Opening Hymn (a Postcard from Ulysses to Telemachus)
Mystery, Telemachus, of mystery I write, how a god took me down into unknown depths, into darkness and chaos, among fragments of time in a void of space, there to find the meaning of man beyond all meaning, a stillness beyond all stillness that allows each thing to move, an opening that never closes but is ever closed for men who walk the earth dimly, an emptiness that is the fullness of every flower and every star. May the muses guide me as I write, and may the god keep his word that these scrolls which I seal into jars of clay will find their way to you, floating on the wine-dark sea, washing up on the shores of Ithaca long after my return . . .