Maiden of Minos

pencil on paper; digital: Illustrator, Photoshop

Sunflower Gal

color pencil on paper; 5-1/2" x 7" (detail)

The Tropics

There is a rhythm in the tropics. Instead of severe fluctuations in temperature to mark changes of the seasons, it is the rains building up into monsoons that note the time of the year.

We are called by the trade winds. There is freedom in the wind and a big, open sky luxuriates under the magnificence of the sun.

Is life better on the islands? Closer to nature, we feel the beat of mother earth—her calm and her explosive nature. We look for paradise as an external manifestation, in appearances that await us just beyond the horizon. As the winds blow the still air of illusion away, we realize paradise is within.

Still, the trappings of tropics and its set and setting are undeniably alluring.

Who hasn’t thought of escaping to a tropical island where life would be easy and joyous. Can such a dream be possible?

Can life live up to daydreams?

Have you tried?

If not, how will you ever know?

Remember, don’t take any one else’s word for the unique experience that lies dormant within your self.

She sits, this maiden I met on a Greek isle from another time.

She sits, ready to stand, ready to reach out. She is there forever like the moon. The bull of the island that dwells in his ancient lair protects her and keeps her forever young. For this “gift” of eternal life, she can never leave.

This is her price for bathing in moonlight. Why and how did she come to such an agreement?

She won’t tell.

The wind blows briskly from offshore. She leans against her hut.

Her man is out with some of the other men of the tribe on a fishing hunt. They will eat well tonight. The stones are already getting hot in a fire underground.

They will share in the bounty of the ocean—that is, if the temperamental sea permits it.

In the meantime, she rests, feeling the wind caress her face, stream through the reeds of the hut, and flow over the hills that lead upward into the jungle behind her.

She thinks to herself: What is there beyond this place?

At first gander, she seemed to be a good time gal, a sun worshipper sort, out for the day—and only the moment mattered to her.

Consequences. Were there any, really? Responsibility. To what? For whom?

A sensualist, out for day under the star called sol, she bathed in the rays. She swelled into her being in the ultraviolet—a little is good, too much, too bad.

Was she all about making hay while you can? Could she be seduced by the occasional poet with time on his hands?

From a distance, she was the sunflower gal, a flower growing under the open sky.

Let’s talk, I thought. I went over to find out what was what.

No kiss and tell here.

A sense of belonging. That is the tribe.

A sense of strength and protection. That is the tribe.

A sense of continuity. That is the tribe.

A sense of ritual. That is the tribe.

A sense of purpose. That is the individual who must trade the tribe for the transcendent, and in so doing, reaps all with a life flowing from courage.

Can the individual and the tribe co-exist? Without the tribe, the individual would not have been born. Without the individual, the tribe cannot evolve.

The trade winds blow across the island. The winds bring travelers, rare goods, and odd customs.

The men on the ships bring strange ideas with them. Do we of the island not know the real God? Do we not not know the real creation story?

Is this salvation or contamination?

Poseidon, God of the Sea

In Greek mythology, he is the son of Kronos and Rheia, brother of Zeus, Ares, Hestia, Demeter and Hera. Poseidon is one of the six original Olympians. His mission is to give voice to the earth. Poseidon was commonly called the earth shaker and the earth encircler in The Iliad and The Odyssey of Homer. Poseidon pounds and shakes the earth and sea with his wrath and pleasure and answers to no one, except Zeus.

His kingdom is the vast sea which he has populated with creatures of his own design. He rides the waves in a chariot drawn by dolphins but, curiously enough, his most honored creation is the horse.

It seems to this old man that he had been at sea beyond forever.

He recalls and dreams that he was once a young sailor. He had lands to find, adventures to fulfill, a destiny to make.

The years have gone away with wind in his sails. Adventures and new lands had been his, and now he searches for a port to call home.

Poseidon’s Domain

Poseidon's Domain

digital: Studio Artist, Photoshop

Woman by the Sea

digital: Studio Artist, Photoshop

The bull heard the call and came out of his lair to see. Strange men were coming. Men had come before to learn his secrets.

Those men never left.

But all men must get past him and that no man can do. There is a way, but the bull will not tell.

There is also a maiden, and she just might.

But who can trust the Bull?

There have been men who have learned the secret and have left for other horizons. Each, in turn, must decide it they are worthy.

“Are you?” said the Maiden to me.

He had come to the island to offer the natives redemption.

He had thought he had a calling to save these lost souls.

After a time, he knew it was he who was lost and lived among the islanders as one of them. He would not judge. He would simply live.

Could he resist temptation?

In time, he would find himself—a man who could not go home, a man who was seeking redemption.

She came to feel the power of the ocean.

Her beauty was well known about the land. She had suitors, but none who could provoke her into a life together.

Was there a man in the realm who deserved her? Was this thought vain? She had been given great power by the people. They expected her to deliver prosperity.

Her mother had told her not to settle. It would take strength to find strength.

She had heard of a wise and powerful man in a distant land who might fit her needs. She would look into it.

She recalled that his name was Solomon.