So close, Albert, so close. You could have brought us to our knees, had us weeping, had us wailing, but nooooon. Went with the guy eternally laboring, shoving that blasted rock uphill. Over and over and over and over...and over again.
Sisyphus, touchstone for an absurd existence. We are to--must--imagine him happy?
Except, of course, Sisyphus was a nefarious provocateur. And a bloodthirsty egomaniac. And, ultimately, a fool.
According to Robert Graves in The Greek Myths, the name Sisyphus meant "very wise to the Greeks". Oh, the irony!
Murdered visitors to his home and travelers in his land, check. Plotted to kill his brother, check. Offended and betrayed Zeus, check. Trapped Hades in chains, check. Deceived Persephone, check.
Albert, Albert, Albert.
Sorry, but in my puny attempts to stumble across peace and harmony in the ever-expanding universe, I find nary a spark of empathy nor sympathy for Ol' Sis.
However, may I humbly offer up the tale of Actaeon?
The scene in its simplest presentation would be Artemis (Diana) bathing in a favored spring. The hunter Actaeon inadvertently comes upon the goddess and sees her naked. The basic version I prefer cuts to the chase. Actaeon is changed into a great stag and is chased down and torn apart by his own hunting hounds.
Now think of the young hunter--I imagine him young, in his prime--taught the skills of the hunt by a true master, his own father, Aristaeus. Yes, Actaeon, survived by parents and siblings and friends. Sympathy? Empathy? Absurdity?
An accident of time and space, to be ripped to shreds by his own dogs. Why, Albert, why?
You wanted us to avoid howling in the desert, to stand up to the inexplicable. Well, au revoir, that ship has gone down in an unexpected storm.
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