It was late one night, with only a lamp and a blank page for companionship, when the goddess Aphrodite appeared to me and spoke:
“This world has all but forgotten me,” she said, “the people of this earth denounce me as false, and turn their faces from me to worship and seek strength in hate and suffering.”
“There will always be hate,” she continued, “and hate will always be strong. But I will be remembered; I will give love and pleasure to those who seek me. I desire a place where the people of the world can find me, no matter where they are.”
She unrolled a sheet of unblemished parchment and presented me her own design: a golden-proportioned building of solid stone, with a high ceiling of lapis lazuli encrusted with all manner of precious stones to show that the universe of love has an infinity of worlds with an infinity of possibilities. The temple holds a vast orchard of sacred apple trees, with a dais of white marble in the center. On the dais is the idol: three stories if it is an inch, of finest rose marble with sapphires the size of ostrich eggs marking the irises of the eyes. Pure gold forms the love goddess’ famous girdle, her crown and her nipples. Giant pearls from oysters that can only be found in realms beyond the realm of legend hold back her magnificent hair. In her hand she holds a chalice of pure gold, and extends it to pour out a perpetual fall of hot water into a tub of worked brass. For this is what the goddess offers to those who seek her: purification from the hate and suffering of the world, and a warm, pleasurable embrace. The temple is lit by huge cauldrons of perpetual flame at regular intervals along the walls for a gentle, warm ambience.
She showed me this, and looked through my eyes into my soul and spoke again:
“This is my temple. Will you build it?”
Politeness alone held my tongue until the question left her lips. My answer was “yes.” I will admit to the hope that this “yes” would begin a balancing of the scales, for there was a time when the goddess got less than her due from me. But this was not, and never could be, so important as the goddess herself, and a place where the people may offer themselves and seek her comfort.
Aphrodite smiled at my eagerness, and work began.
Hers was the design.
Hers was the concept.
She herself posed for the idol.
I but lent my hands to the creation, and it was she who moved them.
The world, as the old song says, needs love now. The temple of Aphrodite is complete, and the door is open.