The sweet caress of asphodels
Some stories are handed down aloud around a roaring fire, others whispered in the darkness, sheltered from the implacable gaze of the ruler of the Underworld. Nevertheless, even the most fearful of men cannot help but listen to them, sometimes telling himself of those dark depths where the bloodiest figures of myth reside imprisoned, since it is known that the darkness of Hades is both repugnant and bewitching.
Yet not all the Ogre is tinged with darkness and the shady Lord of those places is not the only one to reside there. It is said that his beloved bride, Queen Persephone, manages to give light and a sense of home to this hidden place and that she alone is able to stop her husband's implacable judgment, sometimes even to make him modify a sentence already pronounced. But where can glimpses of light be found in this hellish realm?
Much of its geography is composed of fields that stretch as far as the eye can see, gray if it were not for countless white dots that illuminate these expanses intermittently with pale light. They are the asphodels, flowers with a delicate appearance but with a tenacious soul, which with their brightness signal the way to the souls of the departed. Among these wander for eternity men and women who in their mortality have distinguished themselves neither by heroic deeds nor by nefarious deeds. After their departure, at the time of the judgment of the infernal tribunal, they cry bitter tears seeing themselves denied access to the Elysian Fields, destined for the Great of humanity, but at the same time they thank the chthonic gods for not having been destined for Tartarus, the fulcrum of every human and divine torment.
And this is how their immortal destiny is carved in stone: shadows without direction, without memory or grip on their eternal life, forced to wander in the endless Fields of Asphodels forever submitting to the laws of Death, savoring only on rare occasions a brief yearning for freedom when unwary mortals try to call their soul to earth with desperate attempts.
Is this why then under the warm sun of Apollo in front of these flowers sometimes tremble heart and limbs, the heartbeat accelerates and the breathing is labored? Is it a premonition of what could be? Is this their true essence or are the stories they carry with them like a cloak of darkness that make the soul so weak?
Cheerful fireflies in the endless green of the meadows, pale fingers in the darkness of the Underworld, asphodels fill the eyes of mortals who inhabit cultivated fields and wild plains in equal measure. Tombs were full of these flowers in ancient times, a source of food for the dead, a wish for continuous survival if not for the mortal remains at least for the soul, as evidenced by the etymology of their name, which means "valley of what has not been reduced to ashes".
If you ever find yourself in a field of asphodels, gently frame one in the palm of your hand and bring your face closer to feel its aroma. It will thus transform itself from a memento mori into a bridge between reality and the afterlife. Close your eyes and let your senses be flooded with all that this flower has to offer. It could be that the fumes of its perfume take you through the folds of history.
Dizioseo
- Ogre
One of the name of the Hades
- Chthonic deities
Deities linked to the rites of the Underword