TELEFTEOS

"The obol, Friends, might be useful under the tongue, but in the pocket it is useless. Seek out a small child and offer them a sweet; feel the gratitude in their innocent eyes. Look for the outstretched hand at the edge of the street and seal its openness with a coin. Leave a few cents on the ground, as a Hermaion (lucky find); someone humble will feel fortunate and smile. Feel the forgotten joy of giving. To hope for a better tomorrow, we must give everything to the present. To reach the point where we willingly share, we must become addicted to the desire to do so—like the hungry man to bread, and the parched earth to rain. Rest at the edge of the Agora, contemplate the polyphony of Life. It is the ‘mortal nation,’ with its common passions. Personal mistakes are inevitable; collective ones, however, are always catastrophic—and all are irreversible. Humanity is threatened by religions and nationalisms. Yet people are capable of achieving anything—even the dreamlike Utopia, or Nusquam (Latin: ‘nowhere’). 

 "If I were a king, I would sit in the shadow of a plane tree

and like a father I would listen to the complaints of my people,

and would rightly distribute freedom and bread to the multitude...

Father, speak kindly to the loving multitude.

hold wrath like a lord, and think with thy mind

that the people have souls, that the people too are God, but they know it not!"

Nikos Kazantzakis: Odyssey-A (v.v. 246-248, 369-371).

A wise person must foresee, not regret. Still, there is no flour—however fine—that doesn’t have bran; no wine—however pure—without sediment; no tree—however good—without knots. And conscience is a thousand swords, the only infallible judge. The torture of remorse is the hell of the living. All the essence of Life is enclosed in the above words of the Cretan and those previously mentioned by Doctor Simon. Neither of the two opposing conditions the wise Jew spoke of concerns Heaven. To fall in love with the paradise of a blossoming humanity, we must first imagine loneliness, despair, and ugliness—as experienced by a sinful and melancholic old man, mentally enduring the hell of a destroyed world as his punishment. Because there are things too difficult to say. They can only be written..."