Galataea is a retelling of the Pygmalion story with a twist. The typical male thinks, in his narrow minded self-obsession, that he is the center of the universe and the females in his life are merely objects to fulfill his desires or at least this has been a popular notion...
A careful examination of the facts would reveal this is not true. Men generally are Scoundrels rather than Lovers.
The poem below was written around 1995 as I was exploring the ideas of the Divine Feminine -- the Goddess. Even in the most Patriarchal of beliefs the Divine Feminine is at the root.
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Galataea
I have never been a lover
More a scoundrel and a fool
Yet I have fallen into the grace of Love
By the product of my simple tools.
How could I not love her?
She is a wonder of form and face
Truly, not I, but the Goddess
Has give shape to her Grace.
Yet how can I give my love
To this polished chunk of stone?
Still were she not so beautiful
I would surely be alone.
What is the truth dear Goddess?
Am I not More a stone than she?
Is my gross prediliction
a product of my own anatomy?
Yet the purity of her form
The line of her polished breast
If she was sent to tempt me
then I know I have failed the test.
But is not a man more than his genitals?
Is not a woman more than her Form?
Can you not, Oh Goddess, answer me
and lead me through this storm?
Were she to come to life, I ask,
Would I be her dream come true?
Or would I be a Master of her slavery
The butcher of her purity too?
Oh, to hold her close to me!
And kiss those stone cold lips
To cup her unyielding breast
And feel the touch of her finger tips
Tis a cruel madness Aphrodite!
That I, as a man, can see
This form of my physical desire
Mock the base nature I must surely be
Will not this craving only destroy me?
Is not Love more than this?
For surely these feelings cannot be
The foundation of Love's Bliss.
Still a man that knows not himself
Seeks always to fill an emptiness within
To take his fullness from another
And it is here that he loves his sin.
Were that I was all she is!
There! That is the Heart of my lust!
Yet her eyes and arms call to me
I cannot, but I know I must
Gone are the Golden Sun's Rays
Here now are the Silvered beams of Night
I call to you Oh, Great Goddess
Save me from my foolish plight!
No sound is heard upon the wind
'cept the Wing beats of the She Owl's flight
Moonlight bathes the pure form of my desire
And I know that my soul is lost this night
Let me wash my unclean body, Beloved
Ere I come naked to your loving arms
I am mad I know too well
For I cannot resist your charm
As i bend to kiss your lips
I see the living gleam in your eye
I feel the swell of your breast
I hear the sweet sound of you sigh
"She Lives!" I want to cry
But I have lost my voice
I can only give you what you ask
I have no other choice
Your body is like fire and Ice
As you Love my life away
For you my Galataea, are the Stone
That crushes my heart of clay.
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