He walked through the streets, looking at the faces and the clouds. He recognized himself in everything.
People, animals and the sunlight, shadows, pain and joy: you are all of that, you are creator and destroyer, eternally walking through yourself.
Gregory woke up at five to twelve. The sun was hot and glaring on the windows and the curtains moved slowly in the breeze. Outside he could hear cheering, merriment and music. The party was in full swing, exuberant and loud. He got dressed and rushed down into the street, into the euphoric crowd of unknown people who greeted the passing chariots with admiring oohs and applause. After a golden sun chariot, filled with yellow, white and orange flowers, came Phaeton.
Phaethon, son of the sun god, mounted the precious and richly decorated sun chariot. However, the horses in the four-in-hand chariot soon got out of control and raced towards the crowd. The chariot left the track, Phaeton crashed and the people fled in wild confusion. Shortly afterwards, police and ambulances tried to get the disaster under control.
Then Ovid, who already knew the ambitious Phaeton, spoke about stubbornness and megalomania, which unleash fire:
“Wherever the earth is highest, it is seized by fire, gets fissures and cracks and dries up because its juices are drained. The grass turns gray, the tree burns along with its leaves, and the dry seed field feeds its own destruction. Great cities perish with their walls, and the fire reduces whole countries and their peoples to ashes.”
Gregory fled from the fire to the west, out of breath, through the city. At sunset, dense clouds gathered and almost obscured the red-hot sun. As deep as the sun on the horizon, Gregory hurried down the stairs to the subway and just managed to slip through the closing door. He rode through the night for long hours, dozing, while dark figures moved around him. Just as the Egyptian sun god Ra sails into the night with his sun barque in the west on the horizon, Gregory entered the darkness, the night world of his soul. He traveled on the paths of the underground, on which only the soul can travel, carried by unknown forces and beings of the universe.
The next morning, the dawn touched him gently and singing birds sounded joyfully. As he rose, he gratefully breathed in the fresh morning air.
He walked through the streets,
looking at the faces and the clouds.
He recognized himself in everything,
people, animals and the sunlight,
shadows, pain and joy,
you are all of that,
you are creator and destroyer,
eternally walking through yourself.
He rested in the library. The wide blue domed vault was illuminated by daylight through skylights and in between many lamps like stars. Once again, the sun god Ra ascended in his sun barque. Warmth touched the hearts of the beings. The jubilation and catastrophe of yesterday resonated in Gregory, but he felt liberated from a noisy, foolish world and at the same time at peace with the fact that his own life was foolish. A fool, and blessed. Blessed?
The books spoke to him, he heard and understood. Beyond that, he dived to the invisible stars in the vastness of the universe, in soundless harmony. “Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.”
He sat there quietly, open to the wonder of an incomprehensible Spirit and its creations. Gregory knew about the sunny side of human life, what it felt like to be at the zenith of self-realization, to occupy a position. And he knew about the dark side and the pain of the night.
Hölderlin’s words resounded out of nowhere: ” […] man achieves nothing when he looks at everything indifferently and likewise achieves and promotes nothing when he bends himself, so that in order to live and be active, he must unite both sadness and hope, cheerfulness and suffering.”
The teachers are serenity and sorrow, sadness and hope and Gregory knew them. If he grasps the hand of one, the hand of the other also grasps him.
“Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted.”
Whoever dares to follow the barque of the sun god Ra and be a mirror of his light, whoever dares to sail through the dark reality of the earthly night with his life barque and be a mirror of its darkness, the demons reveal their names to him. He redeems them and with them himself and the world. First, he is dismembered, like Osiris. In the loving arms of Isis, however, he achieves wholeness, like Osiris.
Bliss
Gregory sat in the midst of the books and their words spoke in him, became chisels and shaped him. He allowed it to happen. “Blessed are the meek, for they shall inherit the earth.” The powers of night and day became one in his soul. The vastness of the universe broke his boundaries.
Meekness allows pain, lies and deception, love and loss, grief and longing. The heart surrenders its burden to the universe. Gregory let himself be carried by the sea of life, let himself be caught by the waves like the shell on the seashore.
The goddess Maat accompanies the sun god Ra on his barque. She is the compass, the force of universal balance. Maat speaks in conscience
. “Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they shall be filled.”
Gregory opened his eyes. He felt like sprouting seeds in his heart, in every cell of his body infinite power of will and thought flowed through him. His existence so far was preparation. For what?
“Blessed are the merciful, for they shall obtain mercy.”
He thought of the people he loved and had loved, and their faces became millions shining on the earth. Love is light and cheerful. Cheerfulness? How many faces it has! Exuberance, enthusiasm and passion, hope in decline, comfort in the night, dawn of a new day. Who could describe its secret?
“Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see God.”
He felt small because his life had become so large that he disappeared into it.
“Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called children of God.”
He sensed his mission. Follow the sun barque, through day and night.
Then the healing words fell silent, and construction noise filled the rooms of the library. Masked men had installed an antenna on the roof. Gregory went out slowly, without fleeing, without mourning the loss of the wisdom and the beauty of the library. He had to go to his workshop.
Sweating, he whirled his hammer and let the sparks fly. Fire and iron followed his thoughts. A little girl came in.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m forging a gate.”
“What’s the gate for?”
“It’s going to be a garden gate.”
“Can you forge a little man?”
Gregory looked at the girl, who turned her eyes to him trustingly.
“I’ll try, come back the day after tomorrow.”
Since then, many children have visited Gregory, and he has forged many little men. The most beautiful thing is their smile and every day he fights for it, and every time he puts a smile on the face of a little figure, he knows that the next one is already waiting for him.
Be joyful and rejoice.
You are the salt of the earth.
You are the light of the world.
