Death of the Hydra

Death comes in cycles, as the Moon waves do. Death is not ordinary.
The Hydra as the classic predator, the one with many heads meant to poison and kill her victims stands in front of her.
We create our own monsters so they can go hunting for us.
Sometimes they come disguised as death, as a loss.
Sometimes they call themselves abandonment, unlove, anger, unworthiness, and more wasted fire.
As I remember my grandfather who used to teach me how to draw a bird and my grandmother telling me that my real mother was the Moon, I see the heads of the Hydra multiplying, trying to steal my peace away.
Telling me that my tears run wasted for all that is gone. That my tears and my feelings have no meaning. That the vivid evocation of beautiful, yet meaningful moments are not important. That the void, the place where the hydra vibrates and lives is the one taking charge.
There goes one of her heads.
My memories are mine to hold and not only. Running away in the desserts of my own psyche, the evocation of my memories brings true emotions into my being and makes me plant and water these abandoned places.
Yes, I was left behind by the one I loved, but no matter how much the Hydra tries to poison me, this won’t kill me anymore.
Beyond pain and darkness, I see the eyes of the monster shining. So forcefully. Trying to make me be her victim.
Do I want to be her victim?
Can she really win?!
I came from the Great Goddess to bring back the sacred night and as I run naked into my own forests and lands, naked in front of the Moon and these earthly creatures trying to bring me down, I remember that Love is not abandonment. Love is presence. Love would cross the desert to find you. It won’t be leaving you in one.
Predators always forget their painful and deserved deaths. They forget that the Greatest predator is Love and she won’t be forgiving anymore. My white hair grows to reach for the Moon and on the way she ties the multiple heads of the Hydra. As the Great Hercules did. The Moon chants, my hair grows, The Hydra tries to break free. Her many eyes tremble and try to show me that she is the one in charge. But it is a random illusion. Hercules reminds me that I am the one winning this battle and the ones coming.
Not abandonment.
Not unlove.
Not anger.
Not the Monsters coming from my own darkness.
He reminds me that Love is courage. Love is being there to fight for each other, respectively as the maiden and the warrior. And if sometimes I forget that I am a maiden and try to be a stronger warrior, he must learn to forgive me and hold space. He must learn to stay there till the battle ends. To understand that my blood burns for the katharsis of the whole world. That my fierceness is not stealing him his role of the Dragon, of the warrior he really is.
No matter the fight, Love must rise stronger.
And so it is.
The Hydra poisons herself trying to get rid of me. She bites herself and her eyes grow wider. She sees her end – Extinction.
I hear the Moon chanting. The victory seems so far away, but is it really?
My hair grows and it robs Hydra’s territories. Her last and most hidden head called Blame shouts at me. She pretends it was my own fault for not knowing how to be the maiden, for being too weak, for being too naive, for betraying him with another.
My hair enters Hydra’s mouth. I come to my senses. There is no such thing as blame, only responsibility. I didn’t betray anyone, he was the one not loving me, not seeing me, even if my light shined within the power of the Moon and Sun. The last head falls tired. Not yet dead, but she will die soon. As soon as my illusions wash away. As soon as I come into power.
The words of the Hydra are her poison. She murmurs but she knows she soon will be just a story.
A story where the heroine kills the giant monster, and her many heads.

This is by guest author Ina Gjata

The main image is property of Ylli Jasa with permission to use it for this article.
“The Time Dragon” Ylli Jasa copyright.
In Gjata the house of twigs thot hydra death witccraft creative writing. Ina Gjata is a Moon lover, journalist, art critic, painter, life lover. Passionate about the wild feminine and wild creatures. She doesn’t do well with system rules, regulations, and lies. A born rebel being, she believes real truth is inside us all and that writing is a piece of the great truth, meant to be told, and manifested.

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