.3.
The trip from the city of Miletus towards the Phoenician land was uneventful, yet filled with hopes and aspirations for Pythagoras. All the way along the Mediterranean Sea, he recalled with fondness the past five years he had spent in the Ionian Isles, seeking education with great teachers.
When the ship approached the port of Saydoun, a few days later, he inhaled deeply the smell of his Ancestors in the blend of aromas drifting to him from the shore. Only then did he realize the real extent of his ache towards his country of origin. He has missed it indeed! His longing turned to trepidation when a few minutes later, the ship slowed down at the proximity of the shore, and made a smooth maneuvering towards the ancient long pier. The active mood, sound and smell of the busiest harbor of all time in the Mediterranean world blasted him. His heartbeat precipitated and grabbed him by the throat.
The ship finally docked.
At this breathtaking moment, Pythagoras disembarked with quick steps. The instant he touched the firm land of his Ancestors, he went down on his knees, laid his trembling hands on the soft sand to sense its ancient power, and, with loving deference, bent to kiss the ground. Home! His heart rejoiced. He grabbed sands in his hands, and stood back on his feet, gazing far towards the city with eyes blurred with tears.
Shouts on the pier brought him back to his senses. He grinned at the scenes that animated the port around him. Families received their beloved. Porters rushed to potential clients. Sailors bustled on their final tasks. Buyers dashed to merchants who showed off their newly imported products with grand smiles.
The July afternoon sun blasted in full, and Pythagoras decided to hit the road home without further ado. His luggage could wait for tomorrow. The ship would not sail soon and the captain had agreed to keep them on board until the next day.
Reaching the Souk, Pythagoras meandered through its narrow roads. Memories of his father gushed at him. He could almost see him again around the market selling his products, discussing prices, laughing with his peers. Pythagoras remembered watching him with the pride of a child, as he traded between Loubnan and Greece. Suddenly, a tear blistered in the corner of his eye…
“We have fine pieces of glass! We have pottery, too!” A merchant called out in a rhythmic tone that resembled the tempo of a kind of song he seemed to recall enjoying.
Pythagoras snatched his thoughts away from his memories and forced himself back into the present.
“We have Royal Purple! The Robe of Life!” A call propounded in a dexterous rhythm, similar to the previous. The voices of the sellers on all sides formed together a spontaneous musical concert.
Pythagoras chuckled in glee and, in the silence of his heart, wished prosperity and success for all of his countrymen.
In a light spirit, he left the souk, heading North through a paved alley of flowery shrubs and cypress trees. He hastened his steps towards the residential area twenty miles farther ahead. Emotion slowed him down upon nearing his parent’s house. His heart beat faster. He felt like laughing out loud. His eyes blurred. Home again!
The door flew opened before he even knocked. In the blink of an eye, the form of a woman, who might have seen him from the window, dashed for him, grabbed him tightly, wept words of love, hailed words of greeting and praised God El for his safety. The soft voice of his childhood, to which he had first awakened to this life, engulfed him in its motherly love. He, the grown up man, the scholar of wise men, the learner of self-control, regressed to the state of infancy as both mother and son lived the compelling emotion of their reunion.
“Mother…,” he finally managed to murmur and, grabbing her by the forearms, he gently pushed her away to look at her face. Her mid-fifties did not alter her beauty whatsoever, on the contrary!
“Son! My beloved son!” She repeated again and again, as if the intensity of the moment impeded her to utter any more than these words. Her eyes, bright with tears and joy studied his. Her trembling hands seized his face, shaped his features and caressed his cheeks.
Pythagoras feared the emotion would be too strong for her to handle. He cleared his throat twice to urge her softly, “Let’s go inside, mother.”
His arm enfolded her shoulders and he led her inside and straight to the couch. He sat at her side, holding her hands, and smiling at her with affection.
“No luggage?” She suddenly blurted out fearfully. “You are not coming to stay?”
“Of course I am, mother!” he rushed to ease down her rising anxiety. “I was in a rush to see you so I left them in the ship for tomorrow.” He brought her hands to his lips and kissed them with loving respect.
She smiled brightly, yet her tears would not dry on her face. “My beloved son… almost five years…,” she murmured with some trouble. “You know? Time has been slow, too slow… waiting for you. I counted the days, the weeks, the months. The years slipped away one after the other…,” Parthenis related, in those few words, all the anxiety she had lived in his absence.
“I’m sorry, mother, to have put you through this,” he apologized with sincerity. “I missed you too, but time is wise, I tell you. No matter how or for how long it runs, it always carries along new and great discoveries.”
Parthenis froze in awe and scrutinized him with curiosity. He inwardly smiled at her patent realization that her son belonged now to a circle of a different nature.
The circle of a new life that propels, in neither slow nor fast rhythms, but in that of a single beat; articulates words of tranquility, peace, and wisdom.
“May the God El bless you always my son,” she said after a while. “I have prayed every day that He may protect you and guide you in your expedition. Now, I know that your journey was really blessed,” she ascertained with finality.
Pythagoras smiled at the hint of pride in her statement, yet restrained from any comment.
Silence prevailed for some time, each in their deep thoughts.
“Mother, where are my brothers?” he finally asked in a murmur, trying to keep his eyes opened.
“They are still at the Souk…,” she answered, turning to him.
And before sleep enfolded him in its restful realm, he perceived the soft voice whispering tenderly, “Welcome home, son.”
* * *
Early the next day, Pythagoras woke up with renewed energy. The delicious aroma of local cakes and fresh milk wafted to his room from the backyard. He sprinted to the window and glanced at his brothers settled at the breakfast table. He had truly missed those delicious cakes of his mother. He hurried to put on his tunic with a beam of anticipation. Home again!
He rushed out of his room and to the garden, eager to meet his brothers again. Less emotional than his reunion with his mother the previous day, this reencounter with his brothers was nevertheless impelled by cheers and warm greetings. They had indeed grown up, these beloved brothers of his, to be able to control their tears of joy and endorse a merry attitude!
Reunited again, the family sat around their meal. Before they took their breakfast, they saluted the soul of their father, who rested in peace in the abode of the Eternal.
They soon became engrossed in catching up on the years they had missed in each other’s lives. Thus, Pythagoras came to know, with pleasure, that both his siblings excelled at their careers, one as a trader and the other as an artisan. Parthenis, meanwhile, seemed to delight in every moment of her family get-together.
“How is your uncle, Pythagoras?” she finally managed to inquire.
“The wise Pherecydes, dear mother, is getting wiser, day by day!” He replied in good humor. “He is truly close, so close, yet….” His words remained suspended in the air. He wondered how to explain to her his deep perception on a matter that was beyond her understanding. He then smiled at her and said, “He is fine, mother.”
His brothers stood up then, to start their working day. By turns, they tapped him on the back in a friendly manner, leaned to kiss their mother on the cheek and left with their good wishes for a good day to all.
Alone now with his mother, Pythagoras conveyed to her his intentions to pursue his quest for knowledge and wisdom in the educational centers and the temples of his homeland. She demonstrated enthusiasm in encouraging him and her blatant faith in him touched him deeply, so did the adoring smile she granted him in return. No more than a few days afterwards, Pythagoras undertook a dedicatory journey to Sur to visit the grave of his father; his first instructor. Facing the marble headstone with the memorial sculpture of his father, that afternoon, he read in a whisper: “Mnesarchus, the notorious wealthy trader.”
Tears betrayed his self-control. He swallowed hard, inhaled deeply and lifted his face to the sky, striving to master his emotions as Thales had taught him. Recalling his Master did him well. The memory of their discussion on the concept of death flashed in his mind, and so did those words of wisdom.
He glanced around the graveyard of his Ancestors and murmured, “Such is life, after all. Every instant some people die, and some are born. It is a never-ending cycle that would definitely reach - if there is truly an end - a state of transformation!”
He deposited some flowers on the tomb and remained bent, in his prayers. Before he stood up to leave, he murmured softly into the sweeping breeze, “Father… may the God El, the Most High, bless your soul. Rest in peace.”
Heading out, he stopped for a moment at the gate and turned a last look at the cemetery. Deep in thoughts and prayers, his mind spoke to his aching heart.
Life and Death…
What a strange phenomenon indeed!
It utterly controls our mundane existence.
Although life and death are one against the other, both are inseparable and inevitable.
With a lighter heart and a new wisdom, he climbed into the horse-carriage after ordering the rider to head back to Saydoun. His plans awaited him in his hometown and he was keen to proceed.
* * *
Saydoun stood out as one of the most famous Phoenician cities at the time. Aside from the fishermen who lived and prospered in that coastal city, fishers of men emerged from the region, taught the nation and spread around. Henceforth, the coastal city became an educational center sought by many of those in quest of a deeper knowledge of life. From Saydoun, also surged exceptional men, like Mochus, born not long before Pythagoras; a Kabir[15] of Canaan-Phoenicia; the land of civilized humanity.
A physicist and a teacher of the science of Anatomy, Mochus had shone for his scientific skills and profound insight on Sophia, or wisdom. His reputation extended throughout the Mediterranean world. While most people indulged in believing superstitions, Mochus had adopted reason and calculation. He had discovered the particle of matter that could be decomposed and called it the Tom[16]. In consequence, he came to be the first person ever to theorize on the existence of the particle.
The Tom is decomposable, Mochus had taught in his theory.
Highly impressed, Pythagoras pondered over the cerebral ability of Mochus that had brought him to discover such a decomposition.
He must have been a genius!
Apart from his close circle of students, Mochus had kept the method concealed. However, such a great discovery could not remain padlocked for long and it had started to spread recently.
Pythagoras first learned about Mochus and his school from Pherecydes and Thales. Unfortunately, Mochus[17] was long since dead when Pythagoras started his earliest quests for knowledge. Thus, upon his return to Saydoun, he joined the descendents of Mochus who initiated him for months in the sacred teachings. As such, Pythagoras came to learn the theory of the Tom, known also as the First Essence, and defined as the primary principal of the total existence of the whole universe. These teachings also included studies in Cosmogony, Physics and the Science of Anatomy. He, in reality, opened his mind to the internal and external body organs. He learned how they functioned, and how the whole body acted as a cosmic element. In short, he came to meet with the Microcosm that he was.
During a lecture that Pythagoras attended at a major educational center of Saydoun, he heeded the wise masters with their long beard and capes. That day, they narrated the story of a great Priest-King. A descendant of Saydoun, the founder of the city, his name was Melchisedeck.
“Melki-Sedek was a Kabir in the Land of Canaan,” one of the wise men declared. “The fact that he was such an extraordinary and righteous man created a legend around him stating that he had no father and no mother.”
“He was a High Priest, probably the first High Priest of our God the Most High, Al-Elyon,” another wise man stepped in. “Being a Kabir, he is said to have also initiated Abra-om[18] the Aramean into our Phoenician religion of Love and Peace.”
The eldest sage declared then, “In the name of the God AL, Melki-Sedek performed the most sacred ritual of all times, that of the Bread and Wine. He reigned powerfully over Ur-Shalim as a King-Priest of Peace!”
Fascinated, Pythagoras pledged inwardly not to miss any of these lectures. Thus, with every conference attended and newer information acquired, he delighted more and more on the topics tackled.
That particular day, the sages related how, some few hundred years ago the Saydonian priests had developed the primitive musical forms into what would come to be called the Sacred Music. Eventually, it became one of the most essential ingredients in holy ceremonies and religious rituals.
“Music! Why music? We often ask ourselves. How does it affect us?” One of the masters proposed. “Does anyone in this group know?”
At the silent response of the group of students, Pythagoras decided to advance his personal concept. Confident and poised, he stated his thoughts.
“Music enters the heart to awaken our deepest and noblest emotions. It refines our mind and calms down our restless and fierce desires. Consequently it releases the spirit into a world of a higher nature.”
Silence grabbed the audience in awe.
The sages gawked at his direction for a while before they reacted at once.
“Impressive!
“Beautifully said indeed!”
“Absolutely true!”
Murmurs ensued from the audience of students.
In fact, the sacred teachings in Temples and educational centers had integrated music in their curriculum long before Pythagoras was born. However, no one in that classroom had seemed to comprehend or know the exact essence of music better than him.
The eldest wise man stepped forward and asked him, “What is your name, young man?”
“I am Pythagoras, a pilgrim and seeker of Truth.”
The eyes of the sage warmed and brightened. A hint of a smile appeared under his white thick moustache. His peers nodded in approval. Students, however, glared at him with mixed feelings apparent in their eyes riveted at him; puzzlement, awe, and envy. They seemed confused.
“Well, Pythagoras,” the eldest priest addressed him with his creaky voice. “In your case, I strongly recommend that you continue your pilgrimage in the Temple of Eshmun. Let the God Al be with you, my son!”
At the mention of that temple, Pythagoras visualized at once the healing ceremony he had witnessed before his departure to the Ionian Isles. With that image, surged the sadness he had experienced at his incapability to help; a feeling whose impact continued to affect him to date; thus, his reluctance to seek the sanctuary. However, the wisdom he had acquired with Thales and Pherecydes impelled him to grab another opportunity to fathom the secret of the healing god of his Ancestors.
Therefore, Sofia took him, a few days later, to the Temple of Eshmun. There, he met with the newly elected High Priest. Had he been a commoner, he never could have benefited from such a privilege. However, Pythagoras, a true seeker of Truth, treaded the path towards enlightenment. Thus, in the privacy of his chamber, the High Priest convened with him. They tackled, in an insightful way, the science of Therapeutic healing.
“The water in the pool where children are placed is naught but an accelerator of the healing process,” the High Priest revealed. “Water, my son, is a very pure element of Nature. It does not only wash out all the dirt from the body, but it also allows a certain feeling of elation.”
Surprised, Pythagoras muttered, “Hmm… interesting.” He needed more explanation, “So, it is not the water that heals.”
“Not exactly, yet, it does work as a purifier,” the High Priest admitted and leaned closer to confide in a low voice. “Truth be told, my son, it is the will within me, Abdu-Eshmun, combined with the power of Theurgy that processes the healing.”
“If so, then, I could enjoy the same will!” Pythagoras thought out loud. Then, incited by excitement, he inquired, “How can I have the power of Theurgy?”
“With all due respect to the capability of your mind, Pythagoras, and to the great energy that radiates from you, I must say that it is not yet the time for you to have these powers. You are only a beginner, and, the road is way too long. Be patient!” His forthright words, stated so firmly, echoed mightily in the ears of Pythagoras.
His mind went on alert.
So it happened that Pythagoras made his primary steps into his Initiation, there in Saydoun, where he had come out of the darkness and into the light of life. Soon, he came to acknowledge that the more he tackled the sacred teachings, the more the road appeared endless.
How deep could he really fare into the secrets of religion, divinity and the universe was yet to be known. Still ahead, the great mysteries hidden beyond the phenomenal world, lingered, awaiting him.
* * *
A week later, Pythagoras sought the calm mood of the golden sandy shore of the city of Sur. There, under a palm tree, he found a haven where he retreated with his Lyre. Unconcerned by the sand that spattered on his comely purple robe, he delighted in the breeze that wafted through his long mane and caressed his face. A sense of peace engulfed him. He meditated on the mystical musical tones his lyre generated in the air and past the sea waves.
Sur, the rock, the birth place of his father, related somehow to the city of Gebel, the Sacred Land of El. They both constituted, from times immemorial, the cradles of the Society of Sacred Builders. Temples, castles and even houses, built all over the Phoenician coastal cities, carried the fingerprints of that secret society. And that included many of these constructions in the villages of the mountains.
Pythagoras had only recently come to know about them and wondered. The Secret Builders did not limit their exploits to the land in which their society blossomed, but had successfully extended all over the reachable and unreachable world.
While in Greece, some Phoenician sages had revealed to him that the Sacred Builders endorsed a very strict selection in their acceptance of builders and workers among them. They, like the Murex Experts, endorsed a stern vigilance in the management and secrecy of their work.
Scrutinizing the shore from his spot, Pythagoras imagined those Sacred Builders departing from there and spreading all over the world, with their skills as wealth to contribute to other nations.
At the thought, a sense of nostalgia drove the cadence of his fingers on the lyre, producing harmonious tunes that conveyed his emotion. In his mind, he gave tribute to all the great men and women who had sailed from that same shoreline to venture to worlds unknown to them; worlds they had ended up civilizing!
And many they had been!
Kadmus…
One of the Kabirim, he had sailed to Greece to import to its nation the tablets of a sacred system of writing, the Phonetic Alphabet invented by Thor the Geblite. In consequence, Kadmus had changed the life of the Greeks forever. With the Alphabet, he had taught them to manifest their thoughts on Egyptian papyrus imported by Phoenician traders. Kadmus, this great Phoenician, had also built many Greek cities, like Thebes.
Elissa…
The name flashed in the mind of Pythagoras, along with the great deeds of that Tyrian princess. Known as Dido by the Romans, Elissa had sailed towards the black continent, built the city of Carthage on the coast of Tunisia, and became its queen, sometime around the year 814 BCE. Carthage, or Kart-Hadasht, was known in Phoenicia as the new city in order to distinguish it from an older Phoenician outpost, namely, Utica.
Of course, Carthage was not the first Phoenician colony ever established by the Phoenicians.
King Hiram of Tyre…
That Phoenician king had dispatched artisans to build the Temple[19] of Jerusalem. Pythagoras recalled the Phoenician sages of Greece and Saydoun narrating that story to him: “Jerusalem, my son, was founded by the Jebusites, a Phoenician tribe. They named it Jebus initially. Throughout history, the city changed its name several times. It was called Ari-El, meaning the Hill of the God El. Later on, Melki-Sedek wished to dedicate it to Shalim, the son of El, so he called it Ur-Shalim. However, when he ruled the city, people designated it as the City of Peace because he was known as the King-Priest of righteousness. The Romans, later on, named it El-ya.”
“And so, by historical necessity and logic,” the sages had continued, “the Temple of Jerusalem was, in fact, the Temple of Shalim. King Melki-Sedek specially requested its construction for King Hiram, known also as Ahiram of Sur. Henceforth; the Temple of Jerusalem is simply a small copy of the Temple of Melkart, previously built in the great city of Sur.”
Pythagoras pondered over those facts. He thought of the major contributions his Ancestors, the Phoenicians, offered to the people of the world.
The name of Thales flashed in his mind.
How can I forget Thales, my great teacher!
“Thales, oh Thales!” he whispered. Emotion grabbed him by the throat, his eyes blurred and his fingers stopped their musical game. Just yesterday, the news of his death had reached him. He had refused to believe that his beloved teacher had passed away to another life. However, at this very moment in which Pythagoras recalled that great Phoenician who had made such a difference in his world, he was impelled to mourn him.
He murmured the words that the messenger had ascertained reading the epitaph of Thales:
“This tomb is so small, but the fame of the man had reached the sky, it is that of Thales, the Wise.”
He repeated them in the silence of his grieving heart as a tribute to the great man that Thales had been. Gathering his courage, he shook off his state of grief and leaped to his feet.
He meandered in the city with no particular aim, until he found himself facing the Great Temple of Baal-Melkart[20], the Lord of Eden.
One of a kind in all of ancient Loubnan, the Temple stood majestically impressive. At each side of its entrance, two winsome pillars stood as guards to the main door of Cedar wood. One of them was made of Hajjar al Urjouwan, the Purple Stone, or Ruby, and the other shone as Crystal or Pure Gold.
He stood in awe, once again, in front of its greatness. Today, however, he decided to enter its abode and convene with the priests.
With confident, yet reverential steps, Pythagoras entered with the intention to listen and learn from the High Priest Ieto-Baal, whom he had already befriended.
Ieto-Baal, the Hierophant of Baal-Melkart, received him for the first time into the secret domain of the society. They soon engaged in their meeting.
“One night, a long time ago, a great rain and wind storm struck hard on our city,” Ieto-Baal related in an even voice as if he had narrated this story hundreds of times. “All the bamboo houses crashed down, so did all the trees of the city. A powerful thunderclap hit the adjacent forest and set it on fire. The fiery flames devoured almost every tree there in less than an hour, leaving in its wake an incredible devastation. The disastrous fire spread to the city, burning it down to ashes and killing a large number of its residents.”
“Very few survived. Among them was a man called Ieosos. To his luck, he found only one tree on the ground that had not been touched by fire. He trimmed off all its branches, put it in the water and sailed the sea. Upon reaching the island of Sur, not far away from the city of Sur, he erected two pillars, one for the fire and the second for the wind.”
“Once done, he faced them abashed, wondering what they really meant to him. He realized then that they represented the two powerful elements of nature that he could not control; fire and wind. Thus, he decided to worship them, although…” Ieto-Baal paused on a particular hidden thought of his.
Pythagoras took the advantage to comment, “Do you mean to tell me that the pillars were the first symbols of worship ever and that it happened here in Sur? That’s enormous!” He exclaimed.
“Yes son… kind of,” the High-Priest Ieto-Baal answered with pride. “Yet, bear in mind that Ieosos did not worship them because they were mere pillars he strove to erect. They, in fact, became the symbols of both fire and wind; two fearsome elements hidden within the power of nature. He just feared them as such and believed them to be deadly measures which gods used in their fury against people.”
He paused for a moment to wipe the sweat off his forehead and drink from his goblet of water.
Pythagoras remained silent and waited…
“These two pillars that you now see on both sides of our Great Temple do not, however, represent fire and wind at all, not anymore,” he revealed with his eyes widened on Pythagoras as if to emphasize his statement. “They actually symbolize Justice and Mercy; the two great functions of the Universal God Al-Elyon!”
“The Temples that the Sacred Builders built, and continue to build to date, are divided into three parts. Let me put it this way: to enter the Temple, you initially walk between The Pillars, that is the first part. You then reach the second part that we call the place of The Saint. It is there that incense is burned in the altar. From there, you continue straight to the last section, The Saint of Saints; where the statue of the God Al, or Baal, stands.”
Ieto-Baal stretched his back to look above Pythagoras’ head towards the closed door of his chamber. Reassured of their privacy, he relaxed to pursue his explanation, yet the tone of his voice remained low in conveying what was concealed to the commoners.
“In the eye of the common believer, the Temple is a sacred place where people practice, be it in the outside hall or around it, a ritual of faith that a priest celebrates to a certain god. However, what people do not really know is that some special geometrical calculations were taken into consideration, and effectively used, in the sacred building of most of our great Temples. In fact, these special geometrical calculations generate a kind of divine receptor. They help the Temple absorb the energy of God the Most High El. This is part of the hidden reality, or shall I say, its esoteric side,” the Hierophant concluded with finality and looked straight into the eyes of his student.
“But… uh…,” Pythagoras blurted out in confusion. “What does that lead us to understand?”
The Surian Hierophant stood up, glanced down at his student for a moment, and without further explanation, walked out of the chamber. Pythagoras was stunned as the door closed behind his tutor and intrigued by the secret message that was left for him to decipher; a mysterious riddle whose great meanings Pythagoras intended to discover.
* * *
To Pythagoras, the days seemed to end swiftly, the nights, by contrast, appeared to lengthen, abiding by a slothful rhythm. Yet, he cherished those long nights he spent under the Lebanese sky. Wearing his purple robe, he ambled barefooted on the sand of the Surian beach. Like a monk would, Pythagoras reflected on the arcane character of the Temple.
In a mechanical motion, acquired in childhood, he bent to grab a murex shell and brought it to his ear. The sound of the ocean whooshed deep and mysterious. For the first time, Pythagoras discerned the physical reality of the sound, and halted in suspense, as he tried in body, mind, and soul, to fathom its message. From the abyss of its many years of existence, past memories of the sea echoed the voice of silence in his inner realm, whispered into his mind, merged with his spirit, and vibrated within his body.
Upon heeding this revelation, Pythagoras realized the power of his own three dimensions; his tri-une nature of being. He felt the excitement of edging closer to the answer of his query. He sank to his knees at once and his finger scribbled fast on the sand the strange puzzle the Surian High Priest had left behind.
He read the words, once then twice, a smile lifting his spirits, his heart beat accelerated and… eureka! A tremendous relief triggered a compelling laughter from the bottom of his being and lifted his face to the stars in delight at the wonderful discovery.
The three divisions of the Temple… They are simply an allegory of my tri-une microcosmic being! It is who I am! Who everyone is!
As a neophyte, a true seeker of Truth, he had ultimately found the real Temple of God. But what should be done now, Pythagoras thought, was to complete the work started by God. It would be up to us to finish it, so that we may become what we are, temples of the Divine Light, he concluded then deepened on the concept of who he really was and who he would become.
Then, quiet was his mind.
Silent was the night.
* * *
Days passed with Pythagoras advancing in his journey of edification. The nights would find him at the shore in meditation. In that particular evening, few days after his significant discovery, Pythagoras meandered on the beach. He cherished the gentle breeze and the sound of the waves that flirted with the shore of the Surian Island. The stars spread their splendor all through the vast clear sky where the moon ruled in grandeur.
According to an ancient legend, Astarte, the goddess of fertility, had once made a star fall to the ground on that Surian Island. In consequence, it became a sacred place.
Pythagoras continued his way to the Great Temple. There, he paused for a moment to admire the game of the moon rays on the finely carved stones of its façade. With quiet steps, he entered the gate by the two pillars.
He came to an abrupt stop and turned around. Was it the sound of the wind, or had he really heard a strange voice addressing him in a mysterious language? Cautiously, yet fearlessly, he retraced his steps and stood for a moment between the pillars. The voice, their voices probably, whispered to his heart, songs of resistance; resistance through the ages by challenging the evil and the injustice of this world.
Their message was clear, his mind, heart and spirit bowed in homage and respect. With pride and a renewed confidence, he entered the Great Temple and crossed the Saints into the Saint of Saints. There he halted a second in front of the statue of the god Baal-Melkart then continued down to the underground chamber where Initiations often took place.
Inside the secret domain of the Society, the High Priest Ieto-Baal welcomed him formally and offered him a seat at his side. On the wall behind the altar, an engraved image of a serpent with a Phoenix head, stretched from the center of a burning circle.
Confused by the possible meaning of the engraved scene, Pythagoras, dressed in a purple robe, addressed the High-Priest, “I have seen the serpent before. It was in the Temple of Eshmun. They informed me there that it symbolizes the art of medicine that remains incomplete without the scepter of the healing god.”
Ieto-Baal nodded and his bottomless eyes encouraged him to pursue. So he did, “It looks different here, kind of bizarre, I must say. What do these images symbolize?”
The reverend nodded again, slowly and went on with his explanation. “The serpent was considered divine to Hermes-Enoch-Tautus, the first Kabir in our Land and in Egypt as well. It is, in fact, a very special creature; the wisest of all animals. It breathes stronger than any because of the fire element that runs at a very high speed through its entire body. This same fire grants the serpent a great power for maneuvering and the capability of an extraordinary bodily modulation.”
Astonished, Pythagoras remained speechless in spite of the many questions that unfurled in his mind concerning that creature. Ieto-Baal seemed to have more words to add and more secrets to reveal. Pythagoras listened.
“There is another essential feature concerning the serpent. It has the power to live for a long time. You may certainly wonder about that and ask how it is possible. You are actually asking yourself this question right now.” The High Priest glanced at him with a witty look, grinned and continued, “Right! Well, hear me out! The serpent in fact goes on fasting to escape the aging process!”
“What?” Pythagoras exclaimed, incredulous. “How strange! And how…? How does this eccentric feat occur?”
“As a matter of fact, the serpent remains still and stays stagnant during the whole winter until it ultimately shrinks. And when this happens, it immediately gets rid of its old skin. A new, bright one then forms to reveal a younger and more vivid serpent. Life never stops growing in this amazing creature, that’s a fact!”
Totally wordless, Pythagoras slouched back on his seat. No questions whatsoever came to his mind. He sat still, assessing the information of such a strange natural phenomenon.
Silence prevailed as Ieto-Baal seemed to give him time to absorb the revelation. The moment Pythagoras turned his face to him; the High Priest proceeded with finality.
“To the Initiate, the serpent is the symbol of immortality and wisdom. It defeats time. Our priests named it Agatho-daemon, the Good Spirit. The circle you see on the wall, my brother, represents the world in its latent form.” He indicated the image on the wall before pursuing his tutoring. “When the Serpent appears in the center with a Phoenix head, it means that the good spirit is moving and turning the world with the power of the fire element. The fire element is the energy; life energy!”
This imperative exposé continued till dawn and throughout the following nights for three consecutive months. Eager to learn more and more, his thirst for knowledge never quenched, Pythagoras participated in all the rituals of Initiation; the same initiation that the Phoenician Hierophants have always performed by the cult of Baal-Melkart, in the city of Sur.
* * *
A soft wind of the divine breath gushed over the face of Pythagoras, as did the mysterious heave that impelled him down the sacred valley below. The full moon shed timid light over the flora and the rocks; its silvery rays caressed the smooth surface of the water of the Kaddosh River, the Sacred River, also known as the Adonis River.
To some, the River sprang out with all its power from the grotto of Afqa that the hand of nature had formed in the heart of the Holy Mountain of Gebel; the Sacred Land of El. The river continued its way down, in earnest, to merge with the Mediterranean Sea.
However, to others, the River abounded with no beginning and no end, the image of its water unscathed and forever clear, while in a soft, continuous movement, the river stretched out towards the beyond; the unknown.
Alone, Pythagoras strolled that night in search of peace of mind, energy for his spirit and shelter for his body. Past the enchanted valley, he climbed the Great Mountain up to the majestic Temple of Adonis reigning as a crown on the impressive green eminence.
An hour later, having reached the Temple, he directed his steps to the annexed monastery, and without hesitation, knocked at the heavy door. He introduced himself to the young priest who opened for him, and stepped inside. The Priests of Adonis, gathered in prayer, turned to look at him while the young priest announced his name. Silent surprise met the nightly intrusion into their sacred sanctuary.
A voice rose in a murmur of awe, “Pythagoras… Pythagoras, the true seeker!” The High Priest, the Hierophant of the resurrected god, moved forward and grabbed him by the shoulders, studying his face with a glint of affection in his eyes.
“Oh… you have grown well, my son. I am Man-Ka-El. You don’t know me, uh, and how can you, but I remember you very well! I had the joy to bless you by the power of El in the Temple of Adonis when you were one year old… one year old.”
“Oh… I see…,” Pythagoras finally understood the warmth with which the High-Priest had just welcomed him. “It is an honor for me to meet you, your Holiness,” he added genuinely. “I did not know that time would offer us an opportunity to meet again! What are the odds?”
Man-Ka-El chuckled. He was newly elected to the High Priesthood when he baptized Pythagoras almost twenty three, twenty four years ago. “Time… hmmm… I always knew that I would see you here one day, son,” he declared briefly in explanation and turned him towards the other priests who stood up to welcome him as warmly.
Pythagoras was invited to spend the night, and so he did.
* * *
Between the holy walls of the Temple, the second day, Pythagoras received the exceptional gift of knowing the Secret of the Alphabet. The Phonetic Alphabet, invented by Thor long ago, carried in its foundation the fundamental keys to a mystical music that had produced, at a later stage, the scale of seven notes.
Imbued with the new education of the day, a bit tired, Pythagoras stepped out and found an isolated spot in the garden to play his music. There, at the peak of the Mountain, his gentle fingers stroke the four strings, his mouth emitted tunes based on the seven notes, and his heart intoned the amalgam of tones and notes that echoed in the valley below. Pythagoras sang his love for that spiritual place, so peaceful, so inspirational always… all the time.
Inside the walls of the sanctuary, time drifted and Pythagoras progressed further in his initiation at the hand of the High Priest that became for him a fountain of knowledge from which he drank eagerly. In the secrecy of the private chamber, they sat that day, face to face, on the cedar wooden table.
“The very first stone building that used special geometrical calculations and the science of numbers occurred here in Gebel,” the High Priest asserted; his voice low in spite of their seclusion. “I suppose you have formed, along the path you have treaded, quite a good idea of geometry? Haven’t you, my son?”
“Yes, I have,” Pythagoras answered evenly.
“Good…! What about numbers then?”
“Numbers? Hmmm… well, I guess they are but mathematical tools,” Pythagoras replied with a shrug of his shoulder, then, with sudden doubt, he asked, “Aren’t they?”
The Hierophant of Adonis stood up, not too pleased. All too slowly, he turned around on his student, scrutinizing him all over. Uneasy and confused, Pythagoras swallowed, once then twice. He watched as his tutor walked back to his seat, veered to him, leaned forward with his palms on the table, and stared deeply into his eyes.
“Pythagoras!” he uttered without anger. “Heed me! There is a part of numbers which is indeed of a mathematical nature. That is quite correct! However…” He left his sentence in suspense to edge closer to him, an inch or two from his ear and whispered, “There is another side of a more sublime nature, and that’s what I am trying to tell you…”
Before Pythagoras could conquer his astonishment, Man-Ka-El marched out, leaving him puzzled to the very last of his brain waves.
* * *
In the months that followed, Pythagoras dwelt peacefully in his little room inside the monastery. His assiduous mind, however, would not rest as he spent most of his time in perfecting his music and unveiling the secret of numbers.
One night, while perched on a rock above the bottomless valley, playing his lyre, the tunes suddenly performed a swift descent and ascent, between the valley and the sky. That astonished Pythagoras but, nevertheless, he delighted in the outcome. The melody he had composed, accidentally or not, had just created an invisible bridge between Heaven and Earth, and by such, mystified his whole existence.
De facto, Pythagoras discerned the existence of a harmony between these two distantly opposed places. That harmony, currently generated or always existent yet hidden, unveiled its secrecy to Pythagoras. With the powerful perception of his inner ear, developed through the years, he heeded the music that the Earth emitted, synchronizing and harmonizing with the aria that the Heavenly bodies diffused.
Harmony… he murmured in awe. Harmony of the Spheres… What a phenomenon!
By necessity and from that very instant, he decided to call this very natural phenomenon, the Harmony of the Spheres.
Resting by the Adonis River the next day, Pythagoras reflected for a while on the Harmony of the Spheres he had detected the night before. Satisfied by his discovery, he turned his complete attention now to another important issue; the secret of the numbers!
What could numbers be other than mathematical?
What could be their esoteric side?
Up until now, he reasoned, everything around me moved in a perpetual motion of music, shapes and colors. This could be the mathematical side of their existence. However… what could the other side be, the sublime side; that complementary, yet unseen, mover of life?
Moments passed…
MAGIC! Pythagoras deducted in a flash. Of course! It cannot be anything other than magic!
“Yes!” he shouted.
Numbers are the essence; the measure of all things. The whole existence is naught but of a Mathemagical dimension; a real state of concatenation and an infinite frame of becoming!
He smiled at his smart deduction, and then resumed his meditation, deeper and wider.
And yet different sensations of different places were recorded in the hall of time and space: Above and Below, Intellect and Instinct, Unconsciousness and Consciousness, Logic and Illusion, Freedom and Slavery, Good and Evil, Love and Hate… Heaven and Earth!
With the fervor of a novice, eager to communicate his discovery to his tutor, Pythagoras leaped to his feet and rushed to the Temple. Without halting to take a breath, he scuttled in and through the halls, and past the priests that snapped their heads up from their tasks in surprise. Without decelerating, he threw an apologetic grin in their direction, reached the door of the private chamber and came to an abrupt stop in front of his tutor. Impassioned by that wonderful feeling of accomplishment, he conveyed to him what he had come to discover.
Man-Ka-El did not react nor comment.
This man, the man in purple standing in front of me now, is a true seeker of truth; he is really on the right path towards wisdom. The High Priest mumbled in his heart.
He simply gawked at him directly in the eyes, nodded silently with a little grin then took his usual seat. Without further ado, he uttered evenly, “There is only one God, Al-Elyon, the Most High and the One,” his calm voice issued a totally new topic, moving the conversation up to a higher level.
Chilled by the lack of interest of his tutor, Pythagoras gawked at him in a moment of disbelief. Yet, the introductory words captivated his interest at once. Trained by Thales to master his self-control, he quickly swallowed his disappointment.
Man-Ka-El rubbed his long white beard as he waited for Pythagoras to resume his seat. In his eyes, a glint of approval, maybe of admiration, lifted the spirit of Pythagoras up again.
“Along with Al-Elyon there was Anat-Astarte, described as his wife and also his sister,” the High Priest continued as if he had never stopped. “From their union, came Baal-Adonis, the synthesis of that ancient perception of Reality. Adonis is then regarded as the manifestation, or the incarnation, of the God. This is the Holy Trinity, the Great Mystery of all times.”
“And what is El?” Pythagoras inquired leaning forward to heed the answer. At noticing the lifted eyebrow of his tutor, he hastened to clarify his question, “I mean… How do you define Him in a more… let’s say, exact theological word?”
“Al is the One; the first Light. Period! The Sun is his physical reflection, for it is the most precious and the most powerful element of light and fire. The Sun gives heat to our globe, the Earth, and life to its creatures. The Sun reigns over time and organizes it perfectly. It also controls and best coordinates the movements of all other Heavenly bodies around it. Occasionally, Time - or what we also call Kronos - manages to escape from the Sun, and in consequence, nations lose their tracks! They undeniably stagger through a path of illusion, darkness and diversion.”
Thoughtfully, Pythagoras contended in a murmur, “I see what you mean… I see that.” Then, looking back at him, he posed a pertinent question, “Who is Anat?”
“Anat, my son, is the female principle, the virgin lady. She comes second in the Trinity. El requested from her to plant the soil with love, pour peace in the bosom of Earth, and multiply love in the heart of the fields. She abided with absolute devotion and delivered their son Baal-Adonis to be the Savior of the world.”
Man-Ka-El paused for a second. He stood up, joined his hands behind his back and quietly paced the chamber in front of Pythagoras. “The child came as the supernatural synthesis of their Divine Union, so to speak. He happened as the manifestation of Good Will to all nations. He transpired as the incarnation of Love and Peace; a way for the salvation of mankind. He came, died, and resurrected. He saved the faithful, defeated Kronos, and touched immortality. And so, the son of the first Sun became a second sun to reign over life,” Man-Ka-El ended with eloquence the exposé that revealed the basis of their theology.
Pythagoras felt overwhelmed by that astonishing, and yet clear, description of the three main divine principles that composed the core of his Ancestral religion.
What a resolute way of seeing things, he thought, changing and moving them from a limited perception to an infinite visualization.
It should have happened. It could happen. It happened and it will happen. It will happen only by the good will of the mind and the faith in love and peace; as soon as they inhabit the life of a person, they can be stretched out all over the face of the Earth.
Individual consciousness certainly leads to collective consciousness, he concluded. Yet, Kronos stands still…
Deeply convinced, he absorbed this theology. He deemed it an evolved religious system; a valuable allegorical look over mankind in general, and individuals in particular, and that included their salvation, their spiritual evolution and, hence, their resurrection.
* * *
Clothed in purple as always, contemplating nature from his favorite spot on the rock above the valley, Pythagoras pondered over the issues of religion. A breeze wafted from the valley and, in its course, the trees swayed, the leaves rustled, and the birds fluttered their wings away from the branches hovering over them. Pythagoras closed his eyes for a moment, relishing in the musical combination. He inhaled deeply the peace and joy that the song of nature granted him.
From his spot, Pythagoras watched the great Phoenician Temple of Astarte, lingering in his view, right on the summit of the Mountain of Gebel. Women, like their goddess in a previous undetermined time, came to mourn the death of Adonis. They wept, lamented and pounded their chests. Somewhere, a flute gushed out melancholic notes. The echo on the adjacent mountains, and deep down the valley below, conveyed the sounds of memorial mourning to Pythagoras.
He looked down the valley and to the Adonis River whose water appeared tinted in a blood-red hue. Most probably from the red soil of the Mountain, Pythagoras reasoned. He knew too well that the devoted believers deemed it to be the blood of their god Adonis wounded to death by a boar, some say, by a lion. The mourning ritual continued until the rebirth of life on the third day. The resurrected sun then shone intensely upon the Holy Mountain and its Sacred Valley. On that special day, the believers gathered from all around the area, their heads completely shaved. As per the religious ritual, the god Adonis would come to life once again and ascend straight to Heaven.
In their faith, they believed that the Naaman flowers in and around the river that day sprang from the blood of Adonis. These scarlet anemones bloomed beautifully on the surface of the water and on the river banks. They would console the goddess Astarte in her grief for these flowers have resurrected from the blood of her divine lover as living proof of his immortality.
On that sacred day of resurrection, and in the secrecy of the grotto of Afqa, Pythagoras stood reverentially in front of the High Priest of Gebel. Ready to receive his baptism directly from the source of the Kaddosh River, he knelt in veneration, his eyes riveted on the pure original water.
Man-Ka-El proceeded. “In the name of Adonis, the son, the resurrected god, and by the power bestowed upon me, I, Man-Ka-El, baptize you, my son, with the Kaddosh water,” he proclaimed, firm with faith, as he dipped Pythagoras’ head three times in the water. He then uttered the mystical words of blessing; “The spirit of the rising god is resurrected in you, Pythagoras, now and through the eternal cycles.”
* * *
The great Hierophant of Gebel advised Pythagoras to seek the meaning of the mystical words of baptism somewhere else. In order for him to understand the deep secret of the self, Man-Ka-El suggested that he experienced an absolute meditative solitude in one particular sanctuary – the Grand Temple of Mt. Carmel. Pythagoras was informed by Phoenician Initiates that Mt. Carmel happened to be the ultimate abode, at the time, for such an exploit that might bring about some kind of illumination. Mt. Carmel, being the most sacred of all mountains and the most inaccessible to the populace could definitely be the best of choices.
Also called in Phoenician Karm-El - the Generous Vine of El - Mt. Carmel harbored a Phoenician Temple dedicated to El and his son Baal or Adonis, united as one, in the form of El-Baal. The Temple, long erected on the top of the Mountain, always received, in the sanctuary of its walls, those thirsty for the drink of the gods.
All around that Holy Mountain, from the bottom base and all the way up, small temples stood here and there. Many natural grottos dwelt in the area, carved in splendor by nature into the rocks and improved, later on, by human hands.
Beside the Great Temple of El-Baal, there existed another important one dedicated to Ashirai (Asherah); the Mother-Goddess of the Phoenicians. Ashirai was the virgin lady Anat herself; the Queen of Heaven who had planted the soil with love, poured peace in the bosom of Earth, and multiplied love in the heart of the fields.
Phoenicians, Egyptians, and other adepts from neighboring countries, all around the Mediterranean world, often sought to find enlightenment inside these monasteries and grottos where they would dwell in total seclusion. Hence, Mt. Carmel, cradle of the monastic and contemplative life, stood as a shrine to the Virgin Lady Anat, the God El, and their ever young and beautiful son Adonis. For the believers, Adonis incarnated the cycle of nature and emphasized the spring; the resurrection of every atom in the kingdom of life.
Highly recommended by Man-Ka-El, Pythagoras was at once recognized and admitted into the Great Temple after a few days walk in the wilderness. As a matter of fact, the Temple of Mt. Carmel had long decreed very strict entry rules, and never received common visitors. The outcasts, the ill-mannered and the non-qualified students, included, among others.
Inside the Temple, the teachings of the Great White Fraternity anchored in the minds of all the adepts. The adopted system of teachings went far back in time to Enoch-Hermes-Tautus, the founder of the First Religion. Since then, it became the spiritual endeavor of the Canaano-Egyptian Monotheistic Fraternity. De facto, the members of this fraternity sought and believed in the resurrection of the self up into its higher level, and in the immortality of the spirit.
On the walls of the Grand Temple, some unique, delicately engraved symbols sided along a number of particular inscriptions for the neophytes to contemplate about in silence. No questions whatsoever were allowed to be asked, not even a word was to be heard. The only sound that resonated between the walls of that Temple remained that of the thoughts echoing in the mind of every seeker.
Separated from all the troubles and worries that burdened the profane world outside, Pythagoras spent most of his days and nights, and for almost three months meditating as a hermit on one single symbol. One symbol among many! From the very first moment in which he had stepped inside that Temple and that particular symbol had been all the focus of his attention.
The symbol reflected a horizontal line connected to another vertical line; a cross. Called the Sacred Tau, that cross, discovered by his Ancestors, rooted in time to the faraway days of Enoch-Hermes-Tautus. This exceptional charming symbol became the subject and the object unified in the mind of Pythagoras.
As usual, in silence, the doors of perception in his mind opened widely to the cognizance of the secret he sought. His transliteration revealed simultaneously the Horizontal Line as the Stagnant Matter, and the Vertical Line as the Moving Energy, or the Living Spirit. Accordingly, Pythagoras became more conscious than ever that the point of intersection between these two worlds was undeniably the Universal Mind; their point of balance, the First and Final Equilibrium.
It all makes sense to me now, he muttered in his heart to restrain breaking the rule of silence. And hence, on a relative human scale, the intellectual thinking mind of the human being could only be the primal, and yet final, mover of his or her two other dimensions; the spirit and the body.
The ultimate fusion of all, to Pythagoras, could only happen when the rational human mind would connect with the Universal Mind.
Now, how does this Rising occur? Pythagoras mulled over the concept for a long, long while. Yet he ended smiling, his heart rejoicing at his new discovery.
Deep down inside himself, in his most secret and sacred realm, a great light shone bright. A revelation arose. There existed a man, a mortal god, on the lengthy path to become, an immortal man, a god.
* * *
On the Phoenician coast, almost when the sun was setting in the horizon, a small boat landed. From his spot at the peak of Mt. Carmel, Pythagoras watched for a moment. Long tutored in ships by his father during their long trips together, Pythagoras recognized this one to be of Egyptian origin. Without any further delay, he leaped to his feet and scuttled down the steep mountain and straight for the ship at the shore.
For the first time in, perhaps, a year, panting and gasping to regain his breath, he heard the sound of his own voice addressing the sailors, “Are you heading to Egypt?”
They nodded and stared at him in puzzlement. Pythagoras felt their eyes examining him all over with curiosity.
“When?” Pythagoras yelled to be heard above the sound of the great wind that wafted through the coast.
An old man, apparently the captain, loomed from behind the sailors and screamed and gestured for him to listen to his reply, “Not before early tomorrow morning, my friend. The wind is crazy, so is the water. We are staying overnight.”
Pythagoras nodded and grinned widely. The hope of a new venture into the world of discovery streamed through his blood like the rush of a water current. He waited for the Captain to step on shore and approached him eagerly.
“That suits me perfectly well. Would you count me in?”
The captain chuckled and shook his hand. “Sure will, Phoenician! Just don’t be late tomorrow or we’ll leave you behind.”
And as decided the day before, Pythagoras, dressed in purple, his lyre in one hand and a small bag of personal belongings in the other, embarked at dawn the following day. Wordless, he paced the boat, looking for an isolated retreat where he sat in silence. And silent he remained for a couple of nights and days.
The sailors would throw speculative looks in his direction, yet none dared to disturb him. Devoid of food and water, motionless as if in a trance, Pythagoras undertook his trip to Egypt.
Then, all of a sudden, on the fifth day, he woke up to the life around him and instantly into social exchange with the crew. With gentleness and tranquility, he began conversing about the sea and its mysteries. He asked them where they planned to disembark in Egypt. The old captain pointed his finger towards their imminent destination, the Delta of the Nile.
“Is Memphis that way?” Pythagoras asked.
The old man, wrinkled by age and weighed down by life, might have known from his purple robe and his question that he was a seeker of wisdom.
“Yes, it is not far from there,” he answered with a reassuring smile.
On the eleventh day, the boat reached the shore of the great city of Memphis, at the early break of dawn. Physically tired from the trip and weakened by his long fasting, he welcomed the help of the sailors in stepping down ashore. His legs failed him and he slumped on the sandy ground.
Before bidding him farewell, the captain set on his lap a basket of fruits, urging him to eat. A sailor brought to his side a jug of fresh water. Sagging on the sandy floor, his eyes foggy, his ears alien to the noise around him, Pythagoras perceived their silhouettes fading away in the midst of what appeared to him like trees strewn over the Sahara.
Slowly and cautiously, he drank from the jug, and then grabbed a peach. In fact, he took his time in eating the various delicious fruits laid in the basket in front of him. Gradually, he regained his power and senses while his consciousness flooded back to him.
Moments later, he opened his eyes fully, and beheld himself reposing under a palm tree, on the soft sand of Egypt; the land of mysteries par excellence.