The story of Goddess Hestia is the story of warmth scintillating in the hearth. A place you come back to, kicking off your shoes, changing into over worn cartoon pajamas and light the scented candle called ‘home’.
The story of Hestia is the story of kindness. A stockpile of empathy during African famines, a supply of love in the times of quarantine and fragmented supply chains. The story of Hestia is the story of peace. Giving up glittering thrones for ablaze embers to prevent breeding bloodshed in a household of childhood traumas and hopeless red strings of dreams. The story of Hestia is the story of the Last Olympian who nurtured the ghosts of hope in the Pandora’s box because hope is where the hearth is.
So when they told me that kindness is softness, an uncanny sigil of weakness, my house was suddenly filled with vials of floo powder and fire hymns that whispered, “kindness is not weakness.” It is a cardigan of darkness to forge wild embers of fire and witchcraft of smashing nebulas. “Light cannot exist without darkness, darling.” It is a burden of a daily freight train that people of steel nurture like houseplants of cacti in studio apartments.
When they think your kindness is an advantage to be taken care of, a non-consensual deal, a beetle spit on humanity, show them how steel is an amalgamation of “kind” lava, how the hearth nurtures hell fires, how the warmth of pet candles transform into cannibal volcanos.
My cloak is made of dragon wings and I am breathing wisps of rogue flames to build a home. The hearth is a place for those who know that kindness is a shivering power of yielding the dark into the light. TRESPASSERS BEWARE.
Darling, right now, the world is homesick for a place that doesn’t exist. Wanna build one? Start by hanging skulls of trespassers of humanity on the mantelpiece. Let my ashes guide you.
//”The Hearth of Kindness”// Enigma
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Picture Credits: Enigma (Inktober 2020 Art Day 2 Wisp)