Prometheus

A drawing fills my vision. It looks very old and reminds me of a Leonardo da Vinci drawing. Faint, spidery lines drawn finely on fading sepia-toned parchment. It depicts a Grecian temple with huge columns supporting the front and steps leading up. As I gaze at it, lightning cleaves the sky and thunder cracks like gunfire, making me jump. The drawing is transformed into physical form and the temple looms above me, enormous and foreboding. The interior beyond the massive marble columns is dark and mysterious. In the blink of an eye, I’m standing at the top of the steps looking out at the landscape. Hulking thunderheads crowd the sky, bringing touches of gray and black to the sepia tone saturating the atmosphere. I see brilliant flashes of lightning deep within the clouds and know Zeus is afoot. Prometheus appears to the right of me. His form shifts and morphs as my mind searches for his face. It first solidifies into a tall, solidly built, swarthy man with wild black hair and beard shadowing his cheeks. As I keep watching, his face changes into a smooth-cheeked handsome man with short, sandy brown hair and a formidable physique. A metallic breastplate shields his chest. It is molded to fit his washboard abdomen. I have to chuckle to myself. I ask him if I can touch it. He grins and agrees. I can feel the coldness of the metal under my fingers and the rounded curves where it created the shape of his six pack. I tell him it is a sight to behold. As I look at his face, his myth plays through my mind and I think of him chained to the side of a mountain day after day while his liver is torn out of his side by a ruthless bird of prey. It makes me very sad and I tell him I’m sorry that happened to him. He says “What question do you want to ask me”? I respond, “What do you want me to know”? He reaches out and cups my head in his hands. His expression is very serious.

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