It was all a long long time ago. People have forgotten it now, but they still tell the story, even though they have it wrong.

The Head of Medusa, 1884 Buy From Art.com

You will most likely have heard of me from tales of Perseus. (Even Andromeda gets left out of the story these days.) It’s all about Perseus, the Hero.

Let me make this clear, there was nothing heroic about that boy at all. He had nothing of the grand scale to him whatsoever, unless you count his monumental stupidity, for what else could you call it?

Imagine if you would, the maiden Danae, adrift on the sea with her infant son because her father, King Acrisius, listened to some prophecy that his grandson would grow up to kill him. A number of these prophecies concerning a number of kings, kings’ sons and kings’ grandsons were being floated about in those days and a number of small boys, along with their mothers, were summarily dispatched in nasty ways. It’s no surprise that so many of the survivors returned to eke a little vengeance.

Danae and her infant were taken in by Polydectes, the king of Seriphus, a man who later conceived a passion for Danae, but was unable to force his attentions on her because Perseus had grown up into a beefy youth, a redoubtable protector. To get rid of Perseus, Polydectes sent him on a suicidal quest to me. Why did Perseus listen? Would you?

As the story goes, with the help of Athena, Perseus was able to cut off my head. But not all stories are true and that Greek version is Logoi, that is to say, Lies, Stories or Fables.

Before that, I was in Libya. And I am the Serpent-Goddess of Wisdom.

The tale of Perseus conceals my true self, concealing Athena the Libyan Serpent-Goddess-Trinity. The older myths are more specific, they say that Athena was born of the Three Queens of Libya, the Triple Goddess, with Medusa as her destroyer aspect. For I am also Athena, born of the Goddess, not from a man. Call me as you wish.

Some now look at my hair and declare it to be dreadlocks, as the ancient Egyptian royals wore, or the Hindu Shiva. Call my hair what you will, I still have my hidden, dangerous face and no one can possibly lift my veil, as to look upon me is to glimpse your own death. Believe me, it’s a petrifying experience for mortals, but not a life-threatening one.

The meaning that snakes represented has changed, and so too have I. Snakes have moved from representing the power of regeneration to represent a male idea of wickedness in women. Since I personally represent all of mens’ fears of women, they say that I hold the power of death over them. In my gaze, men are unable to break away, turning to stone.

Men spend much time and energy to maintain their power over women, it is a constant fight for them. And many are too weak to consider their own mortality.

It has been this way for five thousands of your years. There were records of my Libyan story and the ubiquitous fear held by men, records in the Great Library at Alexandria, kept for posterity but alas, the Christians have burned it all down.

It is all gone now, destroyed, and rewritten into a perversion of history.

My true history is also above you, in the page which is named Medusa Speaks