On to Persepolis

On to Persepolis

L. Edgar Otto     05 August, 2012

Between Sparta and Athens the life of the body and the life of the mind set the standards of our city states for a future.
Yet it is a four way deal in this archetype of time, also the dialectic between MetaMacidon and Persia as flows the reality of war and the stirrups, bows and arrows, Phillip through the phalanx with chariot wheels with scythes. The vanquished but greater army abandons its emperor in retreat as a sacrifice, appeasement, and the young Alexander overtakes the known world as youth hopes and tries before the weddings that bind nations and peoples, he only stopped by the Indus and one continent passed on but divided by his sons unto the ten provinces of the once great realm of Atlas.

Along the way, in the forum at the height of trade, of decorated vases for their fame as art alone and olive oil and triremes over the middle earth sea, the glory and the toxins stored like the heat of the sun in the granary and sacred river floods of spring soil with its ideas of measure burst out and evolve in ages of gold gone nova that balances toward the creative in it all if all survives the journey and he achievements, our species and technology.
The story is the same old awakening of models of our unity of soul and yet in the paradox all things are forever new.

We need both in the periodic contests of Olympia on Earth, that of the body and its sensing extensions reaching far beyond the disabled or disadvantaged soul to the meek inheritance that give an edge for both the body as machine and micro strength and cures, and that of the contests naked made of mind that still longs for the honesty of life that far from the madding crowd and trade winds we are beyond the equilibrium yet in the center path of walled off storms that drives and sustains us as if from a miracle arises from nothingness the cornucopia of perfection and plenty.

The tightrope of civilized progress is stretch between horns of dilemma and those fallen and not vanished still shout up at the crossers-by their once and future satraps of division and conquest and luck of the draw as we atrophy to become machines or disembodied spirits our lusts saturated, our sensations satiated and senses dulled until challenged for the wisdom to come out in all its creative force again against boredom soon forgotten near the foundations of sciences in the raw.

We will have to deal with this non necessary faith in entitlements and more, a world where more is lost than the era and the day if among any of us the greater part of creativity and hard labor free from its indenturing to others or to some leadership inherent in a design that we do not become but a speck lost in our skins and legs of steel that we do not find our dreams imploding after running wild on such sun riding phaeton's full speed... to farm again, to love again without fear and raise the crops and children,  rediscover the books and how to live, and yes, to heal as if we become like the gods immortal so Noble stays in the most noble of professions- the true artists of creative Olympia's who paints the one canvass through the fog of his eyes and still finds in the sensations that we can see clearly and truly.

I thought awhile, having the quietness and shift of day with the changes of free from want and lack of sleep and from the crazy words of others talking to themselves but needing no one unless to reach out to them only to throw back the spear and watch the umbilical of friendship bleed out that peace is found again from their own idiocy of isolation, that on this great spaceship to the stars as we grow drunken wild and are really not too many as much as too few to fill the earth, perhaps we should dream again without derision so as to farm and build canals and cities, life found to take, to explore, to imagine again a total new world of wisdom and art, to casually visit our hard worked for homestead on the virgin frontier of Mars.

Let not the sentry in his lack of knowing interfere with Archimedes at his puzzle of compass and points and lines as the other peoples almost challenge by great but lesser numbers the wisdom craved hegemony of Rome who in victory will Carthage vanish for that old Greek stayed off the invaders with his engines of war, with his lens focusing the sun to set sails afire- but war itself has its creativity's to which it eats the other pursuits of man and his millions for defense and not one cent for tribute- woe to those ancient nations who store the source of the sun to subdue our cities for nothing good comes from the cost of them that takes food out of the mouths of the people.

* * * * *