The Logos: The Meletic Testament (Chapter 21 The Vision)
đź“ś Chapter 21: The Vision
1. I awoke before the sun had begun its slow ascent over the rooftops of Athens, my mind already crowded with the echoes of yesterday’s conversation, which lingered like smoke after a fire. We had gathered, the inner circle of the students who were the closest to Asterion. Zagreus, Sosibios, Polybios, Thalia and I Heromenes.
2. Sosibios had spoken with a fervour I had not witnessed in him since the passing of our teacher Asterion, his voice trembling not with grief but with conviction.
3. We are not priests, nor prophets sent to deliver divine revelation—we are the bearers of clarity, the custodians of thought unclouded by superstition or the supernatural realm of things—he declared.
4. Polybios, ever deliberate, had nodded in agreement, his fingers tracing the rim of his clay cup as though sketching invisible diagrams of reason and consequence.
5. Thalia, whose silence often spoke louder than our words, had watched us with eyes that seemed to pierce through the veil of our uncertainty and glimpse something deeper.
6. As for me, Heromenes, I felt the weight of our shared purpose settle upon my shoulders like the fine dust that gathers in the agora—subtle, persistent, and inescapable.
7. Asterion’s teachings were never meant to be enshrined in marble temples or merely recited before altars; they were crafted for minds willing to observe, question, and understand the world as it is.
8. The minds of our fellow Athenians were turning elsewhere—towards the grandeur of Rome, the promise of Christ, and the seduction of eternal salvation.
9. What we offered was no celestial salvation, no sacred reward, only the quiet dignity of comprehension and the courage to live without sheer illusions.
10. And in a city increasingly enamoured with miracles and martyrs, I feared that understanding alone might no longer suffice as it once did with previous philosophers.
11. We reconvened that morning beneath the gnarled olive tree in Sosibios’ courtyard, where the branches stretched like ancient arms and the leaves whispered above us with a rustling that seemed to echo our unspoken doubts.
12. The air was cool, and the stones beneath our feet held the memory of countless conversations, some forgotten, others etched into the fabric of our resolve.
13. We must make it beautiful; for if the message lacks grace, they will not listen, no matter how true it may be in its essence—Thalia said at last, her voice soft but firm.
14. Zagreus scoffed, his brow furrowed with the impatience of a man who had seen too many truths diluted for the sake of palatability. —Truth is not a vase to be painted. It is a stone to be held, heavy and unadorned.
15. Sosibios, ever the mediator, leaned forth and replied—But even stones must be shaped, must be given form and purpose, or they are left to gather moss in the dust.
16. I watched them, my companions in this strange and noble endeavour, each of us carrying a fragment of Asterion’s vision, each of us trying to make sense of a world that seemed to be slipping beyond our reach.
17. We were few in number, but our resolve was deep-rooted, like the olive tree under which we sat, nourished by years of study and the quiet fire of conviction.
18. Asterion had taught us that nature was the only scripture worth reading, that the patterns of the stars and the flow of the river held more wisdom than any holy text. These things were a natural part of the Logos.
19. The wind, the soil, the slow erosion of stone—these were the verses of Meleticism, and we were tasked with interpreting them for a people who no longer looked to the earth for answers.
20. And so, we sat, as the inner circle of an inspiring philosophy, trying to find the words that might awaken a city lulled by promises of heaven and empire.
21. Sosibios stood and paced slowly across the courtyard, his sandals brushing against the worn stones as he spoke, not to us but to the air, as though testing the weight of his thoughts before offering them.
22. They want certainty, and we offer questions. They want eternity, and we speak of cycles. They want gods, and we give them To Ena—he said to us.
23. Thalia tilted her head; her gaze fixed on the horizon where the rooftops met the morning sky. She murmured—Then perhaps we must teach them to see To Ena, in the expression of life, through the stars, through the sun, the moon, the rainbow, and others things that are evidence of its emanations. We must teach them the meaning of the Meletic Triad.
24. Polybios frowned afterwards, his fingers tightening around the stem of a fig leaf. —But how, when sacredness is the language of illusion that men and women so easily believe? We must not dress nature in sacred robes it does not wear. It is easier to convince someone with faith and the promise of an afterlife than the realisation of the truth that lies before them.
25. I found myself torn between their positions, for I had seen how beauty could open minds, even if it risked softening the edge of the truth. They both spoke with relevance to their concerns and suggestions.
26. Asterion had warned us against the seduction of metaphor and its usage, yet he himself had spoken in parables drawn from the soil and the stars.
27. Perhaps, we must learn to speak in the language of the people, without surrendering the integrity of our thought—I said.
28. Sosibios paused, his eyes narrowing as he considered my words. A bridge. Not a temple. A bridge between what is and what is imagined. Only then can we keep the philosophy and message of Asterion alive—he expressed.
29. The idea hung in the air like incense—fragile, fragrant, and fleeting. For the first time, we were forced to confront our dilemmas without the presence or wisdom of Asterion.
30. We were not any powerful builders of doctrine, but perhaps we could be inspiring architects of Meleticism to those people who sought meaning to their life.
31. The city was changing, and we felt it in our bones—in the way the merchants spoke of Roman law, in the way the people whispered the name of Christ as though it was a charm.
32. Meleticism had no charms, no rituals, no promises of paradise like the Christians; instead, it offered only the quiet dignity of seeing the world as it truly was in its natural unfolding.
33. And yet, I wondered whether that dignity was enough to stir the hearts of those individuals who had grown weary of reason and were hungry for divine revelation.
34. Thalia believed in the power of beauty, not as deception but as invitation—a way to draw the eye before guiding the mind. A beauty that was genuine in its nature.
35. Polybios remained steadfast, a stone unmoved by tides, his loyalty to Asterion’s original teachings unshaken by the winds of change and the influence of Rome.
36. Sosibios, ever the strategist, sought a path between them, a way to preserve the essence of our philosophy whilst adapting its form. Zagreus was at times, more neutral than us.
37. And I Heromenes, stood at the crossroads of their convictions, tasked with the burden of narration, of shaping our struggle into words that might endure.
38. Asterion did not seek followers, nor disciples—he sought listeners, thinkers, those persons who might carry the flame without mistaking it for divine fire.
39. For Meleticism was not a religion, but a mirror—a way of seeing that stripped away the ancient veil of myth and revealed the patterns beneath the falsehoods.
40. And in those patterns, Asterion had taught us, lay the only truth worth pursuing: the truth of nature, unadorned and eternal. A nature that was ever present.
41. That afternoon, we walked together through the narrow streets of Athens, where the scent of roasted olives mingled with the dust of old stone and the chatter of merchants.
42. The city pulsed with life, yet beneath its profound surface I sensed a quiet erosion—a turning away from enquiry, a retreat into religious or pagan belief.
43. A young man stood on a corner, preaching with fervour about the resurrection of Christ, his voice rising above the din like a resounding trumpet in the fog.
44. Thalia paused to listen, her expression unreadable, whilst Polybios turned away with a certain grimace that displayed both uncertainty and sorrow.
45. They do not want listen to reason, they want answers. Something to grab onto for reassurance. Something that is a yearning that blinds them to forsake their rationality. And their Christ is their answer—he muttered.
46. Sosibios placed a hand on his shoulder, gently but firmly and spoke —Let them have their Christ. We must offer something deeper, even if fewer choose it.
47. I watched the Christian's eyes—bright, unwavering, filled with the certainty of one who believes he has glimpsed eternity, but was oblivious to his reality.
48. I pitied him, not for his religious beliefs, but for the illusion of his purpose, the conviction of his message, the narrative with which he gathered the crowd.
49. Ours was a harder path, paved not with promises but with questions, and few had the patience to walk it, without finding immediate answers. The Christians promised something that they could not prove with reason.
50. Asterion had walked that path for the great part of his life, and we had followed then, not because it was easy, but because it was the way of the truth.
51. That evening, we returned to Sosibios’ home, where the oil lamps cast long shadows on the walls and the air was thick with the scent of thyme and contemplation.
52. We sat in silence for a long time, each of us lost in our own thoughts, until Thalia broke the stillness with a unique question that lingered like smoke.
53. She asked—What if we fail? What if Meleticism dies with us, and the world merely forgets?
54. Polybios looked up, his eyes dark and steady. —Then we shall have lived rightly, even if history does not remember our names properly.
55. Sosibios nodded slowly. —But we must try. Not for instant glory, but for the possibility that one mind might awaken the soul of another person.
56. I felt the sudden weight of their words settle into my chest, heavy and familiar, like the stones of the Acropolis beneath my feet.
57. Asterion had never spoken of legacy; he had spoken of clarity, of seeing the world without distortion, and of living without the need for illusion.
58. And yet, I could not help but wonder whether clarity alone could survive the tide of mythology or blind faith that now swept through Athens like a rising fever.
59. We were not prophets, nor martyrs, nor founders of a new order—we were true witnesses to a way of seeing, and that vision was starting to fade in its followers.
60. But even as it was fading, I resolved to write, to speak, to share, so that the vision could flicker in another mind, even if only for a moment in duration.
61. In the days that followed, the city grew louder, as if the gods themselves had returned to reclaim their altars. The Pagans were seeking allegiances with those who were not Christians.
62. Statues were scrubbed clean, incense burnt in the streets, and the old hymns echoed once more from the steps of the Parthenon. The city was active.
63. I watched as small children were taught to fear the wrath of Olympus, their questions silenced with the stories of thunderbolts and divine punishment.
64. The agora, once an intellectual place of debate and dissent, now rang with proclamations and miracles, each more extravagant than the previous ones.
65. A man who was stranger claimed to have seen the god Apollo in a dream, and by morning, he had numerous followers who knelt at his feet out of praise.
66. Zagreus called this display, 'the theatre of deception', and I could not disagree with him.
67. We met in secret afterwards in Sosibios’ cellar, where the walls were lined with scrolls and the air smelt of ink and quiet defiance that keep our passion alive.
68. There, we read Asterion’s notes aloud, his diagrams of thought, his careful dismantling of human illusion. It was indeed ironic to read his material.
69. Each word was a lantern in the dark, each sentence a thread that bound us to something real that we could ascertain in meaning.
70. He never promised an afterlife, only the courage to seek the truth through his wisdom—Polybius said one night.
71. I began to write more fervently, not merely for posterity, but for the present—for the few individuals who still listened, still doubted, still hungered.
72. My pages were filled with fragments: observations, dialogues, parables stripped of magic but rich in meaning. They were actual evidence and testimony of the teachings of Asterion.
73. I wrote of the river that does not ask where it flows, and the stone that does not mourn its erosion.
74. I wrote of the mind as a mirror, not a vessel, and of the way of the truth as something glimpsed, never grasped.
75. Sosibios urged me to compile them, to preserve what we could before the tide swept it all away into the sea of oblivion.
76. Let them call it heresy if they dare. Let them burn it, but let it exist as it must—he said.
77. And so, I did. I bound the pages in leather, hid them beneath the floorboards, and whispered their contents to those students who came in secret.
78. Some wept. Some argued. And some even returned with others. They had been moved by Asterion's words, just like I was moved by them also.
79. It was not a movement to challenge the others. It was not a mourning; it was a remembering.
80. And in that remembering, I saw Asterion’s face—not as a prophet, but as a man who had dared to see clearly with his vision and philosophy. He never stopped believing in his message.
81. One morning, the cellar was empty. Thalia had left in the night, leaving behind a note folded into the spine of Asterion’s treatise.
82. 'The city of Athens no longer listens, but perhaps the world will one day', it read.
83. I held the note for a long time, tracing the ink with my thumb, wondering if departure was act of betrayal or devotion. We pondered the meaning of her note.
84. Polybios remained, but his eyes had grown distant, as if he too had begun to walk elsewhere in his mind. He was occupied with his personal situation.
85. Sosibios spoke less, his voice now reserved for the written scrolls, as though he was already speaking to a future that might never arrive for him.
86. I wandered the streets alone, listening to the sermons, the chants, the declarations of divine favour that were more evident by the day.
87. A man shouted that the gods had returned to punish the sceptics, and the crowd roared in agreement. Others would shout that Jesus as promised would return soon, to punish the disbelievers.
88. I did not bother to argue. I did not speak. I simply watched, and remembered. I saw beyond their senseless arguments. Neither Zeus nor Jesus had returned.
89. That night, I dreamt of Asterion—not as he was, but as he might have been had he lived in simpler times and with more acceptance. I was uncertain, why I dreamt of him.
90. He stood beside a river, watching the water pass, saying nothing at first, content to observe life unfold. He walked into the river, as his feet became wet. He then looked at me, as I watched and said to me —Go, and spread the message of Meleticism. Let the Logos guide you, the Nous protect you, and To Ena receive you.
91. I awoke with a decision forming in my chest, slow and certain, like the rising of the sun during the day. I was astonished of the vision that I had of Asterion.
92. I would leave Athens—not in defeat, but in continuation. I knew afterwards that my mission in life was not to merely exist, but to open the way of the truth to others.
93. Meleticism was not a city, nor a circle, nor a name etched in stone. It was a way of seeing, and I would carry it, until I could no longer carry the message.
94. I packed the written scrolls I had preserved, the bound pages, the fragments of thought and memory, knowing that I was to be Asterion's voice.
95. I kissed the threshold of Sosibios’ home, and whispered thanks to the silence that had sheltered us for the time that we were there.
96. Polybios and Zagreus embraced me without words, and Sosibios placed a small vial of ink in my hand. Write. Even if no one reads. I have the unique sense that someday as the centuries pass, your testament will be read by the manifold—he said.
97. I was moved by his inspirational words. The thought had entered my mind before that my testament and the philosophy of Asterion would not die in vain.
98. Even though our circle had scattered, Asterion did not. He lingered in the minds of those people who had once listened, like a scent that memory cannot name.
99. Therefore, I walked alone, but I was not the only one who saw the flicker of the old flame burn. Others would share the vision of Asterion as well.
100. In the hills beyond Piraeus, a shepherd dreamt of a man with eyes like polished obsidian, who spoke of silence as a form of the truth, and awareness as the expression of wisdom.
101. The shepherd awoke and began to carve symbols into stone, even though he had never learnt to write in his life.
102. In Thebes, a woman named Galene—began to speak in certain riddles that echoed Asterion’s cadence and knowledge.
103. Her neighbours thought she was going mad, but children gathered to hear her speak of the stars that do not burn, and the truth that does not shout.
104. Asterion came to her in the stillness between sleep and waking, not as a man, but in the form of a question.
105. What is the shape of thought?—he asked, and she answered with a circle drawn in ash that had circles outside of it.
106. In Delphi, a priestess abandoned her rites and began to write verses that no god had given her.
107. She claimed a stranger had stood at the edge of her vision, watching, waiting, never speaking. He only made a gesture.
108. When she turned to face him, he vanished, but the air was thick with meaning and purpose that inspired her.
109. I heard of these things not through rumours, but through resonance—each story a chord struck in the same tune. These were not the only people who had dreamt or seen in their vision, the presence of Asterion.
110. I wrote to the others of the inner circle, those persons who had once sat beside him, and some replied with dreams, sketches, fragments of thought.
111. Even Thalia, who was uncertain at first, confessed to seeing him in the reflection of a still pond one day.
112. He did not speak a single word to me, but I understood his presence—she said.
113. In a market in Corinth, a child recited a passage Asterion had written, even though no one had taught it to her before.
114. Her mother said that the child had begun speaking in her sleep, eyes open, voice calm. She said, she saw an old man in the grove, who she did not recognise.
115. Asterion’s vision was no longer confined to the circle—it had become a current, moving through the minds of those individuals ready to receive it willingly.
116. In Rhodes, a sculptor shaped a figure with no face, only a gesture: one hand raised, one lowered, as if balancing thought and silence.
117. He claimed no divine inspiration, only a presence that guided his chisel with awareness, as he finished his statue.
118. I saw the sculpture and was astonished afterwards, for it was Asterion—not only in likeness, but in essence. The sculptor had told me that he had seen Asterion in a dream, where he was standing before him.
119. And so the vision continued incredibly, not as doctrine, but as an echo that had reached the ears of manifold people who were experiencing this vision.
120. Asterion walked still—not in mortal flesh or bones, but in the visions or dreams of the common people, who were drawn to his presence.
121. In a village near Delos, a certain mason dreamt of a man, who was a stranger to him, standing beneath a lone tree that bore no leaves, only mirrors.
122. Each mirror reflected a different sky, and Asterion pointed to one where thought moved like the bracing wind that belonged to the order of the Logos.
123. The mason awoke and began building walls with gaps. For the truth must pass through—he said.
124. In Argos, a widow dreamt of Asterion seated beside her late husband, both silent, both luminous as they stared at her.
125. She did not cry upon waking, for the dream had given her a genuine vision of hope beyond any grief.
126. She began to write letters to no one, filled with questions she did not expect to answer, until she had sent them to me then.
127. In a port town on the Ionian coast, a sailor dreamt of a vast library that stood beneath the sea.
128. Asterion floated between shelves, placing scrolls into the sailor’s hands—each one with a message.
129. You must preserve them—he said, even though his mouth did not move as a man's mouth would.
130. Thus, the sailor left the sea and took the scrolls, even though he had never learnt to read in his life.
131. In Sparta, a soldier dreamt of battle—but the weapons were words, and Asterion stood before him unarmed, yet undefeated in his posture.
132. He awoke and laid down his sword, choosing instead to teach Meleticism to men and women who had only known war and ruination.
133. In Mycenae, a young woman dreamt of a marble staircase that led nowhere, and at its summit stood Asterion, smiling as he gestured towards the young woman.
134. Not all paths must arrive from the same place—he said to the young woman, and she began to draw endless circles in the dirt then spirals beside them.
135. Her parents feared madness, but a travelling scholar saw the drawings and recognised the pattern of the Meletic symbol.
136. In Naxos, a baker dreamt of a unique flame that did not burn, and Asterion walked through it untouched and unharmed.
137. Some truths are not consumed—he said, and the baker began to leave loaves unmarked, unsweetened, yet deeply satisfying.
138. In these dreams, Asterion did not preach nor convert people—he appeared to them, as a telling sign of To Ena.
139. He did not command people—he invited and inspired them with his mere presence. This what Asterion did whilst he was living.
140. And those people who truly saw him awoke changed, not only in belief, but in the awareness of the Meletic Triad that they had not fathomed before.
141. In the hills of Thessaly, two strangers met at a well and spoke the same phrase: —He stood beneath the tree and the river that flowed.
142. Neither had told the dream before to each other, yet both knew they had seen the same man that was present.
143. They did not form a sect, nor build a shrine—they simply began to walk together in the way of the truth, realising that their experience was indeed a vision shared between them.
144. In Delos, the mason met the widow, and they exchanged fragments of their dreams like eloquent verses of a shared poem.
145. He gave me lasting serenity—she said. He gave me the truth that I had ignored for a long time—he replied.
146. They began to build a small room with no door, only windows—'for those people who see beyond their eyes and think with their mind, enter'.
147. In Corinth, the sailor met the soldier, and they both sat beside the sea pondering their visions and experiences.
148. He gave me scrolls—said the sailor. He gave me unspoken victory, not in the battlefield, but in life—said the soldier.
149. They buried the scrolls beneath a heap of stones, believing the earth would know what to do with them.
150. In Mycenae, the young woman's circles and spirals were found by a traveller who had once seen Asterion in a dream of falling stars.
151. He recognised the pattern and began to teach her the meaning of the symbol, though she already understood it fluently.
152. In Naxos, the baker’s loaves began to appear in other towns, carried by those people who had tasted something beyond hunger.
153. They called it 'bread of the flame', even though it bore no particular mark and had no recipe.
154. Slowly, the dreamers began to find one another—not through names, but through echoes of the Logos.
155. A gesture, a phrase, or even a drawing in the dust—these were the visible signs that Asterion revealed in his presence.
156. They did not gather in massive crowds, but in pairs, in threes, in quiet circles beneath trees and beside rivers.
157. They did not speak of Asterion as a prophet, but as a presence—one who had walked beside them in the realm between waking and sleep.
158. They called themselves nothing of names, wore no symbols, and kept no actual records of their encounters.
159. Across the land, a constellation formed—not in the sky, but in the minds of those individuals who had dreamt of Asterion.
160. And in the centre of that constellation, always, was Asterion—silent, smiling, and still in his posture.
161. I have come to understand that Asterion’s vision was never meant to be possessed—it was meant to be witnessed by those people who were moved by him.
162. Those people who saw him did not see a man returned from death, but a thought made visible to them. It was not a resurrection, but an inspiration.
163. In their dreams, he did not offer eternal salvation, but lasting presence—a reminder that the truth does not vanish, even when its voice grows quiet.
164. Each vision was different, shaped by the contours of the dreamer’s own mind, yet each bore the unmistakable imprint of his clarity and wisdom too.
165. He did not appear to the powerful, nor to the pious, but to those individuals who had paused long enough to notice his presence.
166. The mason, the widow, the sailor, the child—they were not chosen, but attuned to the Logos.
167. Their lives did not become extraordinary afterwards of renown, but they became more attentive in their thoughts.
168. And in that attention, Meleticism found its breath—not loud, not triumphant, but steady in the core of its philosophy.
169. I no longer believe that we must keep Asterion’s teachings for the sake of their preservation only.
170. They live in the way the water of the river flows, or a voice softens when speaking of the stars above.
171. They live in the questions that remain unanswered, and in the comfort of not needing to find answers so hastily.
172. The inspirational visions of others have taught me that Asterion was never ours alone. What was more incredible was the fact that he never saw him, as a man of divinity.
173. He belongs to the moment when thought becomes still, and the world is seen without any form of distortion. When I had told the others of the inner circle Zagreus, Sosibios, Polybios and Thalia of these visions, they too admitted that they had visions of Asterion after his death.
174. I have walked far from Athens many times, and I have met many people who have never heard his name, yet had a unique vision of him.
175. They spoke of balance, of cycles and of the dignity of the unadorned in one's life.
176. They spoke of nature not as a resource, but as a companion of the Logos and the Nous.
177. And in their emphatic words confessed, I hear him—not as a mere echo, but as a continuation of his message.
178. The visions are not sacred in their nature, but they are essential to the being of the soul.
179. They remind us that clarity is not given nor assumed to be—it is cultivated instead from our awareness.
180. And that the truth, like the wind that blows is felt more than seen with our eyes wide open.
181. I no longer seek to convince others of my belief, only to share with them the philosophy of Meleticism that I had embraced as my life.
182. I no longer fear forgetting, for what matters cannot be erased. Time is a witness to that occurrence.
183. Asterion walks still—not in dreams alone, but in the way the truth is reflected in the wisdom of those individuals who he taught and walked with.
184. He is not a divine figure of worship, but an inspirational figure of awareness in life. A man who gave up his wealth for his philosophy.
185. And those people who see him do not become followers—they become observers and knowers.
186. In this, Meleticism endures—not as a single movement, but as a manner of being that is shared amongst all forms of existence.
187. The visions are scattered, but they form a transparent pattern, like the stars across a night sky above.
188. Not one alone reveals the whole, but together they illuminate a way, that is the path to To Ena.
189. It is also, a way of seeing, of thinking and of living without the need for illusion or deceit.
190. A way of honouring the world as it truly is in its essence, not as we wish it to be in our yearning.
191. I write these final verses not to conclude, but to continue a philosophy that began with Asterion. He who was the messenger became the message in the end.
192. For Asterion’s vision is not an event—it is a living thread that continues to be woven daily in the minds of those people who envisioned him.
193. And each person who sees him adds a stitch to the fabric of that understanding of life and of the Meletic Triad.
194. I do not know where the others are now, nor whether they still dream or share the same vision. But inside of me, I know that they carry him, as I do—not in memory, but in awareness.
195. My vision of Asterion was a familiar one. In my dream, I was in the grove at night where we spent endless hours together, and he appeared before me. He said nothing to me. He only pointed to the sky. In that moment, a star twinkled.
196. Therefore, the circle of life may appear to be broken, but the centre remains in tact as it exists.
197. And in that centre, there is no altar, no throne—only a man who once asked us to look within our soul to release the self.
198. To look up in the sky at night, at the glow of the stars, and know that he is present amongst us in the glow reflected from the stars.
199. To look up without fear, without longing and without the illusion that is disguised in our world of materialism.
200. Henceforth, if one looks up, one will find the quiet truth that does not need to be believed—only seen. His vision is still alive.
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