In the days of constant violence and plagues, when the crops are dead with drought and fire and even the shade trees are gone, the citizens gather. The cry is help, and the answer calls to mind a riddle and a mirror, and who is the most mysterious of all?
––And the mirror answered back with a reflection, the face of the king and all behind him. But what does it take to read a body’s history?
Ask the oracle, she’ll tell you again: not until there is justice, will you know peace in your homes and shade for your children. The old questions return: whose death continues to echo within the city walls; whose blood stains the soil of these charred acres? What severances between life and the living continue to bleed.
Bring in the blind prophet to remind the assembly of the weight of this knowledge and what it means to have it, where no gain can come except through the death of a timeworn dream.
Nevertheless, they resisted.
***
I am inspired by the work of Brian Doerries and Theatre of War in placing Greek tragedies at the center of community discussions around central challenges of the moment. I jotted these notes while reviewing his translation of the Oedipus Trilogy and related notes.
I might be reading this all wrong.
My first thought is politicians.
Am I right?
I can definitely see the connection there, Granny. Although I tend to include a wider group in my thinking when I’m writing these. : )
It’s harder in times when “a timeworn dream” seems like what we have to work with / against. Holding on and letting go. “Seasons come, seasons go – cut your hands like barbed wire if you don’t let go.” Thanks, Stacey!