[Editor’s note: This letter is constructed purely of own words, but is based on the work by Sophocles, Oedipus The King.]
I understand that your situation is complex, and I’m determined to help you to my best abilities. I do not wish to test the strength of our bond through blood; nor your love for your dear husband, Oedipus, yet I ask of you to consider this as you read. His mind is not currently at its right state; his words origin from emotions and are filled with hatred and confusion. You must believe me when I say that his claims against me are false. Do not worry on my behalf; your thoughts should be for Oedipus who in all hope should come to the realization of how he has condemned himself. I do not wish to exile my brother-in-law, yet he leaves me no choice. My fear, nevertheless, lies on Oedipus’ reaction to the truth. I am certain of this as my journey to Apollo enlightened me and Teiresias‘ visit confirmed my concerns. It is as they say; your husband is the man Thebes must banish. Do not fear the consequences your husband will face, I shall see to it to spare his life is possible. The household slave that witnessed the murder is soon arriving and will bring light on this disastrous matter. Oedipus has no choice but to see the truth, he cannot argue his way out. You must talk to him, dear sister. Only your reason can make him understand that he is the man Apollo speaks about. Your disbelief in fate and prophecies are understandable, yet you must see the proof laying before you. The stories told are true, even Oedipus himself starts to see their connection.
- The Oedipus Oracle (espliego.wordpress.com)
- My analysis of Oedipus Rex by Sophocles (weareliterarycritics.wordpress.com)
There are many things in life that are more valuable than a stock of money. The tiny details noticed by the open mind, the senseless conversations shared between equal souls, the pause in a song, the irrelevant things that can be the whole island to Miranda’s world. Seconds spent in a book store, crowded by travelling people, working, thinking, hurrying, and amongst them there is you. Deep inside a novel recently discovered. Calm music surrounds you from nowhere, everywhere. Swirling around in a constant orbit, soothingly embedded in the story told between the words. Curled together in a little corner you sit, books covering the little body on the floor. High in the ceiling, long against the walls, rising on the tables, the floors are filled with books unread, ready to tell their story. “Feed on me, I’ve got a nice little tale to share”, they shout in a lulling voice, beaming alongside your thoughts. There is too much to read, too much to discover. Book after book fall upon you, trapping you in a circle of knowledge. Time leaves, and there is nothing that can hinder you. Curled together in a little corner you sit, books covering the little body on the floor. The books speak, and you are listening.
It is a special feeling, to miss something.
Yet, it’s not actually missing anything, it’s just not where it’s supposed to be. The space that should be filled sits there, waiting. Time passes, but nothing comes. There is not a single thing that replaces the void. You know what is needed. Deep down inside that hole is a voice screaming out what it needs, its desires.
The horrific feeling of not accomplishing anything without that thing, that object, feeling or person. Being an absolute failure. How can you possibly do anything when you’re not even whole. There’s not much missing, just that tiny bit. A fraction of a being, but so unbelievably valuable. With it, you are fulfilled. The thoughts that arrive, the ideas that are created, the faith that has arrived is remarkable. Anything can be accomplished. The world is beneath your feet.
Isn’t it dreadful?
To believe that you are incomplete. Normally, you are nothing. Cannot do anything extraordinary. Cannot stun the world. Knowing that you are capable of so much more, but waiting for that little piece of self. It drains you. Your mind beat you up, force you to believes the lies of failure.
You have to fight against the destructive thoughts lurking behind shut doors. The ideas that attempts to root in your head shall never find its place. The capacity of yourself is beyond thought. So far beyond that the motivation and faith that joins you together with your missing link disappears. Hold on to it, do you hear me? They don’t vanish together with your piece. It can grow inside you. On its own. Extend your faith, and believe in yourself.
If the digital clock made noises I would memorize them all, organize them in order of loudness and endurance. The numbers never change. The music in the background floats. Each song is noticed. Shuffling the songs doesn’t make them more interesting. They are all the same. Nothing changes. Each detail in the room is recognized. For every look there’s nothing new to see. They don’t move. Every light flickers. The atoms move. They vibrate. They live. Supposedly.