Quoth the Son of Pasiphaë


{ Denise gracefully hosts Six Sentence Stories, where writers unleash their magic under one simple rule: in no more or no less than 6 sentences.
This week’s prompt word is : LABYRINTH

A Tale from the Six Sentence Café & Bistro, continuing From Womb To Tomb }


Ladies & Gentlemen,
Welcome to the halls of this Labyrinth.

In front of you there are two doorways:
the one to your right is the usual reading procedure…scroll and read (maybe) till the end, interact (maybe) upon leaving…and that is fine!

This day though, allow me to offer the door to your left;
this one aims to an enhanced experience and as such requires (minimum yet essential) participation from your part.

Whatever your choice may be, I hope your visit will be worthy of your time.

Left door: the following song is named Song of Sol by Lustmord & Karin Park.
For the purpose of our journey into the Labyrinth,
we shall rename it as Ariadne’s Lament.

Press play.
Do not start reading.
Close your eyes …you will know it is time to open them when you hear the voice of Ariadne.
Now start reading…slowly.
When you encounter … between sentences, pause; breathe deeply & let the echoes of the words ring inside, then continue.

Are you ready?


Quoth the Son of Pasiphaë

Dithyrambos: for ancient Hellenes the word signified “the one of the double door”, meaning the one who survived the miracle of a Second Birth.


…once there was a tomb, the tomb became a womb…
…Hurry not child, offered the son of Pasiphaë.

Quest for answers to the center brought thee, in the Labyrinth there is no right nor wrong, no left lives, only you and your folly;
Come, sit beside me child and listen to what I say, uttered the son of Pasiphaë.

Ariadne is left on the shore to die, cast away by the hand of the one she helped escape;
Ariadne is hung by her own thread, abandoned by the one she helped escape…spoke the son of Pasiphaë.

Son of Pasiphaë, apotropaic thee, in cyclopean walls of the Labyrinth I entered…told I was, an abomination I would find, yet I find none; slay you must I was taught yet slay I should none but the Fear who keeps buried the golden seeds of a life still unfulfilled; thought I did to be alone, yet before me carved All is One.

Child, quoth the son of Pasiphaë, if I am your last breath of air,
what will you do of me – will you sing, will you laugh or will you cry?

To love is to cry, to be loved is to sing, to understand is to laugh at your certainty…all in one breath, I answered to the son of Pasiphaë;

wet, in pain I emerge from the tomb that became my womb,
laughing & crying my eyes open in a new light…can it be…

…are these balloons floating over on the horizon?


My Labyrinth from 2015.


About Spira

” The eternal part of our being is conscious of the timeless essence of life & is aware that the past is nothing but a memento of the present and tomorrow a dream of the now. The very thing meditating & singing from within, remains always inside the boundaries of the primordial instant that scattered the stars into the cosmos.” Kh.Gibran

29 responses »

    • Interactive, mystical, haunting, beautiful you say…what more can I ask for?…I doubted not you could sense what is said and moreover, what is not.
      Thank you for walking through the left door, Denise.
      As a small token of gratitude, here are some ocean waves

      Liked by 1 person

    • First you activate my salivary glands with some well cooked, oops…fixed, sentences.
      Then, here, you push excess blood to my head inducing a humbling blush like no other.
      There is a pattern here, no?

      Dear Staarlz, Bedelia, Zorah, may I offer a few words? They are not simply a reply and I ask of you not to receive them as such.
      You can fully take in anything you desire. Honestly. Society prefers to label us and condition us to behave/think accordingly because it serves best the grind and its slavery.
      Exceed…? Are you joking? You are a poet Staarlz. You take the sigh and the tear and transform them into a universal song, one that defies state lines, races, backgrounds.
      You hear me?

      Now, you give praise more than I deserve. *grabs gently the ladies hands, no need to bow, miladies*
      A Thank you just won’t cut it. Therefore, you must feel the words beyond what is written.
      Staarlz, all it takes is not academic titles and the rest; sure they have a degree of usefulness but presence, empathy, focus, open heart, trust can take you to places where intellect and education simply can’t.
      I should stop now and pray you felt my words. One last thing; if you are interested to know a bit more why Nick/Spira is the way he is, you may want to read a recent post, Nascent.
      But do it soon…no, I am not forcing readership lol…it’s only that my hand hovers over the delete button since I published such an exposing post and I don’t know if it will make it past this week 🙂

      Be always well & creative.

      Liked by 2 people

      • Your words would reduce me to tears, Nick–easily so as I’m exhausted and in considerable pain. I thank you for every word you offer me–they are little, yet priceless, gifts to collect in heart’s keepsake chest. I thank you for hearing Bedelia and Zorah, real women inside the real me–who, though I have blog aliases, am authentic, genuine, and humble–no pretender–who stirs up the gifts of faith within, the embers of smoke and fire…and always poetry. God be with you, Sir–thank you for always being here, and being real. Your spirit, a kindred, aches–and deep calls to deep. Since you mention your age in the other post I read–and ‘since I will September turn’ 70–I shall think of you as yet another adopted nephew…fondly, your Auntie L. Take good care…and thanks again for words to sleep on.

        Liked by 1 person

  1. (I remember the time, back in the early seventies, on a Thursday night, (which was Friday to those of us who lived in college dormitories) and I returned to the here and now to find myself in the basement bedroom of a friend (the bedroom designated by the lacy curtains and wall posters; the lighting was black, the incense, sandalwood and the stereo played the full version of Tubular Bells.)
    Your post triggers that recollection.
    Nicely done, yo

    Liked by 1 person

    • Didn’t you notice the sandalwood incense at the seat reserved for you?
      That is a trigger I am most happy to have pulled!
      Thank you for walking through the left door Clark.
      (if you were hoping for an extensive reply, well that resides at Nascent lol)


  2. That was quite something, Spira – an intriguing journey of sound and written word.
    ‘yet slay I should none but the Fear who keeps buried the golden seeds of a life still unfulfilled…’
    I really like the blue and gold labyrinth.
    Interesting that the centre is unattainable.
    Is there a symbolism in this?

    Liked by 1 person

    • Thank you very very much Jenne!

      It may look unattainable but follow the center left entry and you will get there.
      More info about the origins of that creation can be found by clicking the link I posted beneath the last labyrinth picture.

      PS: reading all the Labyrinth Sixes , there is much distilled pain in them, have you noticed? If it was a malt what would it taste like, you reckon?


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