Printed Permission Granted by His Majesty Pluto
My Orpheus,
Your love for me was so deep. Down to Hades to save me you traveled from the upper crusty world, that place where our brief marriage had soon ended. We did not have Hymen’s eternal blessing. Or, did we? Yet, unlike those two lovers whose crossed stars prophesied passion for each other would twistedly result in a deathly love-violence, theirs suffered a short-lived love that never bore fruit.
And so I write you to say our marriage never ended, but rather became transformed into other forms of beauty by other souls who, centuries later, learned about our tragic love story. So moved by our story were they that poems, books, and movies, have been apotheosized over and over by those strangers. Their vision about us became our borrowed flesh to love again…become one lit flame again.
Alas! There was one throughout history, a non-believer, who could not understand love. He was Plato. What wintry words he did use to judge our love. He once defined twin flames as the other’s half. No. That was and still is not true! I was not your half, nor were you mine. We were one. He spewed hideous accusations. He could not accept your journey to Hades’s soul’s purpose was to save me from death–twice! My Orpheus, not only did Plato remark our love was not real, but he also labeled my lifeless body an apparition! He dismissed you as cowardly. Men such as Plato know nothing about tender love. Their rigid reasoning rejects them from diving deep into the sea. Those men philosophize about love and then gall to call it true wisdom.
Our love was at first sight. Apollo did bless you with a lyre to charm me with your love. I became id-pleased and willingly indulge you with kindness. Your heart jolted to want to hold me. It was just your sweet readiness towards me that breached Hades’ trust. But never you mind all that now! Always remember, ’twas your music playing that charmed and charged the black gods and melted their senses.
Orpheus, our love is not an image defined by our deaths. Our love has only been transformed a story that endures in the arts. You could argue our mortal departure of each other became a sorrow sweetened in death. Now I hear the bells which means I must go back and tend to our fragrant garden.
I shall meet you by the oak tree.
My Orpheus, I love you and leave you.
Always kindled,
Eurydice, your feathers
Black Cat Words 