REPETITIONS, SECOND SERIES
Change
Thus it happened to them, the non-believers, the vigorous
the beautiful who relied on their hands and smartness
like
the governor of Cilicia, who, although Epicurean, one day
decided to send a newly freed slave to the Oracle of Mopsos
with just one question sealed in an envelope. He as it was
customary spent the night in the temple. Half way in his sleep
a very tall, handsome man appeared to him and said only one
word, “black”
Since then the governor changed. He often offered sacrifices
honoring the great Mopsos. We often heard him, during
the spring evenings as the fragrance of the moist garden
charged through the windows, whisper to himself” “black,
black, black” as if resisting something inside him. Then he’d
smile.
We, around him, felt freed that the Epicureans were finally
defeated.
That “black” was joyous and practical. It saved us (truly a
little late)
from all the struggles, denials and concerns. Outside of
the windows, in the garden, a thin moon, slow and fresh,
looked at us as it gleamed behind the poplar.
Manolis Aligizakis 