In our modern age, Kristo and Morpheus would have excelled as ironworkers on the tallest skyscrapers; they moved with confidence and ease high above the ground. At the sound of the whistle, they set down their chisels and hammers and reached for their nearby lunch pails. Their torsos were dark bronze from many hours under the sun. With their legs dangling over the frontispiece of the Temple of Apollo, in Delphi, Greece, Kristo and Morpheus examined the contents of their lunches. “What!” exclaimed Morpheus, “eggs and sardines again!”
“Be grateful,” said Kristo, as he reached for an olive, “we’re fortunate to have food to eat.”
“Yes,” said Morpheus, “but variety is the spice of life.”
Kristo’s attention was drawn to a distant hawk that was soaring effortlessly; for a few moments, he felt as though he was flying along with it. “What do you think the inscription means?” he asked.
“Know Thyself?” said Morpheus with puzzled expression.
“Yes,” said Kristo.
“I’ll tell you exactly what it means,” said Morpheus. “It means another day, another drachma. Haha, nothing like overtime pay!”
“Agreed,” said Kristo, “overtime pay is wonderful. But what do you think the inscription really means?”
“What care I as long as I get paid?”
“We might learn something.”
“I know all I that need to know!” spat Morpheus gruffly. “It means only that some big mucky muck thought it would be a catchy phrase.”
“What more could it mean? Know Thyself…really? I know that I am Morpheus and that you are Kristo. We are men, Greek, in middle age, with families to feed and mortgages to pay.”
Kristo looked away, squinting against the sun. “An intuition tells me that the inscription relates a message that is much deeper.”
“Have it as you will,” said Morpheus. “I know who I am!”
The whistle blew, signalling that lunch break was over. Both men rose to their feet and exchanged their lunch pails for their tools. Soon their forearms and shoulders were once again straining with each hammer strike to chisel. The afternoon passed as usual for Morpheus; but as Kristo worked, he felt the following message hammer softly at him from within:
“There is more to me than meets the eye.
There is more to me than meets the eye.
There is more to me than meets the eye.”
Dare to dream (and care for one another).
With heartfelt regards,
Copyright © – 2021 – R. Arthur Russell
P.S. Please share this article if you enjoyed it. If you’d like to view my latest book (This Taste of Flesh and Bones–released September 8, 2020), press here. May it help you in your spiritual journey. 🙏🤍