Much have I said before to serve necessity,
But I will take no shame now to unsay it all.
How else could I, arming hate against hateful men
Disguised in seeming tenderness, fence high the nets
Of ruin beyond overlapping? Thus to me
The conflict born of ancient bitterness is not
A thing new thought upon, but pondered deep in time.
I stand now where I struck him down. The thing is done.
Thus have I wrought, and I will not deny it now.
That he might not escape nor beat aside his death,
As fisherman cast their huge circling nets, I spread
Deadly abundance of rich robes, and caught him fast.
I struck him twice. In two great cries of agony
He buckled at the knees and fell. When he was down
I struck him the third blow, in thanks and reverence
to Zeus the lord of dead men underneath the ground.
Thus he went down, and the life struggled out of him;
and as he died he spattered me with the dark red
and violent driven rain of bitter savored blood
to make me glad, as gardens stand among the showers
of God in glory at the birthtime of the buds.
~Death of Agamemnon~
The greatest sin is to be unconscious. ~ Carl Jung
We may not choose the parameters of our destiny. But we give it its content. ~ Dag Hammarskjold 'Waymarks'