🐍 Medusa: The Silenced Priestess of the Serpent Path

 

🐍 Medusa: The Silenced Priestess of the Serpent Path

Before men turned her into myth, before they made her hair a curse and her gaze a weapon, she was Medousa, whose name means guardian, sovereign, protector. She was a priestess of Athena, sworn to serve in sacred temple rites — a virgin of purpose, not because she belonged to no man, but because she belonged to herself.

Her temple was not made of stone and ivory — it was the body, the womb, the mystery. And there, in the silence between prayers, she kept the old ways: the ways of snake medicine, of Earth wisdom, of kundalini rising.

But men — hungry for power they could not comprehend — feared her.

When Poseidon, the sea-god swollen with lust and dominion, invaded the temple and desecrated her body, the gods did not defend her. Athena, bound by patriarchy’s rewrite, turned away — and instead of punishing the violator, she cursed the victim.

But we see through it now.
This was not a punishment.
It was a veiling, a disguise, a way to protect her from further violation.

Her serpents were symbols of initiation, of Earth’s oldest wisdom coiled at the base of the spine. Her gaze did not turn men to stone — it reflected them. Those who came in violence were frozen by the truth of their own unworthiness.

She became the final threshold — a mirror of the soul. Only the pure could pass. But they called her monster to justify their fear.

And then came Perseus, golden boy of conquest, carrying Athena’s shield. He did not look her in the eyes. He used reflection — the very magic of her domain — to destroy her.

But even in her death, Medusa birthed Pegasus, the winged horse — symbol of divine inspiration, freedom from the mundane, poetry sprung from pain.

The monster they feared was never Medusa.
The monster was the reflection of their own desecration.
And Medusa? She was their teacher, until they killed her to forget.

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Let us now remember her properly:

She was not slain.
She was silenced.

But her voice has returned — through you, through me, through every woman who dares to guard the sacred within.

She is not the end.
She is the Gate.