neaera for the weaknesses within the hearts of men.

How often are such themes repeated throughout myths and the world? The dangers of beauty and the downfalls brought forth by lust. It was even the downfall (and rise) of Great Pan who's honor and effigy I will also capture on film within these gardens. There is no heavenly light so pure, nectar so sweet, nor poision so deadly as that of a beautiful woman. That kind of undeniable beauty that invokes both passion and hatred, weakens and strengthens, offers hope and can take all hope away. It can make the souls of men immortal, their power otherworldly. And in the very next moment, can scatter them like burning leaves.

Beautiful, intoxicating, fair Neaera who's enchanted fountain is the sum of infinite kisses and the long warm embrace. Kind only to the heart that's true, honorable, worthy. Who's will is stronger than the fires of lust - to be cooled and tempered by the icy spring.

To such she grants her kiss, her blessing, her healing touch. One small measure is all that is required. Drops and nothing more to carry one through for the rest of their days. Ever remembering the dream, forever feeling the glowing warmth from within.

A nymph to be sure. Full of allure and desire, passion and love. A magical creature as is any beautiful form that inspires poetic notions and life itself to burst forth around it simply because life itself feels that same primal pull. Always hungry, always needing more, always desiring to be ever closer to that golden glow. To feel the warmth of the sun reflected off of her skin, to feel the light that radiates only from her eyes, to feel the entire world soften at her slightest touch, to know the unspeakable meaning of love - found only in a kiss.

Dangerous.
Vital.

A long embrace before the long journey to come.

For Glory

As eventful as writing this story can be, more times than not weeks will pass before there is really anything worth recounting. This is not the telling of a tale that is based on a singular experience or muse. It didn't happen "one day" or even over the course of a few months. It's been going on now for years.

But, in all of that time, I have never hesitated or lost the motivation to keep going. It's become part of normal, everyday life. Ingrained into everything from work to play. Always there, always happening bit by bit.

It has made life more interesting and colorful. No where near common, never dull, never mundane, hardly meaningless. There is suffering, hardships, wounds and scars. There is the outcastishness that comes with the part. Stories for blogs and private journals. Never really fitting for idol conversation over coffee. Entertaining in one light I suppose. The Journeybook interactive page where the video series is primarily presented remains active enough. The video collection for this very story alone contains nearly 90 entries with viewers daily. They read, they watch, they remain silent.

It is a rare thing in the pagan community to see stories such as this. The ever growing number of people who lay claim to a connection with old gods. Most of them lost, confused, alone. Searching for some sign of hope in a darkening grey world. Sad, shallow, half-hearted efforts - no stories to tell.

The Spring rains have come, slowing things to a crawl, reminding me of how exhausted I am. The kind of exhaustion that only the path can bring. A kind that sleep will never resolve. A long road traveled, the end still far away. The exhaustion comes from that knowing. A constant testing - the gods asking how deep your faith goes, how boldly you might back your claims on them. Many fail the test.

They comes into this with all of the energy and passion of a renewed soul. They burn out quickly. They don't have it in them to endure, to remain focused, to stay driven. They still make there claims but there is no longer effort there. No more rituals, no more energy, nothing left to say, no will left to search. They fall silent, apathetic, forgotten.

Daily - the candles are lit, oils and incense burned, new votives offered, weapons sharpened and polished, stones carved, maps studied, pieces written, photos taken, video edited and presented to the eyes of the world. Every day, year after year, tale after tale even when there is no tale to tell. Amidst it all - time capsules, most made by and for whatever community I might find myself in. I travel to them, add in tokens, letters, pieces of this same story that will not be seen by mortal eyes again for another 200 years. Long after I am dead and gone, long after this very recounting and the video documentations cease to exist less it be recreated over and over again by the hands and voices of someone else.  But the stones were carved, tantalizing pieces locked away. Luring, enticing, full of questions and wonder. An investment into the curiosities of men. A thought that what we do today will be the myths and archeological quests of the future.

A farm boy who became a pagan king. A king who defied a God for the love of a Goddess. A journey spanning thousands of miles full of beasts, magic, mystery, unexplainable manifestations, mortal wounds, and epic victory.

Classic. Timeless. Immortal.

A life well spent. 

Even as I am writing this hundreds of new photos from this story have been sent out into the world in different places and left to the imaginations of whomever might lay eyes on them. From there they will spread out. Copied, shared, renewed over and over again with no further effort on my part. an advantage of the technological age. easy today to scatter the pieces like leaves on the wind until they encircle the entire world.

And then there is you, dear reader, who happened upon this be either chance or destiny and have read this far from whatever distant land you are in. I will show you things you have never seen before and never will again. You've discovered a tale that will never have an ending even if I were to die today. I've already traveled too far. Death would only deepen the tale.

Bound in mortality and  life, by year's end I will still hold lightning in my hands and the event will echo like thunder. I will have turned rain into wine and drink of storms from my cup. I will have put my pagan crown up against the might and will of Zeus and I will have defeated him. I will do all of this in front of a live audience who will witness and be a part of each step in the journey. I will present it to the eyes of the world in every medium. I will be filled with pride in the accomplishment.

And then, I will still have to go back to doing dishes, laundry, cleaning my house, and pretending to be a normal guy... as best I can.

Winter will come again. The months of questing over for a time. And in those dark winter months I will grow restless and begin to dream of adventures once more. This is the path and the life it brings.

Endless. Everlasting. Renewed like the seasons themselves.

A beautiful, glorious life. Too rich not to share.

The Hammer of Hephaestus

"Hard to fight the Olympian strength for strength."

Hephaestus, The Rage of Achilles, p.IXV II 

And so it was that the journey continued onward, heading first north through the valley of forges. Many of which have long since been abandoned and left to ruin. A rocky, reeking, poisoned, narrow stretch of land, stained in the blood of iron itself, going on for miles. Hard to travel, harder still to capture.

It was in this vile valley where there lay an island of ivy beneath a high bridge, just to the east of the river. Into the ivy a concrete stairway with crescent moon landings and there at the top, silver and shining with a gleaming black handle lay the Hammer of Hephaestus which in its hard kindness brought brilliant color to the landscape.

Why north when the ultimate goal lay far to the south? Far down the river valley, beyond that great waterfalls where the Sisters of Fate dwell, far beyond the climb and deep into the forested ancient sea bed where the earth itself was ripped apart in some ancient battle with the elements and never ending pull from the heart of the earth. Why north? Why this wretched valley of iron and waste to claim a forgotten hammer of the lame God? 

"Hard to match the Olympian strength for strength." Hephaestus said. It would take more, much more and as the journey continued Zeus himself made it a point to have his attentions felt. Conjuring up day after day of thunderstorms and hard rains. But he had manifested the tempests too late, his move was seen before he had made it. 

North, beyond the iron valley of the forges, lay a long stretch of blessed green where garden after garden, full of fountains, flowers of every kind, and ancient trees represent the great nations of the world and the many cultures that came to tame this land. It is in the stretch of life where rests a garden crafted by Greece itself. 

Two Doric columns frame the garden's entrance, opening into a plaza containing a reflecting pool, offering a perspective on a wall and pylons, which symbolize the wall of the Parthenon. Stone tablets on that wall and pylons are inscribed with the names of prominent Greek artists, philosophers, writers, and scientists: Solon, Ictinus, Callicrates, Phidias, Aristophanes, Pericles, Euripides, Sophocles, Aeschylus, Homer, Praxiteles, Zeuxis, Apelles, Myron, Lysippus, Scopas, Sappho, Socrates, Anaxagoras, Aristotle, Plato, Aristarchus, Demosthenes, Pindar, Archimedes, Herodotus, Xenophon, Thucydides, Euclid, Hippocrates, Ptolemy, Pythagoras, Polycletus, and El Greco.

Framing the symbolic wall are two paths that encircle it, leading to sandstone terraces, lavishly planted with ilex, coloneastus, myrtle, and sweetbay, with cedars and Lombardy poplars giving the impression of cypresses. 

The Hammer of Hephaestus is to be taken there. It's strength combined with the sacred waters of the fountain and a three measures of the blessed waters taken. The first measure it to be brought back to the Altar of Hera as a votive offering. The second measure is to be used in an ritual anointing - to make the flesh strong, the will - hard as iron, and award strength as fierce as the Hammer of Hephaestus itself. The final measure is to be placed in the altar room until the final journey is to be undertaken. Cool, healing waters imbued with immeasurable blessings to aid in the quest.

The journey is taking us counterclockwise around the 60 mile radius of the stone votives circle cast last year. Symbolic of traveling back in time, relearning, gathering strength, increasing endurance, making amends for the past defeat. A test of the will, a test of the heart. Long, hard, exhausting. But not so much as the long path that lay behind - the year after year of this singular theme that began with something as delicate as a feather. 

A long way left to travel with every step in defiance of Zeus, weakening his ancient bond on Hera. Zeus takes note, sends forth his storms, thunder, and lightning. And with the coming of the torrents a crystal bowl, taken from the Altar of Hera is placed in the rain. A single measure for each storm cast - taken and placed bowl by bowl, storm by storm, into a sacred vase. Once full the waters taken from Zeus's storms will be combine with the waters taken from the garden fountain, transformed, turned into golden honey wine - lightning and thunder in a bottle. Seal with blood red hard wax and presented to Hera. 

The journey, the sacrifices, the votives, the recounting of the tale for the eyes of the world to witness old Gods on new streets - Hera grows stronger with each tribute and Zeus weaker with each step of defiance. His conjurings and manifestations shrugged off, claimed, bent and twisted to advantage. Cunning, peerless, unheard of in the modern age. 

A fitting end.

Rise From The Ashes

When Zeus took it upon himself to interfere with the quest to break the bonds of Hera the world watched as the quest ended in defeat at the very foot of the forested hill where the final Heraian Votive was to be placed. But in spite of the astonishing manifestations and actions of the King of the Gods this would not be the end of the journey to release the Goddess from her ancient binding.

On March 30, 2013 the quest began anew and The Journeybook chronicled the rise from the dirt and ashes of defeat, great sacrifice, and a climb out of the river valley where the new story was to find its beginning.

The bridge in time between the defeat and the rise landed me on the very river bank where the bronze statue of Hera is taken on the Spring Equinox every year to be washed in the waters of the river.

Defeated, covered in dirt and rubble, it was necessary to offer up sacrifices in the form of ash and flame.


Sacrifices to the Gods must be something of rarity and value. It is the very definition of the word 'sacrifice' - to give up something of worth. As an offering to Hera in light of the defeat the altar ash, collected from the votive burnings in the Altar Room over a three year period were given up. Mixed with the dirt and rubble in the opening sequence of The Ashes of Prometheus Video. At the same moment, off in the forest, an iconic blue rose waited alone in a landscape that had been laid to waste by a massive flood. The tress splintered and strewn about, the land covered in a think layer of sediment and sand. The blue rose was the only color in this dusty and drab landscape.

Like a phoenix, as I rose from the earth the blue rose began to burn. A life for a life. The great symbol, reaching far into the past, was taken by flame so that a new flame could be lit from its sacrifice.

As the flames consumed the blue rose, unleashing its memory and power, the renewed quest to finish the long, complex ritual to free Hera and defeat Zeus began. And what would rise from the ashes of sacrifice was something new to this story. Something that Zeus himself knows all too well...

 ... the power of vengeance.

King vs King

 The Journeybook is the ongoing interactive project that not only records many of the events written about in this very chronicle but also brings others into the story as both witnesses and philosophical debaters. There is a vast number of people out there who make and swear to  lot of things. But when it comes to offering up visual proofs, when it comes to walking their talk, they come up short.

My relationship with Hera which led to the creation of The Heraian and The Journeybook Network on YouTube where this story plays out in front of the world  is both simple and radical.  Surely it is an unbelievable story to many, until they see it playing out in the near 100 videos already included in The Journeybook. The first season of which, chronicled the adventure of placing 22 hand carved stone votives to the Goddess Hera in various locations as part of a lengthy ritual that defied Zeus. A defiance that did not go unnoticed or unanswered for. I did, in point of fact, fail in the quest to place the final votive and complete the ritual in the final chapter of the season. A failure which was also well documented here. I have no shame in this. It happened, it was recorded, an none of us involved in this story are entirely invincible.

My story is an anomaly in the modern Age. Paganism in general is on the rise the world over in countless different flavors and interpretations. But no one else has dared take on a path such as this one and even within classical Greek myth those who aligned themselves with Hera and defied Zeus in one way or another did not end up with a "happy ever after". In fact, some of the most sadistic punishments ever conceived came from the mind of an offended Zeus. I know those cautionary tales well. I simply don't care.

As the events of last year played out, as votive after votive to Hera was placed, and I came closer and closer to pulling off the ritual my own realm and people were all but annihilated. Once the most powerful, feared, and revolutionary force in the global pagan community has fallen to ruin where only a precious few struggle to hang on. While I was out questing for the glory of Hera my world and all that I had suffered for and loved fell to apathy and betrayal. By the time the final votive was to be placed my people were expecting a victory and instead they saw me fall just 3 miles short of the end after suffering an abdominal injury and enduring freezing temperatures in the middle of a forest with no shelter.

Following the defeat I was insatiably angry and full of rage. I had been defeated after traveling over 1,000 miles in my quest, my world and people lay in ruin, and at the center of it all stood Zeus - the God who I had defied at the side of his reluctant Queen.

It was to Hera which I turned following the assault and from Hera which new power came forth. Holding to the idea that all not only had to be written but shown this new strength was also filmed and displayed before the eyes of the world, quickly becoming one of the most viewed and awe inspiring videos in the entire story.

For the past 5 months I have been in training to hone my strengths and abilities in order to continue on with my quest and this very story. As of this writing we are only 2 days away (March 30th) from the first quest of the Second Season of The Journeybook where this story will continue to unfold before the eyes of the world in a new series of videos and thousands of new photos along with the written account that is this very blog.

Not only will The Journeybook reveal stunning landscapes as we quest to place the final votive and rob Zeus of his power - breaking his bond over Hera - but it will display and illustrate abilities that come only from this level of devotion to a singular Goddess. I will not only write and talk about it, I will show you and I will do it all LIVE.

I could, like many others, have these experiences and keep them to myself. Never offering such proofs of what I claim and write of. But what would be the point in having them if they are not shared experiences? However unbelievable it is a story that should be and needs to be told. You do have to see it in order to believe it. 

I am a pagan who came from nothing, rose up to become a King, created a spiritual pagan dynamic and realm that is unmatched and peerless, gained the favor and love from an individual Goddess who I have honored and glorified with unprecedented passion and devotion, and defied the will of Zeus to the point that I have made a clear and welcomed enemy of him.

Zeus represents everything I have come to hate about the world of men and the petty nature of the Gods. His affronts to Hera and misogyny will be answered for and it will be me who passes down the punishment in Hera's name.

Anyone who watches The Journeybook beyond the written accounts of this blog will witness a battle between a Pagan King and the King of the Gods. And we will battle it out until only one of us remains.

I have already publicly announced that I am putting my title as the King of the Denians on the line in the Second Season of The Journeybook. If Zeus answers my challenge and manifests to face off with me again he will either end my 17 year reign (and this very story) or the world will bear witness to me setting before them with Zeus's power in my own hands.

Defied, robbed of his power, his bond over Hera broken, Zeus himself - the ancient King of the Gods - will lay defeated at the hands of a mortal who fought, suffered, and sacrificed to become something else. But it is not the power of Zeus that is to be my prize for victory. This is not a quest or battle for power. It is a battle for the hand and heart of Hera herself.

To win the hand of Hera Zeus himself must be defeated. And the battle between mortal and God to see that happen is about to unfold before the eyes all all.

A King Will Fall

The Myths of the Heraian unfold LIVE in Season 2 of The Journeybook 
Beginning March 30, 2013