The lure of Seirenes’ comb and mirror and vice and virtue in Purgatorio

Ouch!

That hurts.

We learn from experience the holding cell of purgatory is our own self-inflicted wounds.

And.

Unfortunately, at times, the feeling, the pain, it is inflicted by another.

As young and innocent often children learn when seated too close to one another may discover. The fidgety wheel, the squeakiest wheel often gets the oil😳. The attention. In the moment, Makes little difference if the attention is good or bad, positive or negative.

Until the fallout. Of what just happened. Why did it happened begins the journey of what ifs and whodunnits.

Without warning, suddenly, the teacher is not looking, back turned on the little moppets seated behind her, one child leans over and pulls the hair of another. A tug of braids.

Ouch! Screams out the one.

All the other children turn and look.

Turn and look.

At the direction of the outburst. The only way to “tell” who or what happened was the flushing of beat red on the faces of the two.

At such young ages what could have prompted one to cross the boundary of another and touch them. With intent to hurt.

The school rules—Criss cross applesauce, hands to yourself, began the teacher’s lesson of the day.

Hands to yourself.

Hands off.

Life’s journey up the mountain to beauty and wonder and all creature comforts of slumber take time.

Takes your time.

Takes my time.

Pray?

You betcha.

For many the tonic of choice when sharing the wine of life.

Because historically. It works. “Prayers by the living on behalf of the souls play a large role in the cantina, with some souls the pilgrim meets along the way requesting prayers from living relatives and even from the pilgrim himself.” (Dante)

Wait just a cotton pick in’ minute.

Sorry.

Not so fast though.

Nothing in life is easy. Nothing is a slam dunk.

Until it is.

Even then, the proverbial hair pulling, the periodic tug of war continues with the playing off of one over another over another using another. Secrets and lies have a way of multiplying like a bad zygote.

And without proper care and nurture grow up and up the ante.

No amateur hair pulling now.

The result?

A more sophisticated game of cat and mouse and batty combative eyes and leans, and shoulder gleans. Hair tugging of another is so “passe”. Now, the actionable offensive is with-locked-eyes and demure glance-hair-flips intentionally continue to lure in another with the vice of Seirenes’. Whose posse follows her every move, flip and dip.

No original thought with these gals. The luring and the touring are the name of the game. The Seirenes are the beautiful, with alluring voices—seldom the ones to scream “Ouch” themselves. That is best served for the wenches in the lower stratosphere of all existences.

The dangerous temptation embodies their aura and the plan is to share it with a particular, deserving, albeit, unaware suitor.

Attraction?

Seirenes’ posse is both attractive and dangerous.

And.

Can get away with murder.

Almost bird-like in their approach. But oh, their cast, their rope, and roping in, is so much more. Binding. Entangling. Enmeshment of the most dangerous envelopement.

Not even Odysseus could resist for a time. He. Tough, crafty, cheerful, of medium height, eloquent, and wise. (wk) We know little more about his talents. In an act of chivalry, wherein a fair maiden was abducted, Odysseus in trying to avoid involvement, and feigns lunacy. An oracle had prophesied a long-delayed return home for him if he went. To help. Or feign help. Or not feign help. (wk)

No one knows for sure. So. Odysseus roped in Achilles.

Along for the fated rescue came a man named Achilles. A man considered self-destructive with and anger all-consuming. Odysseus is frequently viewed as a man of the mean, a voice of reason, renowned for his self-restraint and diplomatic skills. (wk)

Flashback to: The hair pulling incident.

Expressive language of the highest order in a moment of whispering to whimpering to

Ouch!😳

Seirenes’ know this sound all to well. Disturbingly so, is not nor never afraid of engagement at all costs. A win at all costs strategy. Beware of a fight near cliffs and rocks. They fly away unscathed. Notsomuch for the “clutter” left in their wake.

It has been said, Seirenes’’ bind their nets through magic song. And catch their unwitting prey.

Let the sirens ring.

Let the sirens sing.

A loud prolonged sound as a signal or warning? There was none, The Seirenes’ posse is passé. They do not care. Historically, it has been said, the number of women, or winged creatures whose singing lured unwary sailor on to rocks. With no device once under the spell of the Sereines’ lures. No way out.

The attack plan was to lure ships into dangerous waters. A powerful force that attracts unwittingly to something. The Seirenes’ attack? All-consuming. Afire inside while deeper down there is a fire of anger and criticism with the nonchalant glare of a frail bird. The Seirenes’ were no frail bird.

Fulminatingly deadly. Fully-paid upon receipt. The Seirenes float and glide along in a cat and mouse game, swooping down only long enough to hen peck an unsuspecting suitor, claw his eyes out rendering him,

Blind.

To their actions, hopelessly bound to their actions and burying the reactions until explosion of emotion calls the fight into a war. “I thought this bouncing was accidental. But I was mistaken.” (kv)

The Seirenes’ bounce and trounce like there is no tomorrow—for their prey. Their long flowy hair bounces within view of the suitor on the rocks. If you get in their way, they claw and scratch and hair pull. To win you over.

The only thing left to do.

Is run like hell.

Outta there.

Sadly, though when lured to the side and clinging for life—no running or swimming will save the strife.

To pray or not to prey.

When,

Vices and Virtues. Come into play. As is the Seirenes’s playbook

All bets are off for the Seirenes’ day. They must be confronted, but how oh how to avoid the ultimate cat fight while many brave and good suitors cling to the side of the rocks.

In wait. Of their fate.

The secrets and lies are the bait of the game. The Seirenes know this with every bat of their eyes and every flirtatious lure of their flowing, bouncing “wings.”

There was a time when everything was beautiful and nothing hurt. (kv)

Flashback: Ouch! Screamed the little child whose hair was pulled at the hands of a Seirenes. All the while, while no one else was paying attention, the scream could be silently heard by those who heard. By those who listened with intensity of heart.