Becoming a Priestess of Aphrodite: The Metamorphosis of Teiresias

© Jinny Webber, 2017

Published in Blood and Roses: A Devotional to Aphrodite and Venus

Alexandrina Bibliotecha, Summer 2017

https://www.amazon.com/Blood-Roses-Devotional-Aphrodite-Venus/dp/1973810816

In my former life I was called Teiresias, attendant on King Labdacus of Thebes.

The night my wife died in childbirth, I lost that self in a passion of grief and guilt. How could I continue in our house alone? How would I cope with a shrieking newborn and her benumbed two-year-old sister? I owed it to their mother, now so cold, but I simply couldn’t.

At dawn I stumbled out the door, leaving my daughters in the nurse’s charge. In a sleepwalker’s trance I slipped through Thebes’ gate, cutting through fields, noticing nothing until I found myself walking on leaves and pine needles beyond all human path. Sticky webs brushed my face, caught in my hair; branches pushed against me. I swept them aside with my staff and walked on, heedless of where I was.

Chill silent air shocked me into alertness. No path before or behind me, only leafy mold under my sandals, stunted growth beneath dusky pines and alders.

An other-worldly smell came to me, raising the hairs on my neck. My breath shallow, feet leaden, I could see nothing, shadow-blinded. At my feet a ripple of blue on copper: gnarled roots come to life. No! they were two massive serpents writhing in a primal dance of love.

I stood suspended, my staff poised above the serpents who seemed to consume each other. All certainties left me—of self, of body, of Teiresias, civic man and knowing mind. At this twilit still moment, I could have been the first human formed from damp red soil by the Great Mother, newborn, fearful. The serpents in their eerie coupling were the essence of all beyond human ken, paralyzing me except for a small fire burning within.

The coppery glint of those twisting bodies ignited into blazing manly rage and I struck. Driving my staff between the serpents with all my might, my arm and stick vibrated with the blow.

The earth shook beneath me. I staggered forward. Around me, absolute silence. My vision opened full circle, encompassing both serpents as they darted away, lithe, faster than thought, one to the east, one the west.

A film covered my eyes and I fell to the ground, encased in an unbearable tightness. I burrowed deep into pine needles and rotten leaves, into the abrading soil and pebbles and roots beneath, out of my clothes and still I pushed, as if through my very skin. The sensations exhausted me and I fell into a sleeping dream world.

A fat old woman loomed over me. “Justice strikes you for trespassing! You, mortal man, dared to wander into the Great One’s garden.” She pulled her robe open and laughed, huge breasts and belly shaking. A wave rippled through her, serpent undulation, and she exposed her dark triangle. “Look. Know.” She moved in an obscene dance. “See what happens when a reckless man falls into the womb cave!”

Her laughter echoed, raucous, throaty, a sharp wind rumbling the trees. My mind surfaced under the cold gray sky. I wanted to cry, “Why do you taunt me, you ribald old goddess?” But I could barely manage breath, let alone speech.

My body felt strangely light, hair falling over the arm under my head—cascades of hair. And my face—how soft the skin! Young. I pressed my eyes shut. Let this be a dream! It felt like a nightmare.

My free hand couldn’t resist running down over my chest. Breasts! My waist tapered, sloping downward to a rounded mound soft with hair opening to—to woman’s subtle organ. A wound. A secret. A dread metamorphosis.

My maleness had been ripped from me. I wanted to pound the betraying earth, to shout to the skies. Trespasser indeed! Step into the Mother’s garden and he becomes she? My anger receded: I could not summon Teiresias’s fire. I said my name, “Teiresias,” in a woman’s voice. My mind in a woman’s body! Then—could I call it my mind? So it still seemed, yet I was no Teiresias.

Sitting in the mud among twisted roots and decayed leaves, I laughed aloud and threw the Great Goddess a kiss. Your serpents caught me. The Trespasser.

I’d fallen into the void, into freedom, Teiresias’ burdens lifted, all potential before me. Nothing to do but surrender. Dazed, yet strangely acquiescent, I sat in that musky forest through the day, unable to consider my next step.

An image came into my mind at last: Thebes. Home. I stood up, shook out Teiresias’s tattered robe and pulled it round me. Somehow I found the road and reached the city by moonlight, slithered through the gate and over familiar streets, unobserved.

My house was dark, cold, and quiet. I let myself into my room through the courtyard and fell into bed.

At dawn I was still—woman. In the bathing court, I splashed water on my face, used the privy squatting as my wife Chloris had. No maintaining dignity. I stared down at myself, at my neat downy triangle and shuddered. The eyes that looked back at me in Chloris’s hand mirror were Teiresias’s, gold-flecked brown, framed in matted blond hair around a strange woman’s face. I ran a comb through the snarls, managing to smooth the top layer, and put on a long heavy-textured robe, tying a cord around my waist.

At the door of Chloris’s empty chamber, I gazed at the bed where she had lain, where I held her in hopeless farewell. During my absence, her funeral rites had begun—and finished? I shook my head to dispel Artemis’ condemning voice. I did not risk disturbing the nurse and babies in the adjoining nursery.

On Chloris’ table a long shawl woven in a blue serpentine pattern gleamed like a gift. Under the blue shawl lay a golden girdle, as intricately designed as the one encircling Aphrodite’s waist, the goddess’s mythic girdle that makes her irresistible to god and man. I fit it around my waist.

Never did I see such a girdle on Chloris, not even before pregnancy swelled her belly. Adorned in a girdle like Aphrodite’s own, I heard the love goddess laugh my name into my ear. Teira. Tears and laughter. Aphrodite’s Teira.

And so shall it be told as long as tales are heard: Teiresias struck apart two serpents coupling in the deep woods and became woman—and priestess of Aphrodite.

I found my way to the shrine of Mydon, the Serpent Priest of Thebes, a man Teiresias had scorned—indeed suspected of loving Chloris. But now I needed his wisdom.

Mydon gave me a gold serpent ring and told my destiny was Corinth, Aphrodite’s mystic city, a long walk south. The very name, Corinth, emanated a cloud of perfume like that of the goddess’ enchanting girdle or Hephaestos’ golden filigree net, which snagged her in bed with her lover Ares. Where better to be serpent priestess than among the most beautiful women in all of Hellas, priestesses ruled by no man, neither divine nor mortal? I would go to the temple of Aphrodite on the Acrocorinth, city of excess, her port bringing worshippers and riches from all the world.

Imagined flutes summoned me; tambourines, intoxicating fragrances, seductive laughter. I shed my Theban skin and departed my sad manly homeland, praying for Aphrodite’s protection.

My safety on the road came form priestesses in woodland sanctuaries, women descended from those who fled Crete after the cataclysm destroyed their temples and shrines, women whose existence Teiresias had never imagined. They comforted me, fed me, allowed me to sleep in their sacred domains.

As I approached Corinth, the sunbaked road grew wider and busier, but in the bustle no one noted me, though I covertly examined each as he passed by. My brief life as woman seemed very private amidst this crush of farmers and peddlers and pilgrims, and I wondered if I knew enough to survive here.

Late in the day I saw the outlines of Corinth against a distant hill. Coming close enough to make out its ochre wall and buildings, I found a smaller path and climbed a low hill overlooking the gulf, deep azure in the afternoon light. The climb became steep and rocky before I reached a wide bluff with a few windblown trees, tamarisk bushes, and a cave opening into the hillside.

A woman came towards me: Carpho, priestess to Demeter, she called herself. Her face was sunburnt and leathery, her body and manner more those of farmer than priestess: bare muscular arms and sturdy legs under a shift, which she had hiked into her belt.

“This seems a desolate place. Many come here to be alone, however, so I rarely am. You are welcome, child.” Carpho offered me cherries from a basket. “That girdle of yours is a gift from Aphrodite, is it not?”

I shrugged a nod. “Can you tell what awaits me in Corinth?”

“You have a rare history, a rare destiny. Beautiful women wearing a sign from Aphrodite often come to Corinth. Go to her temple and join in the dance.

“Do you know my history?”

She studied my serpent ring. “I know that you will learn more than other women here. Trust your vulva, trust your destiny.” At my startled expression she laughed a quick snort then continued, “You have no secrets from me, my girl. You shall do well; never fear. Do you see Aphrodite’s temple on top of the Acrocorinth?”

I followed her pointing finger until I made out a structure that had blended in with the rocky hilltop in my dazzled vision. “That is your destination—tomorrow. Remain here tonight.”

Carpho poured us each a cup of wine from an earthen jar. Even well-watered, the wine felt strong to my travel-lightened stomach.

The sun set over Corinth, filling the sky with brilliant rose and aqua reflected in the wind-roughened bay. Carpho set out barley-meal bread and goats’ cheese and the basket of cherries: a feast to me after my long trek. “In the morning someone will come to accompany you to the city.”

We ate in silence, reflecting on the splendor spread out below us and the mysteries of the hill above.

Carpho refilled our cups. “Your ring is older than I am. Nothing like it is made today; it holds great power. The serpent twines through all existence. We shed the old to be reborn, and reborn again.”

The moon rose, coldly distant. “Sleep under these trees, Teira. I keep long vigil, but you, I see, are tired.” I felt my exhaustion and would have welcomed a bath.

She smiled as if reading my thoughts. “It’s dry on this hill, but two springs flow in Corinth. The fountain outside the city gates is called Peirene Cenchrias, to honor the tears of the mother of Cenchrias, spotted serpent lad mistakenly killed by Artemis. You may wash yourself there. When you climb to Aphrodite’s temple high on the Acrocorinth, you will find the eternal spring Peirene, created when the winged horse Pegasus struck his hoof against the rock. The city and the temple are enriched by its unfailing waters. Drink of sacred Peirene before you enter the temple.”

As I drifted toward sleep, I heard Carpho murmuring the story of the city, founded by the scoundrel Sisyphos, who won no love from his fellows but established Corinth as a center of navigation and trade. Its history reflects the fate of its founder, now perpetually pushing his heavy stone in Hades for trying to trick the gods. Later Bellerophon bridled Pegasus on the Acrocorinth, thus taming the winged son of Medusa to carry him safely through danger. Every hero has visited Corinth and always shall, his life forever changed.

And women there, when blessed by the goddess, can gain rare stature as priestesses in Aphrodite’s temple.

My dreams were filled with images of Corinth, many times more splendid than familiar Thebes; more exciting and frightening, full of adventure and threat and promise. Its soft ocher stones appeared gold, its springs and fountains flowed exuberantly.

In the morning, Carpho and I walked to a patch of tilled soil where we tended her vegetable patch. “Last night you told me stories of Corinth that filled my dreams with wondrous images.”

“You shall know its opulence and its shadows, more than dreams can tell,” she said.

“Do you never visit the city?”

“Only if I am called. It’s enough to watch its distant walls through the changing light each day.”

I sat on a rock facing the gulf and the isthmus cutting through to the Saronic sea. Two great ships moved toward the port. Red and white sails arced over blue-black water; shimmers of heat made the air sparkle and my spirits with it. A goatherd climbed the hill towards us.

“Go your way, my child. Do not forget—”

I thought she would say “me” and reached to give her a daughterly embrace.

“—to laugh!” Carpho hugged me and waved her short skirts in farewell, the goatherd too slow-moving to catch a view. He made a curt bow, set his milk jugs on a flat rock, picked up her empty ones, and headed back down the path.

“I shan’t forget. Thank you, Carpho!” I called as I ran after him.

Just once he turned to offer his hand over treacherous rocks. As we approached the long city walls, he waved me in the direction of the Peirenean fountain of Cenchrias and turned away. Was he mute? I shrugged. No one need point out the temple queening above the city.

I joined a group of women at the fountain, splashing its water over my face and hair and arms, which earned me alarmed looks from the women as if to ask, whoever is this barbarian?

The sun warm upon me, I followed those walking into the city. An old man gave me figs, and I savored their sweet seedy meat as I walked through the busy streets. The road sloped upward, away from houses and shops to the long climb to the temple. I was relieved when the path wound into the shade. Worshippers of Aphrodite must be hardy of limb and breath, I thought, as I stopped to rest.

At last the path widened towards Aphrodite’s temple, colossal, as if gods or giants had dropped its huge stones from heaven in perfect symmetry to honor their darling. Not only did the temple look out upon gulf, isthmus, and bay, but its perspective stretched far to the south, over the vineyards and orchards of the vast Peloponnese. I inhaled the tangy air that soon would become my life breath, an unforgettable mingling of sea and lemon blossom, rockrose and anise.

Remembering Carpho’s instructions to visit the spring, I circled the wide tiled steps at the front of the temple, allowing myself only a glance at the large statue of Aphrodite inside, glittering with jewels. An empty courtyard extended from the back steps to a low building with a trellised entry. Voices sounded from within, but no one appeared.

By the stone steps, I found the sacred Peirenean spring and filled my hands to drink again and again, in thirst and in prayer. To success in Corinth!

The spring gushed out of a cleft in the rocks where it had been struck by the hoof of Pegasus, sudden, like Teiresias’s staff between the serpents—though to my fresh eyes, it appeared like the waters of life pouring from the body of the Great Mother herself.

We’re told that the winged steed Pegasus was born from Medusa’s neck when Perseus struck off her snake-curling head. Poor Medusa: her lovely hair was her undoing. Sea-lord Poseidon, entranced, ravished her within Athena’s temple when she came to make her devotions.

I recalled such stories from the palace of King Labdacus, recalled Teiresias’s amusement at the gods’ ingenious and insatiable seductions and his horror at the monstrous Medusa who challenged Perseus to heroic victory. Now I pitied the girl Medusa, punished by Athena for the sacrilege which she did not commit—raped, not seduced; her flowing curls become snakes, her beautiful face a curse, turning to stone whoever looked upon her.

Medusa, Gorgon: and mortal, Perseus cutting off her terrifying and terrified head, avoiding her fatal gaze by looking upon her reflection in his shield. Medusa, Gorgon: immortal, for the child of Poseidon in her womb burst from her neck as winged Pegasus. The blood from her severed head, now the weapon of Perseus, dripped on land and sea to create worms and snakes and coral. Why a winged horse? Why life from serpent blood?

Ah but here am I, a woman created from serpents. I reflected on how I’d been mothered by Aphrodite in my dreams and by Carpho at her cave. And Medusa too? I smiled at a notion so impossible to Teiresias. The story of Medusa meant more to me than it did to him. Was I standing on the opposite line, the other side of the battle, man’s view become woman’s? Was there indeed a battle between woman and man, goddess and god?

Not in the realm of Aphrodite, born of the sea foam, goddess of love in all its convolutions. Deny her power and be destroyed, the stories tell us. But I was here to become a human embodiment of her power, a woman touched by her divine hand.

At twilight, torches began to light the city below. Flute music called from the temple. I followed at some distance the line of women walking out of the low building, their sheer gold-hemmed gowns revealing supple limbs as they danced toward bejeweled Aphrodite in her majesty. Torchlight played on the tiled floor of the temple, its design of blue and gold imitating the sea from which Aphrodite emerged, the sea below the city, and the most beautiful of fabrics, gold-streaked gossamer.

I removed my sandals and approached the towering statue of the goddess. Imagining my blue serpent-weaving from Delphi to be a silken veil, I held it, arms outstretched, then let it accentuate my movements as I began to dance as Aphrodite taught me in my dreams, circling slowly to plaintive flute song. When a drumbeat pushed me toward a final rapid whirling, the shawl clung to my body and I fell to the ground.

Silence. I lay in front of the snake-entwined pedestal of the goddess. As I rose to my feet, I inhaled Aphrodite’s grace. I turned to the women, and one, a vision of roundness under her soft peplos, stepped forward and welcomed me to the temple.

The flute resumed its slow melody and I joined the line of sinuous women, following them out of the temple and down the back stairs. Under the arbor opposite the spring stood the carved door of the long building, its shadowy images adding to my suspense. A cat sat at the marble threshold, her tawny eyes upon me. I stared back, took a deep breath, and stepped into the large central room.

Lamps flickered down a table set with platters of fruit, olives, cheese, and breads. The priestess who welcomed me, Iole, invited me to supper, saying that priestesses dined alone that night, entertaining no worshipers because it was Corinth’s feast of Bellerophon.

Everything about Iole was round, just short of plumpness: her face with its cap of dark curls flowing as ringlets down her back; her black eyes; her heart-shaped mouth; her generous round breasts, arms that tapered to dimpled elbows, and beneath her tunic, curves of belly and thigh and rump. It was all I could do to keep myself from embracing her on the spot.

An attendant poured wine weaker than Carpho’s, and the talk was soft and laughing. Iole sat to my right and introduced me to the priestesses around the table. Each seemed more lovely than the last, though wearing few jewels and with no more facepaint than kohl outlining their eyes. I especially noticed Polydora, tall and dark with regal bearing, and a slender girl called Calyce, coppery gold curls springing under a brightly woven band. Just saying her name now, Calyce, brushes me with delight, like a kiss on a nipple.

Iole pointed out the priestess’s rooms behind tapestried draperies down each sidewall. Too intrigued to eat, I drank two or three goblets of wine scarcely noticing.

The aromas of the dining hall overpowered me. When I arrived, a light perfume fragranced the air, but now the weight of incense and woman scent assaulted me. I slipped backwards; Iole caught me, half lifting me from my seat and guiding me through one of the tapestry curtains into an almost dark room. I immediately collapsed onto the sleeping pallet.

“Forgive . . . “ I whispered as I pulled the bed robe over me.

Women’s voices lulled me from beyond the curtain. Just as I was falling to sleep, I felt a strange warmth flowing from between my legs. I sat up in horror, saw in the pale light a reddish stain spreading. Nothing to do but wad up some of the bedclothes to absorb it, and let myself sleep at last.

In the morning, Iole laughed at the mess. “With that much blood, it will be a short flow. Quite a greeting Aphrodite has given you!”

She led me to an inner courtyard. Along the wall under the low roof were polished metal mirrors and dressing tables covered with jars and vials of perfumes and creams and unguents, kohl and rouge; small chests with jewelry, combs, hair ornaments.

“These belong to the temple, to all of us.” Iole indicated a larger chest. “Choose what you like.” I selected a gown of fine saffron fabric and the only robe with purple woven in.

“I’ll leave you to your bath, Teira. In the morning, we take little time for jewelry or makeup, only enough to please Aphrodite in the temple dance. Afternoons we spend here, arraying ourselves to meet the worshipers. Come into the dining hall after your bath.” Iole pursed her full lips into a mirror and smiled at her reflected face.

Alone, I went to the fountain at the center of the courtyard and diverted its cool water into the bathing tub. I rubbed soap into my hair, the bubbles skimming down my body with the rinse water, foamy traces decorating my breasts and belly. What a body for one who was sinewy Teiresias not so long ago!

Fastening my girdle over the saffron peplos, I had to laugh at myself: womanly manners and style were coming surprisingly easy. I hung jeweled pendants in my ears and passed through the main hall where two attendants were setting out the morning meal.

In my room, the bloodied bedclothes were gone, my blue serpent shawl folded across the end of the bed. The chamber reflected bright sunlight angling through a small window, the design on the woven rug resembling that of the ocean tiles in the temple, pillows covered in blue and gold stacked under the window.

Iole looked in. “You seem to have everything you need—except a treasure, perhaps a filigreed lamp. Surely a worshiper will bring you one.”

“Who are these worshipers?”

“Men who come to praise Aphrodite—out of devotion, out of fear, duty, perhaps curiosity. They bring us roses, fruit, fine fabrics, jewels. Whenever a rich ship lands, we’re assured of barrels of wine and chests of treasures. Such is the bounty Aphrodite commands.”

Iole pulled me through my tapestry-hung doorway, a design of waves and lilies, into the hall where priestesses helped themselves to fruit, bread, honey. It was strange to be in the midst of these knowing women, their voices like a melodic assembly of birds among whom I felt a scraggly raven despite my finery.

As Iole and I left the dining hall, the coppery-curled priestess Calyce joined us. “I was the most recent arrival until you came. Welcome, Teira. You dance well.”

“I feel strange here . . .”

“Aphrodite makes her will known. There are of course her mystery rites.” Calyce’s smile was innocent and conspiratorial at the same time. “We celebrate her by dancing in the temple and private worship in the intimacy of our rooms. Tonight, if her light shines on you, you shall participate in these rites.”

In the temple with its holy fragrance of stone permeated with incense, we were pulled into the line of linked women before jeweled Aphrodite. First drums, then a flute drew me into serpentine movements undulating through us, turning us into a pulsing stream, around and around the statue, stopping just short of whirling frenzy, our morning greeting to the goddess.

We returned to the bathing courtyard, which smelled gentle and flowery after the pungency of the temple. There the ritual was indolent conversation and beautifying to the sound of Marpessa’s flute. Iole began a bawdy song, everyone joining in. The tamer verses:

Blessed the man

To come into the cave

To lie in the furrow

Of the goddess’ great joy

 

Blessed am I

Possessing my flower

A stream and a cavern,

The goddess’ great joy.

 

As I stood in front of a smoky mirror trying to arrange my hair, Calyce brought ornaments to weave in, turning my free-moving mane into a work of art, curls held by gold at each temple, plaits and ringlets looping to my shoulders. I smudged kohl under my eyes.

“No, no, no,” Calyce laughed, wiping off my face and showing me how to etch the inky powder around my eyes, to spread gold-tinted cream over my cheekbones, to rouge my lips. I chose a musky perfume oil which Calyce dotted at all the points of warmth, tickling even between my toes.

“We’ll hang this amethyst between your breasts,” she fastened it with a cord, “and this bracelet on your ankle.” I examined my emerging self from every angle in the burnished sheen of the mirrors.

Calyce laughed, “What a vain one! You must come from a village that’s never seen a mirror.” She disregarded my quiet words, “Near Thebes,” and continued, “We’ll go to your apartment for a moment, if you’re so fond of mirrors!”

She took my hand and pulled me to my room. “Now rest back on your elbows,” Calyce directed me to the bed. “Here, lift your skirt,” and she aimed a hand mirror so I could see myself. “Isn’t that a perfect petaled flower? Like an iris, pale pink shading to lavender. I’d like to see it blushing scarlet!”

I couldn’t think about what once belonged between these legs, Teiresias’s muscle-knotted legs, so curious was I at this marvelous labyrinth into dark mystery, my moonflow now a mere trace of scarlet.

“Time to hide it away,” Calyce took back the mirror and rearranged my skirt, “even though I’m tempted to kiss that fresh flower.” She shook her curls with a laugh that piqued my yearning. “When you dance, remember your hidden flower and enjoy its warmth!” She skipped away, me following, warmed through and a little shaky.

As the sun arced downward, attendants served dates and goblets of lemon water before preparations began for the evening dance. Iole arranged a diaphanous purple cloth over my head and shoulders and nudged me into line.

This time we circled the temple and entered by the wide front stairs, passing the altar attended by the tall Polydora, who smiled me a welcome. This dance felt very different from the morning’s. Though we moved together, we did not hold hands. Men stood beyond the altar, and the heat radiating upward from my secret flower surrounded them and circled back to me.

Dancing near them, I heard “the goddess’s grace.” A man wearing the short tunic of a warrior under a long bronze-threaded robe seemed to be addressing those words to me.

As the music rose, I felt animated by the goddess, by the man; pulled toward each in pleasing hunger. Aphrodite released me to him. I whirled faster; he reached his arm to me, and I completed the dance winding in against his chest. Laughing, I led him out of the temple, past Peirene and over the marble threshold and past the sentinel cat, her eyes half closed, through the carved door of the priestess’s building, our building, disregarding the other dancers, music muted behind me.

In the empty dining hall, the lamp lit table was set with great baskets of flowers. “Some wine?” He held out goblets for me to fill, lacing in water. Drumbeats from the dance he so briefly joined carried us to my small chamber.

“I drink to the goddess and to your beauty, which shines with her grace.” He smiled, spilling a libation before drinking deeply.

I felt a wave of awkwardness. What am I doing here, with a man who could be companion to Teiresias? Teiresias had touched, been touched by, a man or two in Thebes, but there was no insistence, no intimacy. This man, Damysos, wanted more from me, from Teira.

Was it a jest of Aphrodite, that I should lose my old Teiresias self by making love as a woman with a man who resembled him? Damysos was very like Teiresias, trained as a warrior in the service of King Laertes of Ithaca, yet so unlike Teiresias as to recognize Aphrodite, to open himself to her in his dreams and to obey those dreams.

Which brought him to me, her priestess. And such I became that night.

I whisper long-concealed secrets: perhaps no woman shall know such divine magic again, for the sacred temple of Aphrodite has slipped to a new sort of worship since those days, crass and pecuniary in a way we priestesses never knew. When I arrived at the temple of the goddess high above Corinth, it possessed a unique purity and primal innocence, that spirit restored to me in this telling for you, my dear ones.