THE12: THE STORY OF THE SIRENS
My high school language teacher was Mr. Herzog — a no-nonsense (but patient) man with a deep love of the Roman Empire and call-and-response learning. He taught me how to conjugate a verb and translate epic stories, like The Aeneid (The Odyssey for you Greek nerds), from Latin into English. The vibe of the classroom was disciplined — hands raised, minimal speaking, sweaty palms with the fear of messing up — it was uncomfortably silent (he once yelled at a fellow classmate for sneezing at disruptive and deafening levels), but extraordinarily loud in culture and history. Mr. Herzog was my first brilliant and demanding teacher (of many) to explore (and help me understand) human nature within the context of ancient text —High School Latin was my first toe-dip in a personal quest to learn about the puzzling meaning of life.
At 15 years old, my nose was steeped in books as ancient as Ulysses himself, as I found myself falling into a love affair with Greek and Italian culture and ancient tales, lores and stories. Mythology fairs well with my Piscean nature and big imagination…I willingly teleported into worlds of unexplainable mysteries — warping a sense of reality as we know it — while understanding the sharps lessons of “you can’t outrun your destiny”. I found out, from an early age, that myths are symbolic narratives — ones that help us understand what we can’t explain.
Life itself.
Beautiful, confusing, topsy, turvy life.
Eat pomegranates in the Spring in honor of Persephone poking her head above the underworld.
Envision yourself emerging from a giant seashell like Venus as you exit a fresh and steamy shower — dripping wet and angelically embodied in nothing but a birthday suit.
Embody Medusa and turn your enemies to stone (I wish!).
Roll a boulder up a hill for eternity like Sisyphus (equivalent to the creative process, entrepreneurship, relationships, and life).
Daydream of Brad Pitt’s portrayal as Achilles in Troy….because, duh.
Gods. Heros. Monsters.
Mythology — it’s all around us and all-encompassing.
Life...am I right?!
In recent years, the myth I have become most fascinated with originated off the coast of Italy — one near Le Sirenuse.
THE BIRTHPLACE OF SIRENS.
THE BIRTHPLACE OF POWERFUL VOICES BEING SILENCED.
THE BIRTHPLACE OF THE WOUND OF WORTHINESS.
The tale of the siren is an interesting one. While I will spare you the disheartening details — you are probably somewhat familiar with their existence. Jaded and mean mermaids are the equivalent of the siren — Ariel from The Little Mermaid’s teenage angst (not innocence) x10. Mythical temptresses: sirens were fabled to have lured sailors to their deaths (in dangerous waters and treacherous weather) with their irresistible voices.
LE SIGH
AND
LE EYEROLL
This is just one side of the story, passed down from generations of…sailors, not sirens — the confines of patriarchal systems run as deep as the bottom of the sea. I’m much more interested in the POV of the siren. Aren’t you?
What’s fascinating is how these creatures weren’t always evil temptresses. Early on, sirens were more like muses, representing knowledge and art, before later stories morphed them into dangerous seductresses. Could it be possible that throughout history, sirens have become extremely misunderstood, taken advantage of, and their beautiful creative talents undervalued?
WOMEN.
CREATIVE. BRILLIANT. RADIANT. INSPIRING. INTUITIVE. TALENTED. INTELLIGENT. JOYFUL.
WOMEN.
YOU. ME.
WE.
We are the sirens of the ancient waters.
Women — especially creative women — have been undervalued, misunderstood, and designed to feel not enough for generations and generations. Cast to the shadows. Overlooked. Never given a chance. Caged into corners of appeasing sailors, sirens (women) either learn to silence their voices or face condemnation. Sailors have stripped women of their innate power (worth) and spread the deceitful lie that we must obide by their rules in order to be seen. Life as we know it has been a forced and rigged game that plays along with the antics of the sailor, not the guidance of the siren.
Tempting to participate in — but, no thanks. I’ll pass.
At their (and our) core, sirens are not just symbols of temptation, but of longing and loss — loss of our beautiful voices of truth, creative talents, and buried dreams.
IT’S TIME REWRITE HISTORY.
IT’S TIME TO WRITE A NEW SONG OF THE SIRENS.
IT’S TIME TO SING SONGS OF PROSPERITY.
We look to the past of the sirens to rewrite the tomorrow of our dreams. By taking a glimpse into ancient narratives that have stifled sirens and women alike (stemming from THE MOTHER, THE MONEY, AND THE VOICE) we can reclaim our worth, beautiful brilliance, and lofty dreams — rich living is not just for the sailors. It was created by the sirens, for the sirens. I’d love to see the tides turn and the sirens get their shot at living a prosperous life.
That’s a song worth writing.
