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The Golden Verses Of The Stoic

Seneca and Epictetus refer to the Golden Verses of Pythagoras , which happens to provide a good framework for developing a daily routine, bookended by morning and evening contemplative practices. Zeno of Citium , who founded Stoicism in 301 BC, expressed his doctrines in notoriously terse arguments and concise maxims.  However, Chrysippus, the third head of the Stoic school, wrote over 700 books fleshing these ideas out and adding complex arguments to support them. 

Running Singing Strand Bird On The Shore

I could sit for hours listening to the “bubbling” of the strand-bird; but that’s because I am melancholy. If I weren’t melancholy I’d hardly like it, I think. The tide’s at ebb and the rock-pools are full of water. Beyond is space—the yellow of the sand and the grey of the sky—and the pipe-note “bubbling” between. A strange, yearning sound, like nothing one hears in towns; bringing one into touch with the Infinite, and deep with the melancholy -- the song and my own.

It is not that the day be worse than any other. Heads on necks have their own beats and rhythms which have nothing to do with the day, the year or the hour. Will I ever forgive being who I am? It is my one and lonely success. The truth is, we don't like the Truth. Truth has very few friends, and those are suicides. Bubbling notes and sigh-to-silence the wave reached up on the shore. The pipe-note yearns as it runs along the vanishing foam edge. Then back it runs, having forgotten its watch. Or wallet. One or-error-the-other. 

Strange how the bubbling juxtaposes the darkening gray infinity rushing out past the strand bird, past where it runs to toss, now tossing my attention against the absent. Not even abandon is out there. 

There is just -- nothing out there. That nothing pulls when looked at too long. The bubbling pipe becomes a keen, then a wail. But if you do not raise your eyes you will think that you are the highest point. That this is all. No allfather. Just Blakes's nobodaddy. Just you and nobodaddy and nothing. Then the wave sighs away, and the strand bird runs and pulls you away. 

I hope I'll be a memory. 

Yes, I will try to be.  Because I believe that not being is arrogant.