The Logos: The Meletic Testament (Chapter 42 The Return)
Lorient Montaner
đ Chapter 42: The Epistrophis
1. I Heromenes of Athens, speak not to instruct the living nor to comfort the dying, but to illuminate the quiet truth that underlies all existenceâthat we are born not to possess, but to return to To Ena, the One.
2. The journey of the soul is not a linear ascent nor a descent into punishment or reward, but a spiralling motion inwards, a gradual dissolution into the eternal order from which all things emerge.
3. From the moment of our first breath, we are already drifting back towards To Ena, whose presence is not felt in thunder or flame, but in the stillness between thoughts and the silence beneath sound.
4. The body, though cherished and adorned, is but a temporary vessel, a clay-bound form destined to crumble and merge with the soil, whilst the Ousia, our essence, slips quietly into the fabric of the Logos. This return is not simply an abstraction but a natural process that occurs upon death, a transition that is both irreversible and fundamental to the structure of existence.
5. There is no celestial throne awaiting us, no golden gates nor infernal abyss, for the cosmos does not barter in fantasiesâit simply receives what was always its own through the Logos.
6. The soul does not rise like smoke nor fall like ash; it disperses, it mingles, it becomes the wind that stirs the olive trees and the rain that nourishes the earth.
7. To die is not to vanish, nor to be judged, but to be reabsorbed into the rhythm of the universe, to surrender the illusion of separateness and embrace the quiet unity of all things.
8. The Henosis, the union with To Ena, is not a mere prize for the virtuous onesâit is the inevitable harmony that awaits every soul, regardless of its mortal path. The connection that man seeks with To Ena.
9. We are not summoned to a celestial paradise, but gently drawn back into the order from which we came, like a wave returning to the sea without resistance or regret.
10. The teachings of Meleticism do not promise divinity, but clarity; they do not offer hope, but understandingâthat life is a brief divergence, and death is the restoration of balance. It is part of the cycle of life and death.
11. The Return or the Epistrophis (ÎĎΚĎĎĎÎżĎΡĎ) is not a doctrine of fear, but a philosophy of return. It is the recognition that all existential things, even the stars or the ashes of the body, return to To Ena.
12. And so I speak, not to mourn the end of my mortality, but to honour the beginning that lies within it, for in every death there is a quiet homecoming, a final breath that echoes the first.
13. The sages of old spoke of immortality as if it were given by the gods, yet I have come to see that true eternity lies not in endless existence, but in the quiet merging with all that is already existence.
14. When the natural breath within us ceases and the heart no longer drums its rhythm, the soul does not flee into immoralityâit simply leaves the body and slips gently into the vastness of the cosmos.
15. The stars do not mourn our passing, nor does the earth rejoice; nature remains indifferent, yet it receives us with such a natural return that no god could rival.
16. In the stillness of death, there is no judgement day, no reckoningâonly the soft unraveling of the self, until all that remains is essence, pure and indivisible.
17. To Ena does not speak, nor does it command; it is not a deity to be worshipped, but a principle to be understoodâa unity that underpins all things, from the smallest atom to the vastest galaxy.
18. To live in accordance with To Ena is not to obey, but to alignâto recognise that our joys and sorrows, our triumphs and failures, are but ripples in a greater sea that is universal existence.
19. The Return is not a path we choose, nor a divine one. It is a truth that we embody; it is the natural consequence of being, the ultimate return to the source from which we sprang.
20. And so I walk, not towards eternal salvation, but towards dissolutionânot in despair, but in reverence for the order that cradles all things, even the end of mortality.
21. The body, once vibrant and defiant, now yields to timeâs quiet erosion, and in its surrender, it teaches us the final lesson: that resistance is futile, and peace lies in acceptance.
22. The soul, once restless and ambitious, now finds stillnessânot in achievement, but in release, as it lets go of identity and becomes part of the eternal weave.
23. There is no need for lasting monuments, no need for man's legacy, for the Henosis renders all distinctions meaningless; in unity, there is no 'I', only 'we'.
24. And in that 'we', we find not anonymity, but belongingânot erasure, but completion, as the self dissolves into the whole, through a natural process.
25. I do not fear the imminence of death, for I have seen its face in the falling leaf, in the ebbing tide, in the quiet hush of winterâs breathâand it is not cruel, but calm.
26. The teachings of Meleticism do not offer comfort in the conventional sense, but they offer something greater: a foundation for understanding the beauty of impermanence. There is no illusion of an afterlife.
27. It is to know that we are part of a natural cycle, not an exception to it that is masked in divinity. It is to be liberated from the tyranny of the ego and the illusion of permanence.
28. And so I speak, not to bring a divine revelation unto the world, but to shareâto offer a glimpse of the serenity that comes from knowing that all things must return, and in that return, they are made whole.
29. In the quiet hours between dusk and dawn, when the city sleeps and even the gods seem absent, I find myself contemplating the nature of returnânot as a retreat, but as a restoration of what was never truly lost.
30. The soul, even though shaped by memory and desire, is not bound by them; it is a current beneath the surface, flowing steadily towards To Ena, untouched by the turbulence above.
31. We speak of death as an ending, yet it is more accurately a soft convergenceâa folding of the self into the greater fabric of existence, where boundaries dissolve and essence remains.
32. The body, once animated by nature's breath and will, becomes a quiet offering to the earth, and in its surrender, it completes the cycle that began long before birth.
33. The teachings of Meleticism do not seek to comfort the fearful, nor to praise the worthy; they simply reveal the truth that all things are transient, and that peace lies in embracing that transience.
34. To live without clinging, to love without possession, to think without certaintyâthese are the virtues of one who walks in harmony with To Ena.
35. The Henosis is not a moment of divine revelation, but a gradual unfoldingâa recognition that the Ousia remains, as a doorway through which the universe passes.
36. When that doorway closes, it does so not with haste, but with grace, allowing the soul to slip quietly into the presence it has always known.
37. I have seen men build altars to their own gods, carve statues in their likeness, and speak of eternity as if it were theirs to commandâbut the wind does not remember, and the stars do not praise.
38. What endures is not the name, nor the deed, but the essenceâthe quiet pulse of being that returns to To Ena, unburdened by pride or shame.
39. The Return is not a punishment, nor a reward; it is the natural consequence of existence, the final breath that carries us back to our origin.
40. And in that return, there is no divinity, no judgementâonly stillness, and the soft embrace of unity.
41. I have walked amongst the ruins where once empires stood, and I have felt no sorrow for their fallâonly a quiet recognition that permanence is a myth we tell to soothe our fear of change.
42. The stone does not mourn its erosion, nor does the tree lament its shedding; they simply yield, and in yielding, they remain true to their nature.
43. To resist the natural flow of the To Ena is to be astray; to move with it is to understand its meaning.
44. And understanding is not a guarantee, but an actual momentâa flicker of clarity before the next veil descends.
45. I have heard men speak of purpose as if it were assigned, bestowed, or earnedâbut purpose is not given; it is shaped, slowly, by the choices we make and the silence we endure.
46. The self is not a fixed point, but a shifting constellation of thought, memory, and sensationâalways in motion, always incomplete.
47. Completion is not the pursuit for a Meletic; it is the illusion that man often chase willingly. What matters is the movementâthe quiet unfolding of awareness, the gentle return to simplicity.
48. Our bodies, composed of atoms and matter, return to nature, merging with the environment in which we once thrived. The soul too, undergoes a transformation, integrating into the greater flow of existence.
49. In this way, the Ousia does not perish entirely, but transcends the limitations of individual identity, integrating into the vast continuum of the natural order. This integration is not to be feared; it is truly the natural order of all things.
50. I have watched the sea retreat from the shore, only to return again, not out of duty, but because that is its nature.
51. So too with the selfâit recedes into confusion, into longing, into fear, and then returns to clarity, not because it must, but because it can.
52. The Return is not a commandment, but ultimate fateâit is the natural rhythm of being, the echo of thought returning to its original source. And that source is not divine, nor eternalâit is simply the quiet centre where awareness rests within the Logos and the Nous.
53. I have seen beauty in decay, in rust, in the slow collapse of formâand I have learnt that beauty is not perfection, but presence.
54. To be present is to see without grasping, to feel without naming, to exist without demanding meaning.
55. Meaning arises not from the stars, nor from the soil, but from the space between breath and thought.
56. And in that space, we are neither masters nor servants unto othersâwe are simply here present.
57. The teachings of Meleticism do not promise eternal salvation, nor do they threaten damnationâthey offer only a mirror of reflection, and the invitation to look.
58. What we see is not always comforting or what we desire to see, but it is always authentic, whilst we are authentic with ourselves.
59. And the return, when accepted without adornment, becomes the most profound lesson to learn.
60. For in its quiet significance, it reveals the pathânot forth, not upwards, but inwards, where the Ousia dwells.
61. I have searched for permanence in names, in places, in the faces of those persons that I cherishedâbut all things shift, and memory is a tide that does not obey.
62. What remains is not the detail, but the impressionâthe faint echo of presence that lingers long after the moment has passed.
63. We are not our histories, nor our hopes; we are the awareness that watches them drift by, like the fallen leaves on a stream.
64. And in watching, we learn that identity is not a possession, but a process that defines the self.
65. I have stood in silence beside those people who grieve, and I have learnt that comfort does not lie in words, but in presenceâin the quiet affirmation that we are not alone in our impermanence. When we embrace our ultimate fate, we then embrace our return.
66. It is the affirmation that to be with another person in sorrow is to honour the truth that all things end, and that endings are not failures, but transitions.
67. The Return is not a vanishing, but a soft returnâa folding of the self into the rhythm from which it emerged.
68. And in that natural folding, there is no lossâonly transformation that occurs in the cycle of life and death.
69. I have watched the sun rise over empty fields, and felt no need to name the beauty I saw; it was enough to witness.
70. To witness without grasping is the beginning of wisdom, and the beginning of the way of the truth.
71. And wisdom, once found, does not elevateâit humbles, reminding us that we are not the centre, but a momentary ripple in a vast, indifferent sea.
72. Yet even the ripple matters, for it is real, and it moves through the natural flow of the Logos.
73. I have heard the laughter of children and the sighs of the dying, and I have seen in both the same truth: that life is not measured in length, but in depth.
74. Depth is found not in achievement, but in attentionâin the way we notice, reflect, and respond.
75. The teachings of Meleticism do not ask us to transcend, but to descendâinto the quiet spaces where thought becomes clear and being becomes simple.
76. In simplicity, we find peaceânot because the world is gentle, but because we no longer demand that it be otherwise.
77. I have walked alone, and I have walked with others; both paths taught me that solitude and connection are not opposites, but companions.
78. To be alone is not to be empty, and to be with others is not to be fullâeach state reveals a different facet of the self.
79. And the self, when seen without distortion, is neither grand nor smallâit is simply present.
80. Presence is the beginning of return, and return is the quiet truth beneath all existential things. There is no afterlife in the conventional sense, which is a supposed realm beyond this one, situated in divine immortality, where an individual consciousness persists indefinitely.
81. I have watched my hands changeâonce firm, now softened by timeâand I do not mourn their transformation; I honour it.
82. The body is not a prison, nor a templeâit is a vessel, shaped by experience, worn by use, and returned to stillness with grace.
83. To age is not to decline, but to distilâto shed excess, to refine perception, to move closer to essence.
84. And genuine essence, once glimpsed, asks for no adornment. Such is the case with the Ousia. It is important to distinguish the Return from reincarnation. The return to To Ena does not signify the rebirth of an individual soul or the continuation of consciousness in another form.
85. Neither the Ousia, nor the soul, nor the body is capable of assuming a new embodiment after death. Unlike the beliefs found in certain religious or mystical traditions, Meleticism rejects the idea that an individualâs essence could be reborn into another being, whether human, animal or otherwise. There are no endless cycles of rebirth.
86. I have felt pain, not as punishment, but as presenceâa reminder that I am still here, still capable of sensation, still tethered to the moment. Pain, like joy, is a visible signalânot of value, but of reality. A reality that unfolds through the Logos and the Nous.
87. And this form of reality, when accepted without resistance, becomes a quiet companion.
88. In its company, I have learnt to walk slowly, speak gently, and think with my wisdom reflected.
89. I have seen the youth of today rush towards ambition, and the old retreat into memoryâand I have stood between them, watching both with equal compassion.
90. Neither future nor past holds the truth of the self; only the present offers it with clarity.
91. And clarity is not a giftâit is a practice, cultivated in silence and sustained by awareness.
92. Awareness, once sharpened, reveals the simplicity beneath complexity. The Return is not complex. Instead, it is simple in its nature.
93. I have let go of many thingsâpossessions, beliefs, even namesâand in each release, I felt no loss, only lightness.
94. To let go is not to abandon the world, but to recognise that holding on was never necessary.
95. The Return is not a surrender, but a returnâa movement not backwards, but inwards into the Ousia. And inwards lies not isolation, but reintegration with the Logos and with To Ena.
96. Our physical components are reabsorbed into the nature, contributing to the ongoing transformation of matter. In a way, existence continues, not through reincarnation, but through the persistence of nature itself.
97. I have sat beside the dying, and I have seen in their eyes not fear, but recognitionâthe quiet understanding that the journey is complete.
98. Completion is not marked by fulfilment, but by the acceptance of our mortality and ultimate fate.
99. And acceptance, once embraced, dissolves the boundary between self and world. Thus, allowing the return to occur.
100. In that unique dissolution, there is no actual endâonly the soft rhythm of the return.
101. I have felt my thoughts slow, not from weariness, but from refinementâas if the mind, having gathered much, now seeks only what is essential.
102. The noise of ambition fades, and in its place arises a stillness that does not ask for more, but listens more deeply to what already is.
103. In this stillness, I have found no divine revelations, no visionsâonly the soft truth that I am part of something vast, and that vastness does not require my name.
104. The self, once so carefully constructed, begins to loosen, and I do not resist; I welcome the unraveling. The soul then follows the process of fading into the Logos.
105. I have watched the seasons pass with increasing gentleness, no longer measuring them by what they bring, but by how they moveâeach one a quiet gesture of continuity.
106. Continuity is not repetition, but a rhythmâthe subtle pattern that underlies change and gives it form.
107. And actual form, once understood, becomes less important than the natural flow of existence.
108. To flow naturally, is to live without grasping, to move without clinging, to return without regret.
109. I have spoken less, not because I have less to say, but because I have learnt that most truths do not need wordsâthey need space.
110. Space to breathe freely, and to settle, to be recognised without the need for being named.
111. In that certain space, I have found companionshipânot with others, but with the moment itself.
112. And the one moment in time, when fully met, asks for nothing but lasting presence.
113. I have ceased to ask what comes next, for I have come to see that the question itself is a distractionâa way of avoiding what is already here.
114. What is here is enough: the breath, the thought, the fading light, the quiet ache of being.
115. And in that ache, there is no sufferingâonly awareness, sharpened by time and softened by acceptance.
116. Acceptance is not resignation, but recognitionâthe clear seeing of things as they are, without ornament or denial.
117. I have begun to feel the edges of myself blurânot into oblivion, but into continuity, as if I were not ending, but merging.
118. Merging not with divinity, nor with dream, but with the quiet order that has always held me, even when I did not know it.
119. That order of the Logos does not speak, does not judge, does not promiseâit simply exists.
120. And in its presence, I find a lasting peaceânot because I understand it, but because I no longer need to.
121. I no longer seek to define myself, for the definitions have grown brittle, and the truth lies not in their precision, but in their erosion.
122. What remains is not identity, but impressionâa faint echo of having been, gently fading into the silence.
123. And that silence is not empty, but fullâfull of all that does not need to be spoken.
124. I have come to trust that fullness dwelling in me, knowing that it is near than far.
125. The body, once a vessel of striving, now becomes a landscape of sensationâeach breath a breeze, each ache a stone warmed by time. Just as birth is a natural emergence into being, the Return is the natural transition back to To Ena.
126. I do not resist its slowing, its soft unravelling; I greet it as one greets dusk, not with fear, but with reverence.
127. Reverence not for what is lost in life, but for what is revealed in the process of losing.
128. In the thinning of effort, I have found the thickening of grace that accompanies me.
129. Grace is not bestowed by a god in a heavenâit arises, quietly, when nothing is demanded.
130. And in its presence, I have ceased to measure myself against others, against ideals, against time.
131. Time itself seems to loosen, no longer a line, but a fieldâone I walk through slowly, barefoot, unhurried.
132. Each step is not towards a divine kingdom or place, but within my soul and self. From the moment I was born, I carried within me an innate connection to To Ena. This connection was realised through the state of the Henosis, which is the unification of body, mind and soul in alignment with the One.
133. Within, I find no centreâonly movement, gentle and continuous, like water that does not ask where it flows.
134. I have become that water, not in metaphor, but in feeling: clear, yielding, uncontained.
135. And in yielding, I have not diminishedâI have expanded into what cannot be held.
136. To be unheld is not to be lost, but to be free of the burdens that have lingered in me before.
137. Freedom, I have learnt, is not the absence of limits, but the true absence of grasping. There is a common human desire to conceive of existence in terms of permanence. Many people find comfort in the notion of eternal life, a state in which individuality persists indefinitely, but that is an illusion.
138. I grasp nothing nowânot even this moment in time, even though I dwell fully within it.
139. And dwelling, I do not claim it, I do not name itâI simply let it pass through me, like wind through open hands.
140. In the passing, I remainânot as the self, but as witness of To Ena. I await my return with a simplicity in calmness.
141. I no longer dwell in mere anticipation, nor in memoryâI dwell in the breath between them.
142. That breath is not mine, yet it moves through me, as if I were a reed in the wind. I do not ask where the wind comes from, nor where it goesâI only feel its passing.
143. And in that passing, I am reminded that all things move, and all movement is sacred.
144. We are not eternal beings, nor are we meant to be. What is eternal is the cycle itself, which is the unbroken rhythm of birth, life, death and return.
145. The Return is relevant not because it is divine, but because it is realâunadorned, unclaimed, undeniable.
146. I have ceased to seek permanence, for I have seen that even the stars burn out, and their fading is no less beautiful.
147. Beauty, I have learnt, is not in what lasts, but in what is fully seen before it goes or fades away.
148. I see now clearly with my eyes, what I now embrace with the thought of my return.
149. To embrace is to be open, and to be open is to be exposedâbut I no longer fear that.
150. Vulnerability is not my weakness anymore, but the final honesty of my self-acceptance.
151. I am more honest now as a man, not in confession, but in the presence of the way of the truth.
152. And presence asks for nothing but awareness. I am aware of the ultimate fate that awaits me after death.
153. I give that awareness freely, for I have nothing left to protect, and everything left to witness.
154. What I witness is not grand in spectacle, not finalâit is quiet, and it is enough. Enough is not a compromise for something greaterâit is a recognition of something meaningful.
155. Each individual has a role in the cycle of life and death, but no single entity is exempt from its order. To accept this is to accept our mortality, not as a tragedy, instead as a fundamental truth.
156. Therefore, I recognise myself not in actual form, but in the fading that transpires to my body and soul. Our existence is finite, yet it is not meaningless.
157. And in this fading I describe, I do not disappear into the nothingnessâI return to To Ena. It is not a deity that bestows life upon the deserving or punishes the unworthy. It is not a god that prepares an eternal paradise or condemns souls to suffering. It is the source and the final destination to which all things return.
158. Return not to a distant place or darkness, nor to a promise, but to the silence from which I came.
159. That silence is not absenceâit is the origin of men. It is what unveils the truth of universal existence.
160. And in the origin, I shall dwell. Not as man does. Not as the soul does or the self, but as the Ousia does.
161. I shall cross the final breath, not with resistance or regret, but with the calm certainty of one who has walked the full length of the path and now steps into the quiet beyond the gate.
162. There will be no flash, no divine revelation, no hallowed chorusâonly the soft folding of time, like a page turned gently by a hand that does not rush.
163. And in that turning, I shall not vanishâI become part of the rhythm itself, no longer a voice, but a pulse, a presence that moves through the spaces I once occupied.
164. I shall not be goneâI shall be diffused into the pattern of the Logos, into the breath of those people who remain, into the silence between their thoughts.
165. You who read these words, do not mourn me as lost, for I am not lostâI have returned to the motion that bore me, and I continue there, without name, without boundary.
166. Death is not a wall, nor a chasmâit is a soft veil, and when it lifts, we do not fallâwe naturally flow. To embrace the concept of the Return is not only to acknowledge our mortality, but to realise the significance of our connection with To Ena in both life and death.
167. And in that unique flow, we are not diminished, but expanded, no longer confined to the shape of a single life, but carried into the lives of others, into the turning of the world.
168. I shall be in the wind that stirs your thoughts, in the quiet that settles your heart, in the rhythm that guides your steps when you do not know where you are going.
169. Do not fear death, for it does not takeâit returns; it does not eraseâit transforms; it does not endâit continues, quietly, faithfully, without need for witness.
170. And if you listenânot with ears, but with attentionâyou will feel it: the Return, the turning that never ceases, the rhythm that holds us all.
171. I shall not be the first to enter it, nor the lastâI shall be simply one more note in the melody, one more breath in the great exhale of being.
172. And in that melody, I am not aloneâI am joined by all who have turned before me, and all who will turn after.
173. You will turn too, in timeânot as punishment, nor as reward, but as the natural unfolding of what you are.
174. When you do, may you meet it not with fear, but with readiness, not with sorrow, but with reverence.
175. For there is no shame in ending, and no finality in deathâonly the quiet grace of returning to the rhythm that never began and never ends.
176. I speak now not as Heromenes, but as motion itself, as the echo of a life fully lived and gently released.
177. Let these words be not a monument, but a mirrorâreflecting your own breath, your own turning, your own place in the great unfolding.
178. When you feel the ache of impermanence, let it remind you that you are part of something vast, something tender, something eternal.
179. I am there, in that vastnessânot as a thought, but as a presence, not as a memory, but as rhythm. And in the unfolding of rhythm, I shall remain.
180. Like the ocean tide that returns to the shore each morning, or the sun that rises anew after the darkness of night.
181. I shall be no longer a figure moving through timeâI shall be the motion itself, the quiet unfolding that does not begin or end, but simply continues.
182. And in that continuation, I shall not speak as one who remembers, but as one who resonatesâechoing softly through the lives I have touched, the spaces I once inhabited.
183. You may not hear me with your ears, nor see me with your eyes, but if you sit in stillness, you will feel me in the breath between thoughts, in the hush before the morning light.
184. I shall not be a spirit, nor an angelâI shall be the rhythm that remains when all names have been set down. I shall be a part of the grand continuum, inseparable from the cosmos that gave rise to my breath.
185. Let this rhythm guide youânot as doctrine, but as inspiration, a gentle reminder that you too are part of the turning, and that your place within it is both fleeting and eternal.
186. Fleeting, because all forms must pass; eternal, because what moves through you does not endâit only changes shape.
187. And in that change, there is no loss, only transformationâlike flame becoming ash, like sound becoming silence, like the breath returning to the wind.
188. Do not cling to permanence, for it is a mirage; instead, hold loosely to the moment, and let it teach you how to release.
189. I have learnt that release is not surrenderâit is alignment, a quiet agreement with the nature of things, a bow to the rhythm that carries us all.
190. And in that bow, there is no defeatâonly grace, the kind that comes when we stop resisting and begin to flow.
191. Flow not towards an end, but into a wideningâinto the vastness that holds all things, even those we cannot name.
192. I shall be a part of that vastness now, and so are you, even as you read these words and wonder where I have gone.
193. I shall not have goneâI shall turn, and in turning, I shall become the space between moments, the breath beneath the breath, the silence that listens.
194. And if you listen too, not with urgency but with openness, you will hear the Return moving through you too, as it will move through me.
195. It does not ask for belief, nor for worshipâit asks only that you notice, and in noticing, that you soften. For in softening, you become part of the rhythm, and in the rhythm, you are never alone.
196. Asterion said about the return in his own wordsâIt is returning to that which is the very essence of one, which is one's origin. It is like the light of dawn returning from beyond the horizon.
197. Let this be your comfort: that nothing truly ends, and that even in the quietest fading, there is continuation.
198. Let this be your courage: that death is not exile, but returnânot a closing, but a widening into what has always been.
199. Let this be your lasting peace: that you are held, always, by the turning, and that the turning does not forget.
200. And let this be your beginning: to live not in fear of the end, but in reverence for the order of the Logosâand to know, when your time comes, that you too will return to To Ena.
201. Returning to To Ena is not a loss, but a fulfilment. It is the final movement of the Ousia in accordance with the natural order of existence. It is the ascent to To Ena, the return to the original state of being. In this, we find not despair, but lasting peace.
202. For in understanding our place within the cycle, we free ourselves from the illusion of permanence and embrace the beauty of existence as it truly is in its absolute nature.
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