From an Upper Floor

Medusa’s Legacy: From Ancient Myths to Modern Gaming

Myths are more than ancient stories—they are living narratives that evolve, adapt, and resonate across generations. From the fearsome Gorgon of Greek legend to the symbolic matriarch Medusa, and the turbulent divine drama of Le Zeus, these archetypes shape how we understand power, transformation, and identity. By reimagining these figures, modern media preserves their cultural weight while breathing new life into timeless themes.

The Myth of Medusa: From Fear to Symbol of Transformation

Medusa’s story begins as a monstrous figure—once a beautiful priestess cursed into a creature with snake hair and a gaze that turned men to stone. This terrifying origin reflected ancient anxieties about power, forbidden desire, and divine punishment. Yet, over centuries, Medusa has undergone a profound transformation. Today, she stands as a powerful feminist icon and a symbol of resilience, embodying the paradox of beauty and danger redefined through retelling. This evolution reflects how myths adapt to reflect modern values, turning fear into empowerment.

Le Zeus: A Modern Game Reflecting Mythic Legacy and Volatile Drama

Amid this mythic renaissance stands *Le Zeus*—a stylized game that channels the essence of divine conflict and human struggle. Drawing from ancient archetypes, it weaves volatile gameplay mechanics that mirror the instability and passion of mythic battles. Players navigate turbulent alliances, moral choices, and the consequences of unchecked power, echoing the chaotic energy of Zeus’s reign. This fusion of narrative depth and interactive tension creates immersive experiences that appeal to streamers and audiences alike, proving that myth thrives not in stasis, but in dynamic reinterpretation.

Key Mythic Element	Modern Game Parallel in Le Zeus
Divine power and hubris	Player-driven consequences and unstable factions
Gorgon’s gaze as a deadly force	Environmental hazards reflecting fear-based mechanics
Medusa’s tragic transformation	Character evolution shaped by player decisions

Paraphrasing in Myth: Why Renaming Figures Matters Today

Reimagining mythic names is not mere renaming—it’s cultural translation. As societies evolve, so do the values embedded in storytelling. Metis, once overshadowed by her more famous offspring Athena, now receives recognition as a foundational figure of wisdom and strategy. Similarly, Medusa’s reinvention reflects a shift toward honoring complexity over fear. These renamings enhance accessibility and emotional resonance, allowing modern audiences to connect deeply with characters beyond outdated tropes. In digital storytelling, such choices preserve myth’s soul while expanding its relevance.

Metis: The Wise Matriarch as Foundational Archetype

Metis, Zeus’s first wife and mother of Athena, embodies the archetype of strategic wisdom. As a goddess of insight and foresight, she represents the quiet power of intellect over brute force. Her legacy informs Le Zeus’s narrative depth, offering characters who lead not through dominance, but through calculation and empathy. This matriarchal presence challenges traditional male-centric mythic structures, emphasizing that strength often lies in foresight and adaptability—qualities increasingly celebrated in modern storytelling.

From Ancient Thesis to Modern Application: The Legacy of Metis and Medusa

Medusa’s duality—terror and transformation—and Metis’s wisdom form a powerful duality in mythic storytelling. Just as Medusa balances fear and resilience, Metis balances insight and rebirth. In *Le Zeus*, this duality shapes character design and player engagement: choices reflect layered consequences, and growth emerges from navigating chaos. These mythic parallels deepen interactivity, transforming players from passive observers into active participants in a narrative that echoes ancient truths.

“The past speaks through myth, but it changes voice to meet the listener.” — a timeless reflection on how stories adapt across time.

Conclusion: Medusa’s Legacy and the Future of Myth in Gaming

Medusa’s journey from monstrous fear to feminist icon and Le Zeus’s evolving divine drama illustrates how myths endure not by resisting change, but by embracing it. These figures inspire innovation, allowing ancient themes to shape interactive experiences that engage modern audiences. As games like *Le Zeus* demonstrate, myth is not static—it breathes, evolves, and remains vital when reimagined with intention and depth. For writers, designers, and players, exploring these legacies is more than homage; it’s a bridge to deeper cultural conversation.

Explore More: The Potential of Le Zeus’s New Slot

Hacksaw’s new slot in Le Zeus showcases the untapped potential of mythic storytelling in gaming. By intertwining volatile divine drama with immersive gameplay, it offers a compelling example of how ancient narratives fuel modern engagement. Discover its unique design at Hacksaw’s new slot has insane potential.

January 23, 2025

Veronica Hallissey has been writing since the 1960s, with her poetry published in a variety of small press magazines. Born into a farm family in Lockport, NY, and educated at the University of Buffalo and other midwest institutions, she brings and unusual point-of-view to her poetry, combining strong natural images with a deep spiritual language. She lives in Ramona, CA.

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Table of Contents
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December 24, 2024

Veronica Hallissey has been writing since the 1960s, with her poetry published in a variety of small press magazines. Born into a farm family in Lockport, NY, and educated at the University of Buffalo and other midwest institutions, she brings and unusual point-of-view to her poetry, combining strong natural images with a deep spiritual language. She lives in Ramona, CA.
For Sitting On The Porch . . . .

For Sitting On The Porch. . .

It is a night
for sitting on the porch.
The night is soft
and there is a breeze about.
Soft. A love night. . .
How could it be better?

Only to share with an Other
whose eyes see as mine do;
the shapes of the trees
against the darkening sky.
The maples are round
like balloons;
the irregular Tamarac
whose wispy needles
look like bare branches.

The feel of the night
like a caress,
a loving touch,
a whisper.

I was the night and all of my Self in it.

November 24, 2024

Veronica Hallissey has been writing since the 1960s, with her poetry published in a variety of small press magazines. Born into a farm family in Lockport, NY, and educated at the University of Buffalo and other midwest institutions, she brings and unusual point-of-view to her poetry, combining strong natural images with a deep spiritual language. She lives in Ramona, CA.
Be It True Just For Today. . .

What if it is true. . . . .just for today. . . .

The thought occurred to me what if whatever we think is true. . . just for today? How would it affect me and life around me? How would it affect you being related in thought with me?

What if it were true that thoughts are things and have a weight? That everything crossing our minds is true somewhere, what would their effect be? And what if our thoughts hang in the air, ripe for anyone’s picking?

Supposing, just supposing what we are thinking is considered prayer by the heavens? Would we be embarrassed? Because we approach our Thanksgiving holy days of gratitude, can we try something?

We are a special country on this earth. And many the world over, envy us. We were settled because people fled persecution for many reasons and one of them being they wished to worship in their own way. We are a country composed of the world’s religions and it makes us special because sacred customs are honored.

My mentor, the Nazarene said you give me a drink of water and you give a drink to all. Or what you do for one, all will do for the each. When you do something kind, it is a way of giving your blessing to everyone you meet. It is a gift we all can give simply because we breathe the same air.

Since you are reading this, I assume you learned to read in kindergarten when I did . I read the Dick and Jane stories about families not like mine. I also learned to be kind to the one sitting next to me and not to hurt feelings, to be gentle.

Which was a big lesson to learn because those sitting next to me were different than me and were not allowed to come to my house to play. We all had to learn that different can be a big lesson because in many ways you see me as different than you.

And let us be helpful and do good. So today we think kindly about each other and give our blessings. We make memories for all and send our thoughts skyward so that whoever finds them will say thank you!

We were told that we can take the dark night and fill the heavens with a billion stars to light the night and the world to announce we are not finished with our dreams and we continue the fight for democracy and freedom as long as we breathe.

Be it true. . . just for today have our thoughts be prayers and see where they go. We can do it. . . .just for today. I attach my name to mine. You too?

art by Claudia Hallissey

November 7, 2024

Veronica Hallissey has been writing since the 1960s, with her poetry published in a variety of small press magazines. Born into a farm family in Lockport, NY, and educated at the University of Buffalo and other midwest institutions, she brings and unusual point-of-view to her poetry, combining strong natural images with a deep spiritual language. She lives in Ramona, CA.
New World Carved Out Of Our Hearts. . .

When you asked the question. . .

I don’t know that it occurred to me at some particular point, or that I always knew the moment you asked the question you already knew the answer because the process by which intelligence grows is by the conclusions reached by the hard work of consecutive thoughts and common sense. Not by magic but by pursuit of the topic one cares mightily.

I did not want to keep making the same errors because I did not know errors were in my basic thought. When it was evident then I could halt the buggy and take stock. But evident it was that when I could frame the question, the wheels of the plight were already in gear and it was time to closet myself and do the footwork. And it is real work.

Never reached immediately, or even one lifetime, but perhaps centuries. My reason for working on this is the fact of still caring for my commitments. And as long as I still feel responsible, I will help as I can.

In the discussion where this came up, I told my listener of my infatuation and heart racing I sat over a coke with this handsome Greyhound driver bussing university students like me home. I was well into my enthusiasm for my learning addiction when he voiced longing that we had met ten years ago. It was in his years talking because I would have been eight in my years.

He was not mine to pursue for there were toddlers waiting for their daddy to come home. The question raised was what harm could it do? No words were required because there no question on my part because no invasion was permitted. Freedom in space is necessary for action. If brought to fruition, secrecy would be needful. Privacy has no question, but secrecy has a fistful. Unless one wished to live in a web of lies, one must be passionate about the matter. To me the justification would be intolerable without mentioning the emotional toll.

Since I just was 18 years old, it was an old head sitting on these shoulders. Hard going for this sister with 5 brothers older than she. When they questioned how short was my bataan twirling skirt with the high school band needed to be, one could imagine what arguments arise with familial invasion.

As the last sibling standing upright, close to the century mark by a slight handful, I have reached conclusions signifying a life hard as rocks. Never thinking I would be seeing rights taken away needing fight again. To me this has been the best classroom in the universe. The rewards and toys are profuse but the lessons are hard going. Consequences might be delayed but come they will and the confusion as to why me? Will not be voiced because we will know why me?

Because when we frame the question aloud, the pieces were falling into place. And we know the answer but just need to go into the closet of mind and do the work of the god or spirit that animates us.

When we ask the question, the answer is already ours.

artwork by Lucinda Rybacki Cathcart

Heart painting. . .Claudia Hallissey

October 19, 2024

Veronica Hallissey has been writing since the 1960s, with her poetry published in a variety of small press magazines. Born into a farm family in Lockport, NY, and educated at the University of Buffalo and other midwest institutions, she brings and unusual point-of-view to her poetry, combining strong natural images with a deep spiritual language. She lives in Ramona, CA.
Sufficient Reason. . .

One of my favorite authors has been Susan Howatch. When she left the United States, she returned to England with her daughter. She also was accepted at Oxford to study philosophy. She learned from the old philosophers that the human mind as structured was unable to understand nor grasp the concept of Reality as taught. I cannot recall reading anywhere the reasons for this. Perhaps the obvious lack in evolution was sufficient reason.

The Peter Pan mentality in aging adults is abhorred by the young. Many young adults consider this behavior embarrassing and lacking maturity. Susan’s work led her into a series on the church in England. There was controversy in how the work came about. There is always controversy when new work appears and the gathering of it differs.

To those who study human nature find there is little evidenced as new work or what I consider belly whoppers. There is much previous students have written, but little that says ‘ o wow, o whoa, ‘ just a minute here guy, I need time with this before it makes sense or it tells me why you think this? I must of need go into the closet of mind to think about this further.’

It is necessary for me to understand the impact on the human mind for growth. For humankind to change direction and literally kick start civilization into progress for universal grandeur to embrace life forms no matter how different, is necessary for the greater good. This view to me is broadening the narrow visage we in fear hold. Scared to death we are, just scared to death.

So what was learned in the books of Susan? How about what the old philosophers thought and what controversies ensued from it all? How it affected the congregations of men and women and youngers and seniors? And morality giving an okay to bedroom privileges when the priests questioned the existence of a god or many gods?

About abortions and when does life begin and who determines life’s viability? Who takes responsibility for a human growing beneath the heart of the woman carrying this human baby? And if life is sacred and to uphold, can I expect your belief also to care for this baby when it is born? Not only physical care, but ongoing moneys to help out? To educate and sustain ? There was also a sidebar to consider that I voice.

Thoughts are things the very old and current philosophers say and that go into the atmosphere and hang there and people with more talents can go along and grab them out of the air and know what human is attached to the thoughts and when confronted do they say my privacy is invaded? And my dears, we only begin. Susan Howatch is my age and a very good writer with many talents. I am grateful she has walked in my world. I am richer because of her.

And because I hover close to a century, all the above controversies are still being argued but are we close to solving them? Seems not. But I bless. I don’t know what else to do. Amen and amen.

photo by Lori Hallissey

September 27, 2024

Veronica Hallissey has been writing since the 1960s, with her poetry published in a variety of small press magazines. Born into a farm family in Lockport, NY, and educated at the University of Buffalo and other midwest institutions, she brings and unusual point-of-view to her poetry, combining strong natural images with a deep spiritual language. She lives in Ramona, CA.
Listen Ophelia. . . . .

Oftentimes we feel abandoned. Especially when we are in pain and have done everything we’ve been told and those things we invent. Otherwise we would be sitting at the feet of the Great Healer. But here we are in wonder at what we do wrong when we do what we were told from the beginning to pray and the great God listens.

Familiar we are with life’s arguments and come up with our own.

When we know enough to frame the question to ask it, the answer is ready to be revealed if we are ready for the work. Listen, Ophelia was given space to be viewed as given to me.
Take time to listen.

Listen, Ophelia ..

Ophelia, I will say,
do you think I am dead?
I sit on the very breath
you breathe.

I will waft an orange fragrance
o’er your head,
and you will see me take form.
I will crash the air with cymballs
and you will see me enter.

A cat cries in the night
and you will hear the infant.
The moon will send its shaft of light
through the north window
and you will be plagued
with memories
you will scarce remember.

You will warm yourself with the sun
from the south window
and it will nudge a time and place
on the edge of those same memories
and you will know and still not know.

I have taken you to my bosom,
held you and pushed you away
and at once tightened my hold
so you will never be free.

You think I am dead?
I ask you Ophelia,. . .

Who indeed, is dead?

art by Claudia Hallissey

You will warm yourself with the sun
from the south window
and it will nudge a time and place
on the edge of those same memories
and you will know
and still not know.

I have taken you to my bosom,
held you and pushed you away,
and at once tightened my hold
so you will never be free.

You think I am dead?
I ask you Ophelia. . .

Who indeed, is dead?

September 7, 2024

Veronica Hallissey has been writing since the 1960s, with her poetry published in a variety of small press magazines. Born into a farm family in Lockport, NY, and educated at the University of Buffalo and other midwest institutions, she brings and unusual point-of-view to her poetry, combining strong natural images with a deep spiritual language. She lives in Ramona, CA.
When You Need To See A Skyline. . . .

August 23, 2024. . .

As an introduction for those new to my writing, you need to know that for me all time is simultaneous, it is all happening now. It need not be your understanding, just an acknowledgment that it is this way for me. It makes for easier understanding when your thoughts are linear as your actions.

I wrote in September ’87 journal that . . .

( I glanced at Ernie and Frank’s (I think) cartoon on my desk. Descartes says, I think therefore I am. And the gent disappears after being told this and the logical thought is, if I don’t think, I am not. And like tea, I steep, how can one live without thought?

I recall once a brief silence in my head like an empty wine cask. Do people live like this was my question. What do they fill the silences with and I don’t think I want to know.

Coming to mind immediately when writing this was the reason the kitchen fan was not working. ) ( My head works like this. Because when the new addition was insulated, they inadvertently covered the vent.) And when I read this I thought of my of my sister’s complaint that it takes a whole page for me to say walk to the corner. (4 words)

I say but what I wish to share is what I see when I walk to the corner. You understand I thought everyone was like me or I was like everyone else. When my world crashed, Dr. Cassidy, my first psychiatrist, was so wise to ask me what I saw when I walked down Michigan avenue. And when I closed my eyes and told him, he whistled through his teeth and said you understand that others do not see this. And when I said nothing, in dismay he said, my God, you don’t.

How you see is how you talk. And when you listen you will hear what you need to hear and how to respond. Some will hear the antiquated language and some the vernacular of the times. And the wise will take to heart and remember why you chose to come to this time and to make a difference.

Coming to mind will be memories entwined which will take courage to unwind.

If We Sing To The Children . . .

I wear these memories
as a cloak to ward off the chill.
Emotions forgotten, but like new now
ripping along my arms,
settling bumps in straight rows
to my heart.

Kindred hearts, matching
my own heartbeat,
with eyes like mine and
reflecting our souls.
Music in voices saying,
‘and when I look at weeds beside the road. . . .
but you know, you know. . . .’
And I do, I do and we look with eyes
that see and ears that hear the song
of the bird before his sounds
have escaped his throat. . . .
and the music rumbles in our blood,
coursing through our hearts
and gives life only
to those who are ready to listen.

Not many to be sure, not many,
but if we sing to the children
perhaps, just perhaps,
the earth’s cacophony
will one day be in harmony.

It is our heritage;
from where it is we come.
From the farm country I was given
a substance that does not spoil,
that does not turn sour
even in the residue of life.
It is not dregs that I drink.
It is the cream rising to the top of the milk.

I needed to see a skyline
with no obstruction and with no words
in the space of a candle. . .

you laid your hearts on me.

August 23, 2024

Veronica Hallissey has been writing since the 1960s, with her poetry published in a variety of small press magazines. Born into a farm family in Lockport, NY, and educated at the University of Buffalo and other midwest institutions, she brings and unusual point-of-view to her poetry, combining strong natural images with a deep spiritual language. She lives in Ramona, CA.
We do it now because we know . . .

To change history. . .a new path. . .

I had been at sixes and sevens (so to speak). I should explain that the idiom means things being in great doubt with me.

The idiom is centuries old coming from (more nearly surmised) the English. Since I married into an Anglo Saxon Protestant family, I was introduced to what were strange customs for me. And this idiom was one of puzzling language.

Since being just twenty, eager to please, I learned quickly, both joyfully and askance sometimes.

Leading me to conclude at almost a decade less than a century, that for peace to ensue among men of diversity, those things which unify us as a species should be taught in all schools along with the differences in cultures.

It seems the differences in worlds (and words) and we are just one of many, are prime fodder for simmering anguish.

How we are united in so many ways fade in many minds while the differences sadly become up front. And the differences wielded so well are the fears quietly smoldering unknown even to the holder but when given voice turn to rage.

Tyrants live in various houses and use their tools so wisely they leave Heaven aghast as to the hurt that is done. Tyrants need not use hostility. They need not use weapons which destroy anything but self esteem.

And many are they who use their own neglected self esteem to drain the other of pity and sympathy and strength. And because the tyrants feel not appreciated, they say in so many words, I am number one and let no one in this house forget it! And tyrants proceed to devastate laws and their abiding citizens with their countries and constitutions.

And because so many think their futures depend on the largess of the tyrants, in fear they remain silent. Until the time the disparaged ego rises and takes a stand. It is written. . . .

At all times you can change your destiny. You can continue to love in the face of rejection. You can continue to have faith in the face of no faith. You can continue to build a life in the face of no life. And because you know this and continue to do it, you will be creating a new path and a new method which will in the course of history, change it.

Your acts upon your days have already sent the future into a direction which will reveal itself. They will know who we are by the unfolding days. We will stand proud.

(When ours are the only shoulders upright to carry the commitments about to be curbed, for those like us options close. Who is left with the children no matter their size? Some too large to sit on your lap, but not too large to sit on your heart.)

August 16, 2024

Veronica Hallissey has been writing since the 1960s, with her poetry published in a variety of small press magazines. Born into a farm family in Lockport, NY, and educated at the University of Buffalo and other midwest institutions, she brings and unusual point-of-view to her poetry, combining strong natural images with a deep spiritual language. She lives in Ramona, CA.
Immigrant. . . .

Although it was my best of intentions I don’t know why it was not obvious to those who claimed they knew me. But what they saw was some kind of favoritism but never the cost or the contract involved. That it could not be believed was understandable. But the next question should have been, why not them? But already the comfort of being a child taken care of was too cherished to give up. And lax in work habits they would appear but bluntly just lazy. The work involved was too much and the profit of it all, non existent. Why go there?

Only for punishment to be sure. That sainthood was desirable an achievement? Not for them because to be a child and not critiqued but only with a pat on the head and told to go forth and sin no more was what was easy. And were we not told that heaven was for children? Childlike? Maybe a different word but same meaning?    Sweetheart, heavy difference.

This classroom of the universe is vulnerable with high chance to go down the tube again. Inconsequential behavior leaves no hiding place. Where can we go and not be found? The following poem is from a new work called Terminus.

     Immigrant. . . .

         I watched as you worked
         a mind through endless turmoil,
         sifting and sorting truth and fantasy
         and arriving. . .

        You opened eyes and unblinkingly stated,
        ‘you have always known, haven’t you?
        How did you do it?

        I knew I could not take even
        a moment of self revelation away,
        answered, ‘in my way. I loved and
        raised babies and painted
        roses on their cheeks and
        planted evergreens in their hearts.’
        And in a way I had not known,
        closed a part of memory so I could do it
        all for real, so I would use the same rules
       you did and everyone else.

        But you did not play by the rules.
       They were changed so quickly for you
       that you could not switch tracks.

        So now I write why.
        I compose odes and melodies
        and tie my feelings in knots
        and look for entry into a world
        I know by heart.

        It is one I never left, even to come here.
        I carried it around like a money belt
        all the days of my life.
       And I know now that when I go

       it will be to the old country.

July 18,’87   all time is simultaneous

photo by john holmes

July 28, 2024

Veronica Hallissey has been writing since the 1960s, with her poetry published in a variety of small press magazines. Born into a farm family in Lockport, NY, and educated at the University of Buffalo and other midwest institutions, she brings and unusual point-of-view to her poetry, combining strong natural images with a deep spiritual language. She lives in Ramona, CA.