.2.
Athens rejoiced in a festive mood. Locals and visitors alike anticipated with excitement the evening presentation of the theatre[9] show; so did Parthenis! From her window, she watched in fascination as the artists and their assistants bustled all day with their preparations. Setting up a stage was not as easy as she had assumed, and the dedication of these people to every single detail amazed her. She welcomed the distraction. A dreamy state of mind had subdued her into an atypical quietness since her visit to the Oracle of Delphi two days ago. Back in Athens now, and with all these vibes of exhilaration in the air, she finally woke up to her usual self.
At the fall of evening, the square ignited with hundreds of colorful lights that took her breath away. A vibrant music drifted all around the square, and people started to fill the area, not only with their presence, but with their laughter and chats. Parthenis grew restless. She paced the room back and forth. She halted to look from the window for a while, then back to her pacing.
“Take it easy, dear,” Mnesarchus admonished her kindly then engrossed again in the reading of some documents.
“Come on, Mnesarchus! Pherecydes and Thales should have been here already! What is keeping them?”
“We still have some time before the show starts, Parthenis. Don’t work yourself up now. It is neither good for you nor healthy for the baby.”
She sighed in loud complaint and went to the window. She noticed that the theater team had already disappeared behind the installation. “Oh! They are about to start! We are going to miss it, Mnesarchus!”
“We won’t dear, I promise.”
It was then that she heard the knock on their door. She pivoted on herself and dashed to open it revealing Thales and Pherecydes. Her husband chuckled in amusement.
“Let’s go, let’s go!” She rushed them out excitedly.
Thales and Pherecydes stared at her for a moment then, as they seemed to understand her impatience, they laughed and followed her quick steps out of the inn and past the road to the square.
The moment they reached their table, Captain Hamelkon stood up to greet them with his distinctive cordiality and they all sat to enjoy their evening. The play absorbed them all at once. Three talented actors presented a series of dramatic and tragic scenes which themes tackled the social life of the Athenians as well as the political and military ones.
Their richly colored costumes of extravagant patterns brightened the stage. Their cloaks opened up on their adorned robes that topped some festooned boots. They used genuine human hair for a more realistic impression. Their masks portrayed different facial expressions at each scene. Accordingly, they succeeded in representing several characters of gods, legendary figures, famous people, women, and animals.
Captivated, as was the large audience, Parthenis forgot all about her dinner on the table. She would dry a tear or two at a dramatic act, and clap her hands in appreciation at the end of each scene. Mnesarchus drew her attention to her meal at every entr’acte. It was then that she noticed that some affable waiters constantly passed by their table to pour more wine in the goblets of the men.
During one of these entr’actes, she made it a point to converse with Thales and Pherecydes. “I couldn’t help noticing your major influence on the Wise Man of Greece. I am sure he relies much on your advice and contribution of thoughts and wisdom.”
Thales blushed and abstained from answering; probably out of modesty, she thought.
Of a more extroverted personality, her brother prompted, “Thanks for the praises, fair sister. Truth be told, we are both honored to be his advisors!”
“Sure, sure, my dear brother,” she teased him. “We are all honored indeed, but still, modesty on the side, you are doing really great!”
Pherecydes abstained to answer. Something in the conversation of Thales and Captain Hamelkon had grabbed his attention. He leaned forward on the table to listen to them. Parthenis imitated him, guessing from his focused features that this might be quite an interesting discussion. They debated over Astronomy. Both Thales and the Captain proved to benefit from a wide knowledge of the sky and its heavenly bodies.
“Thales is a notorious scientist himself,” Mnesarchus murmured close to her ear. “Fifteen years ago, or so, he predicted, rightly, a solar eclipse.”
Impressed, she examined the wise man as if seeing him for the first time.
His voice drifted deep and even. “I strongly advise you, dear Captain, to take into serious consideration the Stars of the Chariot in your navigation. Follow the Ursa Minor, or the so called Little Bear, rather than the Ursa Major, or what we call the Great Bear.”
At these words, Parthenis felt a sudden kick inside her. She instinctively placed the palm of her hand on her tummy.
“Are you okay?” Mnesarchus hurriedly asked; his eyes dark with concern. His arm wrapped around her shoulders.
“Yes dear!” She smiled broadly. “It’s just the baby kicking.”
Pherecydes chuckled then, his eyes bright with emotion. “Tell me, sister. How is it going with your preparations for the birth of our new family member?”
The question redirected the general conversation to the main subject of her presence in Athens. The men offered her suggestions of all kinds, based on what they knew from their families or what they had heard. They all acted as concerned as the father of her unborn child. She ended laughing with hilarity.
Their happy chitchat continued all the way back to the inn where the group halted under a pine tree to admire the stars in silence.
Captain Hamelkon coughed discreetly to break the silence. “We should sail back home in a couple of days Sir,” he addressed Mnesarchus. “I thought to remind you in case you still have any unfinished business in town.”
“Thank you, Captain,” Mnesarchus replied calmly. “We are done with what we came here to do, and we are very much looking forward to our return home.”
The Captain lifted his eyebrows in surprise. “No regret whatsoever to leave the Great City? I had the impression that you were enjoying your stay.”
“Oh but we are!” Parthenis exclaimed. “It is that… well,” she hesitated.
“A great event awaits them in Saydoun,” her brother came at her rescue with a merry mood.
“They have a lot to prepare,” Thales dashed out.
“You mean the baby,” the Captain uttered.
“Not just the baby!” Mnesarchus insinuated jovially. “Is it darling?”
Parthenis grabbed his forearm with both hands and lifted a bright smile at him. She then leaned her head on his shoulder. She met the happy faces of Thales and Pherecydes, yet they all abstained to discuss the prophecy in front of the Captain.
Confused, Hamelkon looked at them in turn yet desisted from asking for clarification. He bid them goodnight with a slight, yet respectful nod and walked away without a question. Parthenis watched him as he scratched his head, glanced at them above his shoulder then continued on his way, scratching his head again. She chuckled, amused by his puzzlement.
Pherecydes bent to smack a brotherly kiss on her forehead, and, as he did, he whispered in her ear, “I will be praying for the prophecy to become a reality, and for you to have an easy and safe delivery.”
“Thank you, brother dear,” she replied with sudden emotion.
* * *
The tranquility of the Grecian waters surrounded the Phoenician ship. The couple leaned on the banister, waving farewell to Thales and Pherecydes at the shore. The “Astarte” stirred slowly away from the Athenian port. In a mist of time, Athens faded like a land of ghosts. Images from Delphi could still be seen, but not for long, Parthenis thought, as, in a while, it would be as invisible to them as the world beyond to the mortals. Only the memory of places would remain alive in her mind; Delphi in particular because of the prophecy. At this very moment, she fathomed the enormous responsibility that befell on her at carrying in her womb a kind of savior; a future great man. With every internal motion of her unborn son, she braced more and more the magnitude of such an event.
Why me? She wondered for the hundredth time since she had heeded the prophecy. Will I be up to it?
She shivered with angst at the idea of failing the mission that had befallen her.
At night, the Polar Star - the Phoenician Star as called by the Phoenicians themselves, and later by the Greeks - shone brightly in the vast firmament. From her spot on deck, Parthenis gazed at the reflection of the star on the surface of the water. She recalled the statement of the Captain, at the start of their trip, on the extent of their dependency on the stars for navigation. She pondered on that fact while her mind mulled over a name for a child of such great destiny. She knew somehow that the star of the sea held the answer to her query. However, no matter how hard she tried to read the message, the letters remained concealed inside the Light of the Star.
She waited…
With a sudden sense of urgency, she felt she needed Mnesarchus at her side at that very moment, so together, hand in hand, as one in thought and spirit, they could decipher the name of the fruit of their love.
She had to wait though until the next morning to tell her husband about her nightly inquiry with the stars.
He grabbed her hand to urge her patience and replied in a tender tone, “Parthenis, my love. I fully understand your concern, but there is no need to rush. Come on, dear! We still have almost four more months ahead of us! By then, we will have decided on the name,” He promised and she appreciated his attempts to reassure her.
Yet his kiss met but her lips twisted in disappointment.
The “Astarte” edged closer to the harbor of Saydoun on the seventh day, while the sun slipped in the horizon with all its golden warmth. A serene tranquility ruled the port ignited with hundreds of soft lights. From afar, the temples of the city materialized in an aura of enigmatic holiness. The city appeared lurking in religious silence.
However, when the ship docked at the port, the city revealed its real aspect. For Parthenis, it was like a sudden sprint of life. Citizens bustled on their daily tasks. Curious foreigners halted to watch the ship. Porters scuttled in competition to catch some wealthy travelers and gain a few coins. Anxious merchants paced the pier in wait of their new goods. Families waved with cheerful hails at their beloved ones reaching home.
Dusk had passed away, when the travelers disembarked eagerly. Mnesarchus and Parthenis waited for the first moments of rush to lessen in order to go ashore. Having bid farewell to the Captain, they stepped on firm land with a sense of relief. Mnesarchus gave his instructions to have their luggage delivered home. Relieved from that burden, the couple, hand in hand, took the dimly lit alley towards the city. The road conveyed them to the Souk on their way home. Parthenis sighed in content.
“Oh goodness, I really missed my hometown!”
Mnesarchus smiled at her. “I wish I could say the same, my love, but the truth is that I seldom miss any place in particular. I got used to different countries and long trips.”
“Of course, I see.” she sighed with a hint of sadness then groaned gently, “You are always on the move, always traveling and trading.”
“Did I hear a complaint here?” he taunted her and prompted to take her in his arms.
She sighed again, feeling tired by then. “It’s just that I can’t help missing you when you leave.”
“I know, my love, but rest assured, this will change in time.”
She leaned on his chest, wanting to surrender to the comfort of his warmth. He kissed her forehead, lifted her face to him by the chin, and murmured, “We’re almost home, sweetie. You are exhausted. Hold on there! A few more minutes and we will be home.”
“Home…,’ she intoned after him.
“Yes dear, home.”
A sweet fragrance of Cedar welcomed them in their abode, along with a balmy sense of security. She knew that even Mnesarchus yielded to that invisible, yet substantial, power of belonging. He had admitted that to her once. She remembered his words whose deep connotation she now fully understood for having been away for a while.
Wherever we go, we will always return to our homeland; there, where for the first time ever, we came to see the light of life.
* * *
As early as the following afternoon, the expecting parents initiated their preparations for the birth of their first baby. They roamed the souk in look for some baby clothes, bed linens, and other related items. As they moved from shop to shop, the news of her pregnancy spread through the market. The villagers stopped them to convey their best wishes. Some took their time to converse with them, some gathered around them with advices and suggestions. Their genuine care and happiness touched Parthenis deeply, especially when some cheered at her passage: “A firstborn is always a blessing to celebrate!”
Over and over again, she would heed the same wholehearted murmur: “A child is to be born to Mnesarchus, a successful trader and to Parthenis, a fine lady!”
Could it be the enthusiasm of the Saydounians that made the announcement spread fast and far? Or was it the premonition of some great news? The fact was that it crossed the borders to reach Sur, the birthplace of Mnesarchus.
* * *
The expecting parents kept the secret of the prophecy concealed to most, unwilling to share it with people around the Phoenician coast, and not even with their closest neighbors. Only a few relatives were informed in secret. Some of them believed it and rejoiced. Others, however, remained skeptical, giving to time the benefit of the doubt.
And time passed…
The pregnancy of Parthenis advanced into her eighth month smoothly, allowing her to enjoy every moment of it. Every preparation related to the coming birth was a feast in itself. She felt overwhelmed with love; a new love she experienced as the days elapsed quickly.
Eventually, house chores became restricted to the minimum as her pregnancy reached its end. As a result, she dedicated more time to weaving and sewing for her baby; an activity that helped her control her trepidation. One particular morning in which she woke up heavier than usual, she sat on her comfortable couch to knit a baby blanket of purple and blue wool. Joining the twitter of the birds at her window, she hummed softly her own version of motherly glee.
She heeded the sound of graceful footsteps on her front yard and she stilled in wonder for she did not expect anyone at this hour. The three knocks on her door brought her slowly to her feet. Cautious, she glanced from her window. Two strangers in white long robes stood on her porch. She noted the blue belts around their waist and the blue cone hoods on their heads. Their bearing bespoke of calm confidence.
“Priests?” she murmured to herself with a frown of surprise.
With the palm of her hands, she prompted to wipe off some wool threads from her dress, tucked her hair back to give herself a proper appearance and took a quick, inquisitive look at the neatness of her living room. Only then, reassured that her house was impeccable to receive, she opened the front door.
A blue pair of eyes, limpid as diamonds and warm like a summer sky, met hers for a moment. She felt seized, then lifted in space and time; a strange feeling than infused her with peace.
“Yes?” she managed to blurt out.
Both priests pulled their hoods backward and greeted her in a serene voice, “Peace be upon you, fair lady.”
With a reserved hint of smile, she nodded slightly and uttered with courtesy, “And upon both of you as well. What brings you, holy men, to my dwellings?”
Although clean and their beards neat, their sandals denoted the dusty deed of a long trip.
“We have come in peace, my lady, from the Holy Land of our God El,” the eldest declared with a gentle voice then added in confirmation, “From Gebel.”
The name echoed in her soul like a melody.
“We have received a specific message concerning the singular baby your womb nurtures,” the youngest priest declared. Despite his composed voice, the sparkle of his black eyes betrayed his enthusiasm.
She shivered then exclaimed with fervor, “Go ahead, tell me!”
“My Lady,” the older priest addressed her. “A brilliant spirit has exceptionally evolved in your unborn child who is to become a great man of wisdom and authority.”
First, the prophecy of the oracle, and now, the message of Gebel! She was inwardly astonished.
As if sensing her state of mind, he paused for the time she took to absorb his revelation. Although she remained composed with dignity, her stillness must have betrayed her internal turmoil. Or was it the fact that she gawked at him for a long moment? Finally, he gave in to his fervor and his serene voice broke in greeting, “Blessed are you among all ladies of Canaan-Phoenicia!”
The unusual salutation confused her, yet she maintained her apparent self-control. She bowed her head slightly in respect to the spiritual message brought to her by the Priests. She closed her eyes, envisioning the oracle of the priestess at the Temple of Apollo in Delphi.
Silence prevailed…
A woman of sense, more down to earth than any, she dwelt in doubts for a moment at the possibility of such a mysterious matter.
She decided to face the transparent blue of those eyes. It was then that she deciphered the answer of his soul. Destiny.
The priests of the God Al-Elyon, the Most High, had just revealed to her the destiny of her family. She smiled in acquiescence and felt peace at once.
Only then did the Priests bid her farewell. At a standstill on her porch, she gazed at them, departing without a single look back, as if another mission awaited them elsewhere. Their silhouette, bathed in mysticism by the sunrays, soon disappeared behind a house at the end of the road. She sighed deeply, wishing all of a sudden that she could call them back; these Priests of the Temple of Adonis.
Adonis… the young and beautiful god of Gebel!
Adonis… the god who incarnated the cycle of nature to emphasize the spring and assert the resurrection of every atom in the kingdom of life!
Parthenis welcomed her husband home that same evening with a serene smile. When told about the holy visit, he frowned pensively for a while before he raised his face and both hands up in prayer. With no comment whatsoever, he remained lost in his thoughts until dinner time.
“What is it, dear?” Parthenis finally expressed her concern. “You have been silent since you came home!”
He stared at her for a moment in which she titled her head to the side and flaunted at him a flirty grin meant to make him smile.
“Parthenis, we have to talk about that whole thing,” he answered in a serious tone. “We better keep this to ourselves.”
“You mean the visit of the Priests of Gebel and their great message?”
“Right! Admit that it is a bizarre announcement and even more impressive than the prophecy of the oracle back in Delphi.”
She absorbed the whole significance of his request. Pensive, she conceded in a murmur, “Sure dear. It is a wise decision.”
“No one should know, Parthenis, not even any of your relatives or mine!”
“Don’t worry my love,” she prompted in a higher pitch meant to express her total agreement and reassure him. “I shall conceal it all until you say otherwise.”
She granted him, then, a bright smile. The fervor in his eyes soothed down. His frown faded. His features loosened up. He sighed loudly and relaxed back on his chair.
“How about deciding for the name of our son?” She proposed in a jovial tone, wanting to redirect his thoughts to something less worrying. “Don’t you think it is time?”
He smiled widely. “Sure! Tonight, before you fall asleep, my fair lady, we will have the name of our son!”
And so they did. After a couple of hours of deliberation, Parthenis beamed with satisfaction as her eyelids closed. The last thing she murmured, all too tenderly, was the name of her son.
Pythagoras[10]…
* * *
Pythagoras, the prodigy child, opened his tiny eyes to life on the month of April; the fourth of the year, and the beginning of a new season, Spring. Proud and delighted, his parents, along with their relatives and neighbors, surrounded his cradle in a cheerful mood. The aroma of incense and Cedar wood wafted through the house in celebration. Joy and tears of happiness marked the event.
From the city square to the neighboring houses, and all through the city, the public announcement reiterated, “A child is born to Mnesarchus, the successful trader and Parthenis, the fine Lady!”
Saydoun and Sur received the news, yet only the priests of Al-Elyon in Gebel comprehended the real magnitude of this event. So did the new parents who acknowledged the fact that their tasks extended beyond the typical parental duties of raising a common child. Thus, they committed totally to the rearing of their son. Mnesarchus decided to desist from travelling as much as before in order to contribute quality time to his new family and help his wife with the responsibilities of realizing the prophecy.
Prophecy; that mental revelation of the unknown divine; an aspiration that evolved into faith in the advent of a great man who will contribute to a better humanity; greatness of those which humanity calls saviors!
Henceforth, the parents would have to see to the materialization of that prophecy. As such, they beheld the revelation in the heart of their inner realm as it became the very essence of their existence.
In accordance, their life took another course. It shifted from rearing an ordinary child to one destined to be a divine and revered man.
Divinity, that hidden course of the evolution of Nature and the Manifestations of God…
Divinity, that essential part of every being living a spiritual life across the universe…
* * *
Unease with the new environment of air and light, the infant whimpered. Voices drifted to him. Indistinct objects floated in his range of vision. As most of the time, he craved for the comfort of his previous abode. He groaned, wishing for that unique embrace of late to enfold him in its warmth. The soft voice and familiar scent constituted his harbor of peace and fulfillment. His insides ached again so acutely that he screamed for the soft voice to come closer, lift him and feed him.
A spasm of nostalgia gripped him. He missed the aquatic dim state of his earlier comfy existence. His body shivered and yelled.
The soft voice did not delay to come. “Hush baby, hush, don’t you cry, my love.”
The soft hands lifted him and he felt lighter, then warmer when embraced to his source of food. The anguish of this array of discomforting emotions waned. Happy again, soon to be content, he delighted in the melody the soft voice hummed; a melody he had come to cherish and expect. A deeper voice, now familiar to him, drifted closer. The infant opened an eyelid and, as he breastfed from the spring of his contentment, he examined the smiley strong face that took shape gradually. His instinct impelled his hand to that direction. A new sense of security wrapped up around his fist and spread through his being.
* * *
A year later…
The light of the day gave way to the dusk of the evening as the sun faded away. The mystery of the night spread over the Phoenician coastal cities to be soon brightened by a full moon that took over its ruling throne among the stars.
Mountains and hills consorted in lifting their splendid heads towards the celestial realm. They stood majestically, resisting the course of time. A peak of one particular mountain emerged different from the others that night, glorious with religious chants of the priests and priestess. In the valleys, the harmonious rhythms echoed, so did the proclamation of the special event by these guardians of sacred sanctuaries.
The nation, akin the priests, anticipated in prayers and praises the dawn of the coming day…
* * *
A majestic natural bridge led to the entry of the Afka Grotto in Gebel; the Holy Land of El. Sunrays broke through the apertures of the mountain and into its heart, diffusing in a visible spectrum of light. From there, the Kaddosh River of Adonis exploded in a chain of waterfalls. Cold and powerful, the river flowed through chunks of rocks towards the bosom of the valley.
Many forms of vegetation inhabited the riverbanks and filled the fissures of the rocks all the way down to the valley floor. Spring bloomed with all its beauty. Soft and pure air stirred through the evergreen flora and forest. Nature, what a phenomenon!
On either side of the valley, and in the heart of the adjoining mountains, Nature, as well as human hands, had carved in numerous caves to protect living beings from both the fierce winter and the fear of the unknown. Men and women had also dwelled in these caverns, much too often, in hope of spiritual enlightenment.
On the top of this Great Mountain of Gebel, stood in magnificence two major temples; one in dedication to Astarte, the goddess of fertility; and the other to her lover Adonis, the god of resurrection.
Tradition in Canaan-Phoenicia, and especially in Gebel, required from the families to bring their children to be blessed in these temples. The priestess of El, in the Temple of Astarte, would bless the female children, whereas the priests of Al would consecrate the male children in the Temple of Adonis. Later on, if wished so, those anointed boys and girls might choose to serve the sanctuary at an older age.
On that particular morning of spring, in celebration of the sacred, the burning incense blended its scent and fumes with the candle lights inside the Temple of Adonis. Elated, Mnesarchus and Parthenis stepped in with deference and walked to the altar. Pythagoras, now one year young, cuddled in the arms of his father. On both sides of the aisle, twenty priests, clothed in white robes with hoods, sleeves and belts of blue color, bowed their heads in respect. Their hoods covered most of their faces. Their grave voices chanted to the god Adonis some hymns that resounded all over the sacred place.
The ritual was about to start.
Reaching the altar, Mnesarchus handed over his son to Parthenis, and they both turned to face the High Priest in expectation. Splendid in a white robe, he wore a golden cone hat on his head. He raised in a long moment of reverence the golden cup of wine in one hand and the piece of bread in the other.
“Elim Shalam Likum,” he greeted them, paused for a moment of profound meditation to invoke the spirit of El upon him, then, addressed baby Pythagoras solemnly, “In the name of El, the Most High God, and in the power bestowed in me, I, Man-Ka-El, declare you blessed, my son, now and forever.”
At that, he placed the wine and bread down on the altar and bowed in prayers for the manifestation of the mysterious moment of unification. He brought together the wine and the bread inside the sacred cup[11] then drank and gave to the parents and the child of prophecy to drink.
Only then did Parthenis lower her son on his feet slowly and with caution. Under the proud looks of the father, and the tearful eyes of the mother, Pythagoras took his initial steps and made his foremost walk into his destiny.
* * *
Pythagoras grew up into a handsome and gentle child. Before he reached his seventh year of age, he started to accompany his father to the small isle of Samos where they owned a residence. Facing the city of Miletus on the Aegean Sea, Samos comprised the heartbeat of the Ionian culture and luxury, and stood out for its excellent wine and fine red pottery. With its strategic navigation location, Samos ensued as one of the most important commercial centers of all Greece. It imported textiles from inner Asia Minor and developed an extensive oversea trade.
However, such wealth and prosperity did not withstand when a great famine ravaged the island. Eager to assist, Mnesarchus strove to bring in major corn supplies that eased down the predicament on the islanders. In appreciation of his humanitarian support, the authorities granted him citizenship when the isle recuperated some semblance of a normal life. Eventually, Pythagoras became a citizen of Samos. The majority in the isle called him the long-haired Samian but most people knew him as the son of Mnesarchus, the Phoenician trader.
Even as a child, Pythagoras, with his alerted demeanor and brilliant eyes, reflected an acute intellectual curiosity. During a sea voyage to Greece, Pythagoras, only seven years young back then, stood with his father on board. His curious eyes wondered at the vast ocean. Mnesarchus held his small hand tightly and observed him discreetly.
Like his mother before him, the strangeness of the sea seemed to fascinate him in a paradoxical sensation of dread and calmness. When the shadows of the night gloomed over, he drew closer to his father. Ignoring the lit torches around, his instinct impelled his attention to the source of light in the sky. Riveted on the stars, his eyes expressed puzzlement.
He lifted his hand as if to touch them, frowned, then pointed his index at the sky and asked candidly, “Father? What are these shiny little things?”
“We call them stars, son. Phoenician sailors rely very much on them to navigate ships like this one. A group of stars are called a constellation. Can you see this group of shiny points?” He pointed at that direction.
“Yes,” he dragged his answer in wait for more.
“These are the Stars of the Chariot…”
“Stars!” Pythagoras snapped, impeding his father to continue his explanation. “Stars look very nice, father,” he commented with a grin. “But, I want to know what they really are. What they are made of. You understand, Father? I want to know their nature, and why they shine so beautifully at night. Do you know why, father?”
Mnesarchus gawked at his son in awe and went speechless for a while. He then scrutinized the stars in a new perspective, wondering about their nature for the first time in his life.
“Well, father?” Pythagoras insisted, pulling him by the sleeve to draw his attention back to him.
Mnesarchus stared back at him, his eyebrows lifted with a mixed feeling of amusement and embarrassment. The fact was that his well-known education did not include Astronomy. Then, his work and travels had never granted him much time to tackle such studies. To his knowledge, only two people could answer such a question; Thales and Pherecydes! Maybe, if his son prevailed in such direction, he might find him good tutors to help him delve into that mysterious world.
“Honestly, son, I don’t really know what to tell you,” he finally answered. “But don’t you worry. Your uncle Pherecydes and our friend Thales could educate you in this matter in due course.”
His curious child gave him a hopeful grin and his eyes brightened in expectation. Luckily, he did not insist further that night.
Yet, Mnesarchus guessed that this incident might ensue as the start of many quests to come. His son had just given him a flicker of the ingenious mind that would probably develop and expand with age. Mnesarchus witnessed the dim glimmer of an aura evolving out of the inner realm of his child.
Such sagacity needed nurturing, thus the loving parents never objected to any of his educational endeavors. On the contrary, they highly encouraged their son by cultivating this spirit in him in all the ways and by all the means they could afford. His father initiated him on ships, trades, and the geography of the Mediterranean Sea. Pythagoras proved enthusiastic interest in all these matters, except for trading.
At fourteen, he convened a few times with Pherecydes who strove to protect the sacred prophecy. At a later stage, his uncle afforded him several encounters with some of his erudite friends. Pythagoras impressed them all with his modest attitude, his serene voice and his words full of wisdom. In time, he succeeded in surpassing all the other young disciples in the comprehension of the divine wisdom.
* * *
Pythagoras lived through the blessing of brotherhood when his parents brought to life two more sons. When he turned eighteen, he experienced the acute grief of losing his father. Peaceful and painless, death snatched Mnesarchus in his sleep while far from his homeland.
The sad news hit Saydoun with deep sorrow. Heartbroken, Parthenis wailed and sobbed in excruciating pain over the loss of her husband. Her two other sons[12] wept loudly. Pythagoras, however, shed but silent tears.
Abiding to the will of Mnesarchus, the family undertook to bury his body in Sur, his homeland, there where his Ancestors rested. Thus, his last navigation ever, took him on a journey, for a week, towards his last dwelling.
A profound sadness reigned over the funeral ceremony. Pythagoras froze in coldness when the inert body of his beloved father was placed inside a white marble sarcophagus. The priests covered the leaden face with a golden mask. Several villagers approached the coffin then to lower it inside a deep crypt in the earth. A moment of deferential farewell impelled them into stillness before they pulled over the white marble stele. The final habitat of Mnesarchus embraced him forever.
Pythagoras closed his eyes tightly then opened them to read on the marble above the burial the name of his departed father. The Phoenician inscription marked also some words of tribute, “Mnesarchus, the notorious wealthy trader”. On top of the marble, a fine sculpture of Mnesarchus stood to remain there for the posterity.
The authorities of Sur presented their final tributes to Mnesarchus. As in a horrible nightmare, Parthenis heeded their speeches. Such tragic moments brought her crashing down to her knees in lamentation. Her head between her hands and her moans unrelenting, she deplored the loss of her beloved. Her sons surrounded her to bestow on her some comfort. Yet, at that dark time of great grief, nothing could console her.
How would she?!
How would she ever cope without Mnesarchus at her side? She missed him already! Memories of their moments together flashed in her mind; scenes of love, scenes of laughter and scenes of support and care. Her body trembled, the cold of despair numbed her hands, the air seemed to lack in her lungs, and something hard and heavy caught her by the throat. In an instinct of survival, her head snapped up as she strove to breathe.
As if sensing her internal misery, Pythagoras grabbed her by the forearms, lifted her to him and enfolded her tightly in his arms. He caressed her hair and murmured soothing words of comfort. A kind of peace invaded her. Calmness subdued her into a state of total numbness despite the loud weeping of the friends and family around her.
Mnesarchus, the loving father and husband would be certainly missed, but so would the caring friend and the supportive neighbor that he had always been to everyone.
On Parthenis befell now the heavy burden of raising her three sons all by herself. Yet, she knew that, for being the eldest son, Pythagoras would have to assume the major part of the family responsibilities, notwithstanding the vacancy left by his father.
The gentle voice of the Priest of Baal-Melkart broke through her apathy, “This stele represents Beth-El, the House of God. It stands in watch over the dead body of our beloved Mnesarchus while leading his spirit through its final journey. In truth, my fair lady and dear people, take comfort in the fact that death is only a passage into another stage of existence.”
At that sentence of conclusion, Pythagoras stiffened as in alert. Parthenis felt it and a particular thought brought her tears back. Mnesarchus would have commented that such a strong statement would dwell in the acute intellect of their son for as long as it would take him to find his own answer.
Mnesarchus! Her heart screamed in ache. Her vision blurred and she felt uncannily feathery as she drooped into vacuity.
* * *
Grief would not wane with the months that followed. Yet, her pledge to her husband concerning Pythagoras kept her moving on with more determination than ever. She visited Ionia and Phoenicia for the appropriate experts who could lead her son all through his primary formation. Her efforts ensued successful as they agreed to grant Pythagoras access to the writings of the most significant issues of life.
Hermodamas, the nephew of Creophylos of Samos, taught him music, poetry and the Homeric epics; both the Iliad and the Odyssey. These various subjects of interest constituted important and preliminary studies into the sacred knowledge.
That was but the beginning of the cultivation of his educational zest.
Parthenis never ceased to provide him with all the requirements for him to quench his thirst in the pursuit of wisdom.
* * *
The early sunrays spread smoothly over the land of Ancient Loubnan. Dusk faded and silence waned at the melody of the birds praising the glory of sunrise. They, among themselves, could only understand the hidden expressions of their musical communication.
Pythagoras heeded them in his sleep. He woke up to their call and rushed out in response. Somehow, he fathomed the code of the secret chants of these creatures of the air. He observed their quick fly from a tree to another and then up towards the realm of the sky. With his extraordinary sensitivity, he deciphered their songs as a message of freedom.
He beamed with joy then began to whistle, driven by an instinct, an unconscious behavior, not to imitate them, but to reach such state of unfeasible freedom. Wings he had none, he sneered at himself and headed to the fields that stretched out in front of him. Sauntering north now, he entered Bustan el-Sheikh, the Garden of the Sheikh. Fragrance of orange fruits flooded the atmosphere. The drone of the cascading river resounded from nearby the majestic Temple of Eshmun[13].
He halted in a moment of hesitation then decided to enter the sanctuary. He stepped inside in time to witness the scene of a curative ceremony that a minister performed on a sick child. On the wall, behind the Priest, a golden plate illustrated the engraved image of Eshmun; the god of healing. He appeared standing with all his glory, holding in his hand a scepter entwined by a red serpent.
Pythagoras observed the parents of the child with some emotion. They seemed to believe that the god would soon cure their son. The father carried his offering of gratitude; a statue of marble representing their sick child. The priest grabbed the infant gently by his tiny feet and immersed him in a pool of holy water, drawn from the sacred spring close by. He repeated the ritual immersion seven times then handed over the kid to his parents. The mother prompted a large towel around him to dry him up. The ritual ended there. To a grateful father and a hopeful mother, the priest announced that the divine medical art would take effect in the coming few days.
On their way out, the parents beamed with hope. Their expressions reflected appreciation and faith in their god Eshmun, the divine healer. The Saydounians had declared him as such after his many healing miracles.
Pythagoras smiled, sharing their optimism that their child would be freed from his disease. Yet this particular concept dwelled in his mind as he left the Temple. He halted in the shadow of an orange tree to meditate. He embraced the reality that what humans basically sought was total freedom from what weakened them. And so, some prayed to the one God, others prayed to the many gods. Yet, all prayed for their salvation.
How many yet would find salvation, remained a major question in his head. Would the sick baby make it? Pythagoras wished he could be of help. A sense of distress and discomfort engulfed him at realizing his incapacity. The feeling followed him all the way back home.
He entered the kitchen where his brothers had already started their mid day lunch.
His mother, her face in angst, exclaimed, “Goodness, Pythagoras, where have you been? You can’t possibly run out of the house so early in the morning without leaving a notice!”
“Good morning to you too, mother!” He greeted her teasingly, to calm her down.
“Pythagoras!” She admonished with a look meant to shame him, yet he knew that her anger was only based on her anxiety.
“I’m sorry, Mother.” He edged closer and kissed her cheek. “You’re right.” He grabbed her to him by the shoulders in a pleasant way and winked at his brothers.
But she would not let it go. “Where have you been all this time?”
“I went for a morning walk, Mother, and visited the temple of the healing god,” he said with an even tone and took his seat at the head of the table.
When he glanced again at her, he met the surprise in her eyes that hooked his for a while. A current of understanding passed between them, and she sighed. She of course knew him well enough now to comprehend his true nature. His spiritual curiosity and aspirations were nothing new to her.
They ate in silence for a while. Pensively, Pythagoras savored the warm stew of lamb meat and vegetables. His mother placed in front of him some steamed rice and green salad.
“In my childhood, mother… I was sick sometimes, wasn’t I?” He broke the silence, then paused, unsure on how to phrase his question.
“Well, yes, son, like all children do, here and there. Why do you ask?”
He fiddled with his napkin for a moment. “Did you ever take me to the temple and pledge to the god Eshmun to cure me?”
“Oh… No my dear! Your father never accepted such a thing. It’s not that he was not a believer, on the contrary. But, he always stated that these rituals were not certain. See, he would not jeopardize the health of any in our family. We once called in the best doctor in the country. That, I recall well.” Parthenis extended her hand to grab his, over the table, and smiled to him before declaring, “You were rarely sick anyway, son, and it was never dangerous.”
He smiled back in relief and his respect for her increased. In the silence of his heart, he thanked his late father for making the right decision on that particular matter.
While his mother cleared the table to set the dessert, he pondered over the sick baby in the temple. “Too bad, really…,” he murmured in a sad tone. “Those parents I saw at the temple today… I’m sure they didn’t have much of a choice.”
Parthenis halted with the plate of fruits in her hands. She looked at him with puzzled eyes. His brothers gawked in confusion and waited.
He sighed inwardly then explained, “I mean… they looked poor… don’t seem to have the financial capabilities to have their child treated by a doctor. Oh the irony of fate!” He added with fatality, his tone broken with emotion. Before he bent his head to hide his tearful eyes, he noted the seriousness in which his family stared at him. He kept silent…
* * *
Sunset colored the beach of Saydoun. Under a palm tree, Pythagoras delighted in the game of the sea waves and the music of his lyre. Having studied the science of music for some time now, Pythagoras became well versed in its use.
As per the legend, Hermes-Enoch had invented this musical instrument with four strings upon the four elements of Nature. It remained unknown who exactly added the fifth and the sixth strings. Terpandres of Lesbos, a Greek musician, introduced the seventh string at a later stage.
In the horizon, the orange solar disk grew bigger before fading bit by bit in the heart of the Mediterranean Sea. The musical rhythm of his lyre, soft and nostalgic, echoed in the silence of the falling night to bestow on him a tranquil sense of peace. He had acquired this habit of seeking shelter in his music when sadness troubled his heart. In Saydoun, he was known as the long-haired musician.
With the spread of darkness and the increase of the stars in the sky above, Pythagoras rested on his back to admire the beauty of the galaxy. He continued playing his music. Millions of tiny spots illuminated the Heavenly Matrix. They appeared boundless to him. Again, like always, he wondered about their nature, their age, and their movements; the answers still unknown to him; a dilemma in the world of forms.
Dreams invaded his imagination, passion filled his heart and peace seized his mind.
* * *
The first sunrays of the day caressed the surface of the sea at the Saydounian harbor. On the pier, Pythagoras hugged his tearful mother. He caressed her shoulders to sooth down in her the pain of their farewell. His heart ached in silence at her holding on to him one more time as if finding hard to let him go. They both knew that his trip would drag longer this time. They had discussed this all week, and she had assured him, sharing in his joy at sailing towards his inevitable fate. Yet, at facing the cruel reality of his departure, she revealed her distress. Pythagoras understood her very well.
“Don’t worry mother, I will be all right!” he reassured her in a cheerful tone. He could not say more. His eighteen years of youth still lacked the strength of the consoling words adults excelled in.
As if the words failed her also in her pain, she nodded. At this moment, he could swear hearing her heart murmuring, “I know that, my son…”
His brothers hugged him with affection. The youngest grabbed him tight, his small head on his chest. Touched, Pythagoras swallowed hard. He patted his back in a paternal way and brought to him his second brother by the shoulders. He would miss them also. His last words to them, before they broke apart, came out deep from inside his soul.
“Take good care of mother.”
He then gestured them to run behind her as she staggered back towards town, forcing her head up.
The moment they disappeared from his sight, Pythagoras boarded the ship, ready to sail towards the Aegean Sea. His destination was the isle of Syros, originally a Phoenician colony. Pythagoras had sent his uncle Pherecydes a message the previous month, informing him of his arrival. By now, his uncle would be expecting him with eagerness as he had urged him many times to come dwell in his abode and learn from his long years of experience and wisdom. Profoundly influenced by the Phoenician and Egyptian priests, Pherecydes became the aim of Pythagoras.
Reaching the beautiful domain of his uncle, a week later, he felt home right away at the warm welcome he received.
Pherecydes did not dawdle in initiating his role of tutor. Early the next day, as the sun rose, he invited Pythagoras for a walk amidst the exotic plants of the isle.
“Let me tell you, son, about the gods of Creation. Zan, or Zeus, is the Ether. Kronos is the Time, and Chthonie is the Earth-goddess. They are all immortal,” Pherecydes advanced his own theory on the creation of the universe and its evolution; a Cosmogony that Pythagoras was about to discover.
His eyes closed, Pherecydes continued, “Zan, the Creator, ornamented Chthonie, the Matter, with shapes, forms, proportions and images of the universe. Kronos, the Time, stood still and waited patiently until the creation occurred in him.”
“And how did the creation happen?”
“Ah! Good question. The creation of the universe ensued when Zan, the universal Eros, joined together all the opposites in the old matter. He formed as such a harmonious whole of existence.”
“Oh!” Pythagoras murmured his surprise, too subtle for his uncle to hear.
He suddenly sensed that this day, and actually his entire stay, would be a marvelous journey in the magnum opus of his uncle’s mind whose thoughts were in a way complex, yet remarkably simple; two different paths to the mysterious inquiry of the unknown.
Pherecydes, a believer in the immortality of the psyche, introduced him also to the ideology of reincarnation. Pythagoras, was astonished when his uncle informed him that he had recognized Aithalides, the son of Hermes, to be one of the former lives of his nephew: him Pythagoras! Accordingly, Pherecydes awakened in him the memory of his past life, and stimulated his own anamnesis. He, as such, granted him the power to recollect the cognition and consciousness of his previous lives.
The wise man strongly advised him to benefit from the caves around the domain to dwell sometime like a hermit. Caves, his uncle explained, constituted receptacles for those who sought illumination and aspired to awaken the divine within themselves.
Weeks passed from his initiation and Pythagoras walked the path of knowledge more at ease. Day after day, he connected deeper and deeper with his inner thoughts. Bit by bit, he discovered the essential steps that would enable him to control their revolving process within his active mind. Maybe, after all, that was the preliminary phase of every student wishing to penetrate the world of Sophia.
On a young clear night, he sagged on a wooden bank at the terrace to enjoy his lyre. He closed his eyes for a moment to absorb the profound notes that echoed in the stillness of space. Yet, nothing was ever still; Pythagoras recognized. Everything moved harmoniously to transform all forms and images in the wide space around him.
In his transcendental state of mind, Pythagoras remembered his father and the game of his fingers on the Lyre, refined to gentleness. He improvised tones that expressed his nostalgia for his late father. The velvety softness turned melancholic. He truly missed him.
He ignored when and how Pherecydes came to be seated at his side. His uncle did not interrupt him. He just sat and absorbed the improvisation of the notes that talked of longing and love.
“What do you think happens when people die?” Pythagoras finally asked him through the sound of his music.
Pherecydes seemed to understand, his eyes sympathetic in his for a while, before turning his attention to the Mediterranean Sea ahead.
“The moment of Death in this world is the moment of Birth in another existence that we cannot perceive by our senses. Yet it does exist in its own way, and in its own reality. The soul is immortal, son.”
Pythagoras breathed, deeply in, the statement that succeeded in appeasing his angst at the fate of his father. Yet, the concept of immortality sprouted in his mind; key-words that unleashed his imagination once again into a world of unknown probabilities.
A world that exists in its own way and in its own reality, Pythagoras murmured in the stillness of time.
In fact, the concept of death and rebirth set his mind free from the barriers of the flesh and into a profound state of reflection.
* * *
Early in the morning, after almost seventeen months, Pythagoras sailed to Miletus; a coastal city of Asia Minor to meet with Thales in his residence. A wise among the wise men of Athens, Thales stood out as a renowned figure all around the Mediterranean world. His teaching method has influenced many people, including Pherecydes.
A poised and composed character by nature, Thales welcomed Pythagoras with a warmness that was rare to him. He willingly accepted him as a student and introduced him to his selective circle.
The rumor spread fast that Thales had adopted a new student possessing a great light in his being. That young man dressed in purple, the Phoenician of uncommon acuteness, was therefore well received by all.
In the few days that followed, Pythagoras never stopped shuffling ideas and thoughts on the creation of the universe as per the theory of Pherecydes. Moreover, the concept of death and its hidden secret puzzled him to a large extent. Life and death became his major concern.
Alone with his thoughts at sunset, he found shelter in the coolness of the shadow of a big Cypress tree. His Lyre subjected to the skilful game of his dexterous fingers. He relaxed with the intention of dismissing, for a while, the absorbing analytical world of late. At this moment, he needed to reach a serene frame of mind, and access the more complaisant and blithering place that was for him the world of music. That stance represented his method of meditation; a kind of soul therapy.
Dusk descended on him then the evening reigned, yet he remained in his calm state of meditation. When the moon grew bigger in its ascent, he slackened down on his back to admire the galaxy. Without stopping his play, he turned his face sideway to the view of the Aegean Sea. The crystalline water of the sea reflected in beauty the mysterious lights of the heavenly bodies above.
It was then that he heard the slow footsteps of Thales. He glanced back without stopping his music. Apparently respectful of the magical melody, Thales remained silent as he slouched under a cypress tree behind him.
Pythagoras pivoted his attention back to the sea and to the game of glitters the stars reflected on the surface. He observed their beauty in the sky. “What could be the essence behind all of what my eyes see?” He wondered out loud.
“Eternal Water[14],” Thales, with his clear, yet irregular, voice answered. “Eternal water is the essence of what we see of matter all around us.”
“Water!?” Astonished, Pythagoras lifted his weight on his elbow to look backward at his tutor.
“Yes, Pythagoras. The whole universe is a living being nourished by the exhalations of water.”
“Oh! And what has made you reach such a bizarre concept?” he probed curiously.
“To be truthful to you, dear Pythagoras, I have never invoked the gods, or even sought supernatural answers for my queries. My long observation of nature made me discern the importance of water and its great role in the existence of all matters and life. Hence my realization that everything is ultimately made of water.”
Pythagoras frowned in deep thoughts. He engrossed in analyzing the probability of such a mind-blowing theory. If this is true, then there is something not quite proper… He pondered.
His lips tightened on a particular contemplation. He shook his head in forethought, and deepened in his assessment for a while before revealing his comment to his teacher.
“I must say that I agree with you on the prime necessity of water in nature and, eventually, in life. However, I find it hard to believe that water could be at the essence of everything living all around me,” Pythagoras argued, challenging the wise man. “There must be something more energetic, more sublime than water!”
Apparently incited by the sharp argument of his student, Thales stood up as quickly as his old body would allow him and hastened his heavy steps to edge closer to him. Their eyes met as swords would do; Thales squared him down while Pythagoras defied his master for a more convincing answer.
“To the ignorant, water is just water!” Thales snapped between his teeth. “But, to you Pythagoras, because you have dared probing for more, water is an allegory of the primeval spirit!”
Pythagoras widened his eyes.
Thales diverted his to the darkness of the sea to continue his explanation with an amazing calmness, “Everything that exists and pulsates around you is in fact of psychic nature. There is a soul to the world; a Universal Soul!”
Pythagoras leaped to his feet speechless, yet he faced but the back of his Master disappearing in the shadows of the trees.
He turned slowly towards the sea then closed his eyes to allow his spirit to immerse in the sound of the waves. He smiled as he finally realized the mode of thinking of Thales.
In fact, the wise man was probably one of the very few who had dared to declare a one-essence for the whole existence; a unity of the phenomenal world!
During the few months that passed, Thales continued creating great impressions in the mind of his student. He taught him how to be moderate and in control of his thoughts and feelings, the way he helped him in replacing superstition with reason and logic. Thales, in fact, held the merits of bringing into the Greek world both Mathematics and Astronomy; sciences he had acquired in Egypt and the East.
He, Pythagoras, became very interested in both sciences; Astronomy being the evolved derivation of the most ancient science of Astrology.
In Miletus, he frequented classes which lectures could be of interest to his quest of knowledge. At the invitation of his Master, he attended once a discourse on Geometry, Astrology, and Cosmology given by Anaximander, one of the pupils of Thales. As per Anaximander, Earth was situated in the middle of the world. Very few of his ideas held much of significance to Pythagoras. Yet, he remained there for some time out of social respect, and maybe from some bit of curiosity on his side.
“In truth, there is no God who created the Universe,” Anaximander stated boldly that day. “I believe in the Infinite, the Unlimited and the Undetermined as the only real God. The whole Universe was never created and will never be destroyed. It is dead and blind!”
And that was the end of it for Pythagoras! He never attended a lecture again. He opted instead to focus on the teachings of Thales, whose depth and intelligence rooted in the True Science and thus, were of more interest to him. Thales deemed the Universe to be animated. In parallel, Pythagoras considered that the concept of a Universe being dynamic was more realistic and rational.
* * *
Five years went by with Pythagoras pursuing his assiduous initiation under the dedication of Pherecydes and Thales. However, his thirst for more knowledge would not find its satisfaction. He felt that many of his questions remained imminent.
Time had come for him to leave.
A couple of days before his departure, on a sunny midday, he convened with Thales in the open yard of their residence. There, seated on a wooden bench, the birds twittering around, they held their last private meeting. Flowers of all kinds and scents enhanced the beauty of the Cypress and olive trees that surrounded the domain.
Pythagoras sighed deeply at realizing that he would miss this favorite spot of his. He glanced at his Master and asked, “What is, in your opinion, the most difficult thing in life?”
Thales answered without hesitation, “To know thyself!”
Pythagoras nodded, pensive for a while, then put forward, “What is the wisest thing then?”
“Time, son,” came the calm reply of the Master.
“Time…” Pythagoras murmured.
“Right!” Thales confirmed along with a nod of his head. “See, Time in truth, discovers everything, and the wisest feats a man could do in his life is to control it.”
“I see,” Pythagoras muttered, admiring the depth of his wisdom. “It makes sense, really. And, in your opinion, what could be the fastest thing in life?”
“It is the Spirit, for it runs in all directions. It is everywhere!”
There was silence for few seconds.
A time to meditate…
And the most pertinent question ensued a moment later, “What is God? Who is God?”
“God, my son, is what has no beginning and no end; the Most Ancient,” the voice of his Master, as his answer, came composed and confident.
Silence prevailed again. Pythagoras waited for one of the new students at the house of Thales to serve their tea and leave before resuming his questions.
“I was wondering Master, what could be the most beautiful thing in your point of view.”
“The world, for sure!”
“The world? Why is that?” Pythagoras stared at him in puzzlement. He did not expect such an answer at all!
“The world, my son, the world! For it is the work of God!”
“I see…,” Pythagoras muttered as he pondered over the statement for a while then asked, “How about the biggest thing?”
“Certainly the Space for it contains the whole.”
Impressed, he stared at the wise man who glimpsed at him with a witty look. They both shared a smile of complicity as if Thales understood what the eyes of his student conveyed of high regard.
“Go ahead, continue!”
“They are a few more,” he warned him with a grin.
“I can handle them,” Thales snapped in good humor.
“I bet you can!” Pythagoras replied and burst out laughing, joined instantly by his Master.
“Okay, then. Here goes the next: What is the most powerful thing in this world?”
“It is the will of necessity, because it comes always at the beginning of everything desired.”
“Everything desired! What do you mean by that?” Pythagoras frowned, totally confused.
“There is nothing in the world that is not for man to look at, to enjoy, to feel, to grasp… everything you see is desired, whether consciously or unconsciously, because everything in the world is beautiful for it is the work of God.” Thales explained with joy in his mind, his eyes brightened. “Only by the power of will, of necessity to have what your heart and spirit desire, that you achieve what you want.”
Silence reigned once more, and once again, Pythagoras plunged in deep thoughts. He could not just stop now, his curiosity grew bigger and bigger at the outstanding words of his Master.
“What is death?”
“Death is not any different from life, Pythagoras. They are the same.”
Thales waited apparently for the next question but Pythagoras needed to mull over such concept of similarity.
“Any more questions?” The Master tempted him.
“Yes, actually, just a couple more. How can people reach a point in which they can live a life of justice and respect?”
“Hmmm…, well… Let’s say this utopia could only be attained when we all stop doing what we blame others for!”
Pythagoras waited for him to sip his tea and advanced his next question. “What is the easiest thing?”
Thales chuckled then and stood up. He gazed at him with a witty sparkle in his eyes. “The easiest thing, young man, is to give advice to others! And I advise you to return to Phoenicia and then head to Egypt. There, you will certainly learn more about the deepest meanings of life.”
At that, Thales walked away without a look back.
Pythagoras deemed that somehow his pace became slothful, the curve of his back more accentuated and his hand trembled more than usual on his wand.
So long, Master… Pythagoras murmured, his heart aching. I shall miss you too…
* * *
And so, on a night lit by a full moon, Pythagoras left Miletus, sailing to Samos, his second country. At the time, the Lydian king Croesus ruled all the towns of Asia Minor, including Samos. The Great Persian King, Cyrus II, defeated and killed Croesus and seized all the towns under his Achaemenid Empire. History marked the time around 547 BCE when his Persian general Harpagus imposed his control on almost all the Greek-Ionian towns. Consequently, the political situation in the rest of the Greek world changed in a significant way.
When Pythagoras reached Samos, turmoil still prevailed. He worried that the inherent tension caused by the Persian rapid control would be an impediment to his studies. Without hesitation, he decided to follow the advice of Thales at once and pursue his quest for knowledge in Phoenica and Egypt.
On the third day, he embarked on a Phoenician ship in destination to Phoenicia. The sun lowered in the horizon when the ship moved away from the isle. Standing on the deck, his hand on the rail, Pythagoras reflected on the education acquired in the past five years. He acknowledged that all these intellectual acquisitions constituted only a simple introduction into a world of a different nature; a world that only a few people would dare to approach.
Through the previous ages, many had tried to venture into the deep secrets of knowledge and failed to persevere on that mysterious path. The reason could only be the fear that confined humans in the realm of illusion of a world created only by their weak minds. Such limitation could only yield to them the familiar and the complacent of what their aptitude could be; simply dormant minds.
On board, Pythagoras continued his meditation. The breeze wafted to him the freshness of the ocean air and its distinctive smell. Droplets of water sparkled on his face. He leant his elbows on the banister to gaze at the mysterious depth of the ocean.
To know thyself… was the most difficult thing in life. He remembered that answer by Thales.
“Man, know thyself... You will know the secrets of the Universe and the gods”. He recalled the words of his mother; wisdom inscribed at the temple of Apollo in Delphi.
“Man, know thyself... You will know the secrets of the Universe and the gods”, he repeated out loud.
Through his diverse readings of late, Pythagoras had discovered that such wisdom, first taught by Enoch-Hermes-Tautus, the father of wisdom, was basic to the mysteries of Egypt, Canaan-Phoenicia, India, and Babylon. Pythagoras craved to know himself as the rare Initiates had done before him.
However, the path towards such achievement would ensue difficult to undertake as it required from the seeker both the will and the faith. Pythagoras harbored no doubt in his mind that to reach such a marvelous goal, he should fully commit himself.
He admitted to himself that his previous studies in Poetry, Music, and Cosmogony, as well as in Geometry, Astronomy, Astrology and Theology had revealed to him nothing more than an alluring glimpse of the Reality he sought.
Many questions hustled and bustled in his hungry mind while his eyes browsed the vast sea and the ship moved forward.
How does the phenomenal world function? What is the essence of the realms of consciousness and unconsciousness? How could we direct our vital energy? How could one indulge in the dimension of the spirit and the psyche?
The answers to such queries, he deemed, lurked simply between the lines of his completed studies. They were riddles that could be solved. He grasped the certainty that he would have to walk the path of Hokmah, Wisdom, and remained totally awakened and aware of its sagacity.
He lifted his eyes to the sky and breathed in deeply with a sense of relief. Right! Once I gain that infinite knowledge, once I know myself, I shall know the secrets of the gods and the universe!
He smiled in defiance…