Maybe it was the
sensory deprivation of several long days at sea, but I looked out at the
breaking dawn on Tuesday to see an astonishing cloudscape. A rim of flat grey
clouds circled the whole horizon, resembling a vast circular table, and around
this conference table, formed from great pillars of white, grey and rose-gold
cumulus, sat the whole pantheon of Greek gods. There was Zeus, his great
muscular arms raised to wield a thunderbolt; Poseidon with his robes and beard
like turbulent waves; Diana, virginal in
wispy white; Bacchus with his crown of vines, raising a cup; Aphrodite leaning
back lasciviously, hair tumbling over her generous breasts; Hades, ominous in billowing black; Hera, arms folded, frowning regal
disapproval on the rest of the gathering …
If I had been an ancient Mediterranean mariner, I’d have had no trouble
believing in the old pagan gods – their presence is everywhere. The sea is calm as Apollo’s golden chariot
rises from the waves and begins its daily journey westwards. With little
warning the dark clouds pile up; Zeus roars and lightning bolts split the
heavens, while his brother Poseidon stirs the waves to fury with his trident.
There’s just time to chant an invocation and sacrifice a goat or two before
Aeolus bags up the wind again, the sky clears and the sea glitters deep blue.
The old gods were just as capricious and changeable as the weather (and the
people) they ruled.
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