From the primeval breath
life has been shared out
in the vigour of matter,
it has breathed on the waters and in the valleys
a light perceived,
and in the mind.
Image and Similitude,
waiting, clothed Divinity.
It was a host and units together,
plants and animals,
men who had begun their long journey,
all of them elixirs of ecstasy for the neighbourhood of the world.
Not one, but myriads of Eden Gardens, the whole Earth,
for the song of life,
the animals and the plants,
the stones and men,
crypts of the Unique Ancient One
in the fire of creation,
in the bowels and on the heights of unity
gaze at the stars, photoniums and particles in the immensity
and yet they learn the harsh lessons of time.
How are they to be nourished? How are they to strive
and how are they to give birth
and then again how are they to live together
on the crossing between death and life?
All one neighbourhood, one home.
Until the magic circle of nature was broken
and man began the long journey of creation,
always victorious, but more profoundly vanquished
by the wondrous and the unknown,
he has forgotten the old fellow-travellers
and however much he imagined the angels as his equals
on earth he was the only sovereign.
He has made war with his brothers to the death,
he has tyrannised in deadly fashion his own self, the animals and plants,
and the only consolation was the tools and the machines
together with a house for a theatre stage
where he perceived God in deceits which he himself made up.
And now, look! All the warmth of the houses heats the earth
at that pace of narcotic desires and thoughts.
All the deceptions of our position of power render Eden incandescent
until the outermost fire incinerates the bloom of life.
They awake slowly and with facile words, some here and some there,
and the impetus of millennia rushes, inflammatory,
to the thermic infrastructures -
Herostratus had dreams
and burnt down the temple of life.
And all were asleep on the veil of errors
on the day when the great performance would be put on
‘Lords of the planet and perhaps immortal’,
when the theatre began to burn
next to the temple,
together with those values lost in oblivion
by eagerness for dishonourable glory and wealth.
And they all had to become an Army of Change,
they had to remember the lost harmonies,
divine austerity in the tracks of the spirit,
to redeem the self with the water of life
from incurable desires.
And the soul turned to look.
Were there any other souls there?
Was the Army on the Road of Life?
Were men ready for those few things which redeem?
(Photograph by Yiannis Zisis)