EC 601 at http://esoschronicles.blogspot.com/

Of Cities and Citybred Monsters

By © E. Antons Benjamiņš, 2017

It has  come to be that the atheist-controlled community of government has become the fake Godhead over the community of Nature. Likewise, government has made itself to become the People.

The Great Grandson of God* (a play)

*God—see Post Script

(A retelling of the story of King Oedipus)

Episode 2

Strophe:

Praise, praise!

A great welcome

to our Savior!

Your name,

King Oedipus,

will be in our songs

For ever!

Though you step

With a limp,

A thousand children

Run for joy!

No more will their bodies

Lie rotting at the foot

Of the chasm

And send horrid odors

To tthe Sphinx’s nostrils,

and send tears

To God’s eyes.

King Oedipus:

My dear children,

My sons and daughters.

Cityzens of Thebes!

What disturbs you?

Why do you listen

To conspiracy theorists

And fake fairy tales?

All is well in Thebes.

Our city is growing

By leaps and bounds!

You can see and tell this

By the fast

disappearing forests,

And the fields

Of golden grain

And rings of

Well deserved

Gold swinging

from the tassles

Of our belts.

The treasury of Thebes

Is brimming.

Your taxes

Are decreasing

As Earth rewards us

For being her good.

Why are you

Listening to this frog,

This preacher,

Whom I blinded,

Yet let live,

When I freed your children

From the yoke of sacrifice?

He’s but a conspirator

Against your welfare!

What is it

in his croak

That compels you

To come and listen to him?

(King Oedipus turns toward the preacher.)

You, there, frog,

In the white shirt,

I’ve forgotten your name,

I think that you

Have croaked

Your theories

long enough.

Why do you disturb

These good people

Of the wood?

Why do you take advantage

Of their shy nature

And come speak

As if in their place?

I hear no pleasing thoughts

From you.

Perhaps the time has come

To stuff you

Up a hollow log

And burn?

The priest:

Mighty King

Of sacred Thebes!

My name is Tiresias!

I feel and, therefore,

I speak

On behalf of the herders,

Whose herds are

Being driven over the cliff

For the sake of

By your tax collectors.

Even donkeys

are being killed

for their skin.

True, your warehouses

are full of elk furs.

Your fields

of golden grain,

King Oedipus,

Have shorn the land

Of its forests,

Gone are the elk.

Their milk

used to sustain us,

Their pelts kept us warm,

The fur about

their mother’s teats

that gentled the noses

of her calves,

Made our pillows.

Thebes was our Jerusalem.

Now Thebes

no longer is Paradise,

She’s but the rough whore

Who used to ma-damn

The women of Paris.

See, O mighty king,

The people pray

To be free

Of your unholy city.

They would rather sleep

On the moss of the forest

With their herds,

Than alone

on the cold streets

Of New York

Among humanized  beasts.

O King,

Pity your people!

See how they

Prostrate themselves

Before the altar

That in its depths

Hides the dream

Of the garden of gold

You’ve taken from them.

Of course,

it is not gold they seek,

But in their hearts

Filled by emotion

And devotion,

Call on the Sphinx

To return!

See, O King, their offerings

of butter, cottage cheese,

And honey.

There is olive oil

Flavored with garlic,’

And loaves of bread

Broken and crusty.

But the Sphinx

Fails to come.

Only flies and wasps

Come and make think

Something is awry.

O king,

There is talk,

That you,

Meant to be

the God of Thebes,

may be

at death’s door;

the Sphinx

will return only

if the sacrifice

Of children is renewed.

Smell the incense’

Of burnt feathers

O King,

your servants burn

to cover up the smell

of rot that comes

from your leather factories.

King Oedipus,

You saved us once

(so we believed),

Come save us again!

Though you put out

My eyes,

It is but a small loss

If you come to offer

Your life

in place of our children,

be they infants

or soldiers.

King Oedipus:

What blathering nonsense,

Old man!

Maybe you feel,

But you think not!

I think,

Therefore I am King.

(King Oedipus turns toward the supplicants.)

Dear children,

I have forethought

And sent

Prince Creon,

My right arm,

And the Queens brother,

To the temple of the Sun,

to consult with

The daughters of the Sun.

The maids will read

The message of the acorns

Thrown at my inauguration.

Now grown

into saplings.

The wisdom

Drawn to leaf

By the oak’s deep roots

Will reveal to us

What ails Thebes.

I trust,

It is nothing but

An unholy conspiracy

Which this

unholy old frog

farts and disturbs

with stink

Our ever growing city,

The center of

Human creativity.

Tiresias:

(O! O! O! O Gods!

O hear! Hear the lie!)

O hear!

The guards are

blowing their horns.

It’s likely Prince Creon

Has returned.

King Oedipus:

Let us hope,

He brings good news.

Tiresias:

I hear his footsteps.

If there’s a smile

On his face

The news is good.

King Oedipus:

Greetings, Prince Creon!

What news bring you?

Prince Creon:

Greetings,

great King Oedipus!

How goes it in Thebes?

Indeed, I bring news.

Very important news.

Let us go inside

The fort.

While I brush the dust

Off my sandals,

I will tell you,

the message

the daughters of the Sun

have asked me

to bring Thebes.