All Gods Are Flawed

By Marie Minnich

A troubled young woman is on a journey of self realization She walks down a street in Santa Monica, California and meets the old gods. One by one, they hold conversations in the local Starbucks that consequently begin to unravel the dilemmas and mysteries of her all too human life. It's a totally modern story that reveals age old archetypes of knowledge and wisdom.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Marie Minnich
• Release date: Jun 23, 2017
• ISBN: 9781370576227

Marie Minnich

Marie Minnich is a creative entrepeneur and author. She resides in Palm Springs, California with her mini-schnauzer, Max. You can typically find Marie hiking in the foothills of the San Jacinto mountains with Max, shooting digital photography and dreaming of other worlds.

Book preview

prologue

I had been on the path a long time. I was searching for something, but I wasn’t sure what. I walked down a street and I met the old gods. The gods of legend and the gods of myth and the gods of archetype. I conversed with them. And they told me how to be. They told me who they are, and how I should be. They set me straight. They said they were my allies. They informed me that they exist, and have always existed as archetypes since the beginning of time. They showed me that they exist, and that should I be so privileged as to work with them, that they will guide me. They told me to take time to get to know them, and take time to introduce myself. To take time to walk with them, speak with them, and introduce them to this frenzied, modern world. They said they flow in my bloodstream.

And so I bring to you the archetypal gods I met. The conversations, and the consequent takeaways. I hope it inspires you, as it inspired me. Take it as you will.

Do not forsake the gods of your fathers and ancestors. Call on your ancestors always.

Chapter One

The old gods

Justice

The door slams. I leave the cozy womb of my home. Lately, the only time I feel good is when I'm walking. I emerge on Montana Avenue, one of my favorite streets in southern California. I walk at a leisurely pace, trying not to overexert myself in the unseasonably hot weather, hoping to sort out my tangled emotions. Yesterday I had a huge fight with my boyfriend, Alex. I just messed up an important client commission for some photo enlargements. I'm having a hard time concentrating, and I feel totally exasperated. On top of that, last week I lost my favorite ocean blue Coach wallet with all my photo ID. I’m still waiting for all my replacement paper from the DMV and my credit card companies to arrive by snail mail. I hope a long walk will clear my head. I feel so lethargic, like I've been slumbering for a hundred years. Consequently I hope to shake off my ennui. I'm looking for inspiration. I just want to slip off my lethargy like a snake sheds its skin. I wonder if Alex and me are breaking up for good. This was a really bad fight. Alex didn’t come home last night. Not even my beloved pet poodle, Cookie, can cheer up my funk today. I feel guilty for leaving her at home.

Montana Avenue is a fairy tale, picture perfect street, populated with upscale boutiques, restaurants, antique shops, spas and all the other now de rigeur upscale urban amenities, all calling out for my money and attention. I'm not tempted. Suddenly I glimpse Justice on the road. God, just who I don’t want to see! I've been avoiding Justice like the plague.

He is pushing a shopping cart loaded with junk, and at first glance he looks like just any typical transient homeless person. I'm so taken aback by his ugliness that I cross the street, intent on avoiding him. But Justice sees me and crosses over, with his shopping cart clanking and rattling. His bones seem to be rattling and clanking too, and he plants himself directly in front of me. I cannot help but stare at the homeliness of his countenance. For Justice offers no comfort at all, only the stern countenance of eternal Law. Justice is a formidable being, dressed in a tattered hoodie of cerulean blue, who carries the weight of the scales of Justice in his right hand. On closer inspection, what at first I thought was a tattered hoodie, may have been fabricated by some young avant garde designer, but I can’t really be sure. It has a logo with an elaborate embroidered J. However, at this moment, I don’t really care.

In his left hand Justice carries an iron rule, that has an App that measures all the deeds, words and actions of humanity, and in his right hand that heavy iron scale. Justice has no mercy, for he is not about Love. He is about the consequences of your every thought, word and deed. Nothing escapes the iron measure of Justice. Justice reminds us with a rude awakening that we are responsible for our actions, and that we must take ownership of our own deeds in order to find freedom. The measure of our own fate rests with us, and us alone. We cannot escape our own deeds. But take heart. For good deeds do carry some weight and a preponderance of good deeds can tip the scales of justice in our favor mightily.

Justice metes out everything with perfect measure. With Justice staring me directly in the face, I'm pretty sure I'm doomed. Suddenly I remember every little white lie, every untruth, every mean spirited thing I've ever done or thought.

My name is Celeste. I was named for my mother, so beautiful and delicate she almost seemed like a celestial