Muditha DharmasiriThe first day when I was in Athens, I went for a walk by myself up Philopappos Hill, also known as the Hill of the Muses. Walking along the cobblestone pathway, surrounded by the olive trees and amidst the never-ending chatting of the cicadas, I felt a sense of calmness and peace I’ve not felt in recent times.
As I walked up the hill, I saw the Acropolis from different viewpoints. I sat on a rock with the best view in front of me. As I was looking at this view, under an olive tree, I had a moment where words failed to recount the feeling. I was at peace with myself. I owed that moment to everything that I have done up to this point. Many have asked what the reason is for the interest in the classical past and literature, and what I can even achieve with this. Some days, I don’t know the answer to it. The love to pursue something for the sake of your interest and passion is gradually diminishing at this time, unfortunately. Always, why and what do you want to do after it? Well, what about now? Many say life is short, but is it? We waste the time given to us by doing the things that we don’t even want to do. Seneca would agree with me there.
Along the way, I passed the site traditionally identified as Socrates’ prison. This reminded me of what Socrates said to Phaedrus about the cicadas. He talks about divine inspiration and the importance of listening to one’s inner voice. I guess that’s one of the main philosophical lessons of all time from Socrates. This place clearly gives you that unseen force within you and around you to step out and see you. It was like a moment where I met myself.
The story is that once upon a time, the cicadas were human beings, in the days before the Muses were born. When the Muses came into the world, and song appeared, some of those men were so overcome with delight that they sang on and on, forgetting to eat and drink, and died without noticing it. From them came the race of cicadas, to whom the Muses have granted this gift, that they need no nourishment, but sing from the moment they are born until they die. And when they die, they go and report to the Muses who, among mortals, honour which of them. To Terpsichore they report those who honour her in dance, to Erato those who honour her in love, and so on… and to Calliope and Urania, who preside over philosophy and the heavens, they report those who spend their lives in the pursuit of wisdom and in discourse of that kind.” Plato, Phaedrus 259b-d
So, the cicadas are watching us right now, as Socrates said right after. With the cicadas’ never-ending chatter surrounding me, I felt this, and I felt them watching me. One must live in a way that would be worth reporting to the Muses, right?
