The lotus eaters

Ulysses screamed with rapturous joy and then collapsed into unconsciousness. We cut him down from the mast which broke in the effort of our tired out and unwieldy labours. Manacled he was to enjoy ecstasy as his spirit soared even with arms tort and writhing in chains.We, the crew below desks ears filled with bees wax from long emptied jars of honey .Orders from the captain to save us from madness and preserve our senses, intact from rapture.
The mast fell like a broken cross, with its braking a spirit set free from a dying body, momentary. The ship is dying ,a captain driven mad by strange desire his spirit rinsing senselessly to hope ,then flung down like a crashing wave. Such was the nature of the sirens sweet song. An elemental force stronger than a mans mind or body. Lost are we on the high seas with no sight of land.I miss the simple comforts of hath and home ,the regularity of adriatic seasons. I ask you what is fortune and conquest of any worth to common men being able seamen and conscripted souls only seeking to return home.

The antediluvian monarch of the depths lyes at the bottom of the ocean. Decrepit yet eyes still focusing with vast age. Stomach still powering an unnatural appetite ,spanning the depth in with tentacles unfolded . Lying in waiting. Seeking to make a meal of drowning men's bones. We sense it's hunger in the depths of our empty stomachs the creatures unearth cries from the abyss echoing our own . Shall our thoughts be as sickening as this vile sea creatures before we reach our end.

Already with a week of near starvation we stubble the decks like sea sick drunks who have lost our sea legs with fatigue. As impossible as climbing Rope made of smoke is the task the set the crew. Remounting the mast while the captain lies delirious , half alive, half dead.

Hoisting the mast with aching limbs , a unison of grumbling and toil, without this effort lies our doom. Sure death lies within inaction and holding fast again the wind on legs returned from slumber, spirited vigour guides my ship to shore with new fortitude consuming delirium. I ve always been in command of the ship even with a blood felt fever coursing my veins, oh but the rapture was worth the peril. Strength is returning to my hands as I guide the wheel, regaining sharper senses.

From the top of the mast shore was at last sighted by a deck hand nibble and keen of eye. Anchor dropped a half mile from shore, the swim in would revive the crew. Sick limbs forced to swim with a judder on hitting the ocean. The shore fast approaches, feet searching for the bottom where momentary it is possible to stand.Wading into shore with high tidal brakes ,spitting out salt water with every breath ,alive I am alive.

Every man for him self now ,each of us an creature of alienation and misplaced trust , years of laying siege and months on the vaulting ocean waves turns men of valour into dogs . I carry the mark of Kane on the back of my right hand and a scar on my left foot. "Not my captains keeper" the crews bellies growl. Spreading out like ants across the shore line, the endless days at sea sinking into distant memory. As yet undiscovered bounty may lie in land. In form of fruit or small but fast moving rabbits ready for spearing and the pot. May be as close as the grass lands running along the beach. Eyes and muscles find new strength with quarry scented close at hand. The venomous basilisk is always to be found on such ventures onto unknown lands. We have not the skill or medicine of Galen to cure such ills, so pray gods be merciful to my rowdy crew of half staved braves. Out beyond the grass land lay a thicket and beyond that smoke was seen to rise. The smell of slaughtered boar and lamb roasting in the morning sun filled our nostrils , their must be a settlement not far in land on this isle ?

I thought back on a strange meeting I had years before leaving Ithaca. Pondering's on climbing a mountain to see a sage. Scrambling over rocks , frees the inter voice to question the rigour of ones education.

A Praxis taught to me by Aristotle, this theory put into practise , with care taken in the methods to reach the ends so all society may profit.A moral duty for a captain or statesman and even creative craftsman, all options currently open too me.

After mentorship one must question primary or even superficial concerns invoking the psyche to test the honour of ones thoughts and actions.How best to master ones passions ? Too attain virtue without cheating modesty, whilst kindling the fires of the will to harbour great deeds. Emotions laced with memory are guide to hand in tests of fortitude and where memory and experience its self is of no aid.Always to question my internal motive, there is ultimately no help but my own all else is illusion.I must be true to my own self if as by the gods put to the test.

The oracle asked and what do you know of other lands?" I know them not as well as I know the scar on my left foot with which I was born .I am not unlike achilles to have been marked in youth, I wonder if like scorched earth such scars do form us? I have a duty and means to travel to return Helen to her king ". My duty is the very reason for all endeavour. For without duty to his country and fellows what is a man , but a lowly dog.

It spoke like a shadow "though blind can see the present, past and future all as one".Our ways and even the gods will be forgotten as new faiths shall rise from the eastern deserts where men seek certainty with care and measurement of the stars. Our age will pass as do all ages in the precession of the world, and your deeds forgotten.

The oracle told me of a prophet not yet born ,who with his last words" asked this father why have you foresaken me" he spoke in reference to a song, wherein the introduction in implies the whole that being their tradition. An expression of faith in events no matter how bleak the circumstance as manifestation of divine will. This quote will be misunderstood by many as one of doubt and ultimate human fragility. Though it was never thus , and so the foundation of an age with greater fellowship than our own.

This age is already in ascent. In time past on mount Moriah in Palestine a test of faith imparted where Abraham a pious man was commanded by his god to kill his only son. The God relented on seeing Abrahams willing piety, in the face of dearest loss. Since that day it has never been asked if man truly is the measure of all things , we assume our importance.This act of submission and sacrifice wills it to be true. We know our hearts the flesh is more faithfull than the will.

Spoke he again " yet are we not ever crying in the darkness. Our gods however constantly put us on trial.They live in the elements and care not for mortal peril , our adventures and fortunes are as nothing unto them".