The story of Demeter and Persephone can be summarized in a few words below:

“It’s a story about love, relationships, family bonds, grief, loss, and a renewal of hope.

In ancient Greek mythology, the Demeter and Persephone story tells of the deep connection a mother shares with her daughter. It also tells the story of a young girl who comes of age and falls in love with the dark god of the underworld.

It represents the fading of innocence as a young woman charts her way into maturity to forge her destiny to the dismay of her fiercely protective mother. You can draw inspiration from this story and use it as a guide to how you deal with the different seasons in your life.} More details of this Greek mythological story can be found here and the segment above is part of this site too.”

However, this blog is about the workshop on writing I took with Stasha Ginsburg aka the Wild Matryoshka. 

The assignment was to write our own words based on the mythological story of Demeter and Persephone.

First Stasha started reading her own words of the story and this drawing below came out of the pan as I was hearing her affection storytelling.

Demeter was crying and crying and crying and nobody in this world could condole her.

As we progressed into the workshop we were asked to give our own perspective on a well-known story, where often Persephone is portrayed as being kidnaped and raped by Hades.

My interpretation of this story is why not think that Persephone was privileged to be taken to the underworld by Hades. By going underworld,  she saw new life. Hades love changed her into a radiant new woman, she never knew before existed.  She learned how to love and be loved in different ways when her mothers’s overprotective, obsessive love was. Being underworld taught her things she never knew before. She learned how to communicate with the spirits of the dead and to help them to pass to another realm. In communicating with them, she became a vessel, a bottomless container to hold their stories, their secrets. She learned to how to make it easier for them, how to respect spirits’ secrets, how to forgive,  how to let it go, but not forget.

As the workshop went on we were asked to write a letter to our mothers. And this is below what came out of my pan.

Letter to my mother

I miss you Mama very much…
Do you still hear bells ringing?
Do you remember your chair by the window and people passing by?
And the conversations they had you would listen to and convey to me in detail during our morning phone conversations?
I often think about times, when I was married to the devil, how much judgment, hate, and un-acceptance I spewed towards you…
And I want to apologize for that.
I never did,
Words were unsaid, the pain was untouched…
But now I do. I apologize now.

Mama, please, give me your wisdom, now I am one in need.

Teach me how to wait!

Love you, Mama.
Till the next time we meet in my dreams.

After we were asked to write a letter to Demeter from Persephone. Below is what I wrote.

Persefone to her mother Demeter

“Mother, tell me you understand, I can be me!

I can be myself!

Mother, I know you think you and I are one.
In the sense we are…I was planted as a seed in your dark dome and I grew and grew and grew…
For a long time, I only knew you and your heartbeat, nothing else.

But I am grown up now, another seed was offered to me.
Seed red as an aged wine, which I accepted with deep curiosity.
Seed of love, radiant seed, hot seed, unknown seed…

Mother, tell me you understand, that I can make my choice.

Mother, give me this freedom without me being afraid that by choosing freedom, I may kill you.

I love you Mother, but I love my King Hades too.”

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Below is a very erotically poetic perception of Persefone and Hade’s love

Persephone Or Why The Winters Are Getting Longer”
by Wendy Froud

“Six pomegranate seeds, as red as rubies, like on a golden plate. They glow with crimson fire in the candlelight. My lord bids me eat. I can feel his hands upon my shoulders. I can feel his breath hot upon my neck. I eat the first fruit, and as I taste, my lord tastes the skin of my throat, where the scent of flowers still lingers.

 In the world above, the daylight fades. The wind blows cold among the trees.

 The second seed is eaten, and my lord kneels at my feet. His hands reach for my breasts, and through the fabric of my gown, I feel his caress, first soft, then hard. I watch my nipples rise then strain against the thin gold silk. He takes a small knife away from the table and, holding it delicately, cuts through the neckline of my dress. The fabric tears, parting from white flesh, and falls away.

 In the world above, as night draws close, the grasses turn in the wind. Flowers bend. Petals fall.

 My nipples are the color of crimson seeds. The third seed is upon my lips as my lord suckles at my breasts, tracing circles of fire with his tongue. They ripen like fruit beneath his kisses.

 The world above is dark. The trees are black and bare. Creatures shiver, and shelter where they may.

 My lord explores my body, kissing, biting, tasting the length of me. I need to see him. He will not undress. He will not let me touch him. I know that he is beautiful; I can feel that beauty as my body lifts to press itself against him. Naked now, my thighs tremble and open. The fourth seed is eaten.

 In the world above, frost traces white patterns on brown leaves. The last of the summer fruit returns to the soil beneath the sleeping trees.

 I catch my breath as my dark lord parts my thighs. His fingers touch me, there, gliding on the juices of my passion. His tongue, questing, thirsts for me, tasting me even as I taste the fifth seed upon my tongue.

 The world above lies dormant, frozen. A creature caught by the cold, harsh air curls and sleeps, stiffens, and dies.

 He looks into my eyes, my lord, and slowly unlaces the robe he wears to taunt and tempt me. It falls to the ground. He stands before me, proud manhood beautiful. I long to take him in my mouth, to close my lips around that hot, strong flesh, taste the milky jewel glistening at its tip. He smiles as he puts instead the sixth seed to my lips. He gathers me to him; I twine my legs around his waist and open to his manhood. It thrusts deeper and deeper, taking me further into my dark lord’s dark realm. The last seed bursts cool upon my tongue as my lord’s seed bursts hot within my body.

 The world above lies still as death, waiting for the spring to come. Hollow promise. Who can know how hard that promise is to keep?

 I have always loved the taste of pomegranates.“