Here I remain-broken, run downed, ruined, in shambles

                                                                                                                    scattered across this barren Greek earth. Like Atlas, I                                                                                                                          silently endure the weight of my past as each new                                                                                                                                tourist blinds me with their flashing camera and naively                                                                                                                      stomps upon my sacred floor. Yet Atlas deserved his                                                                                                                            punishment handed down by Zeus. He led the army of                                                                                                                        Titans against the Olympians after all. It's

                                                                                                                    fitting that he should hold up the world he very much                                                                                                                          wanted to destroy. But what did I do to deserve this                                                                                                                            ruin? What crime have I committed against the gods                                                                                                                          that would allow me to crumble, to lose all that I held                                                                                                                          dear? I upheld my duty to the humans, played my part                                                                                                                        in their rites, so why did they allow me to fall from                                                                                                                                grace?

I once was famous, prestigious, an attraction for all the women who wanted to gain the knowledge. They even had a dedicated pathway leading from Athens to the sacred city of Eleusis, a sacred place much like myself that has been abandoned. This pathway was known as the Sacred Way. Along this dirt path were temples and trees, places where the attendees and the mystoi (Greek word for those who were to be initiated into the cult) would partake in festivals, dancing, and drinking-all in preparation for the main event where I now lay in defeat. People from every social class would parade on the pathway including servants, kings, masters, and most importantly the women. I would hear them march towards me, hear the chanting as they sacrificed piglets to Demeter, hear the exchange of coin to the guides. But much like me, my Sacred Way is only sacred in name only. This path has been overtaken by industrial buildings, suburbs, and that horrible monastery that foreshadowed my demise. This once symbolic path which mimicked Kore's dissent into the Underworld now represents not only modern arrogance but also my own pathway into ceasing to exist on this earth.

Once all these tourists leave me for the night, I can still feel the earth vibrate as the people marched towards me. I can still recall their singing and chanting as they approached the courtyard. I smell the ashy smoke from the freshly lit torches, that remarkable burning sensation of the sparks hitting my ground. I remember feeling awe and amazed as the number of mystoi increased each year, how the humans had to reconstruct me several times in order to increase my capacity for all my new sisters. Hard to believe how a small ritual had turned into a major practice where thousands of women a year wanted to take part. I remember the excitement of the sun setting, the signal for the telete (the initiation rites) to begin. I allowed permission for the women to be guided through my inner gates, to enter upon my private property. The mystoi followed the hierophant, the priest who led the ritual, who guided them into a hall filled with pots of poppies and wheat, objects which were sacred to Mother Demeter. Following the hall, I felt as they maneuvered inside my darkened space until they came upon the cave, my own sacred entrance into the Underworld. Here the hierophant would initiate the mixing of the kykeon, a wine consisting of barley, water, mint, and most importantly, penny royal. Several chants filled my chambers as the women filled their stomachs of this concoction. Once the drink was gone, all my sisters were then led into the cave to my anaktoron, my inner sacred space where I protected the holy statue and relics of our Mother. It was also in this space where I offered them seats, layers of stone bleachers gradually creeping up my walls in order for them to have a clear view for what they were about to witness.