Win The Apple Of Eris © Surazeus 2026 06 14 Assembled angels on the Pantheon watch horses race across the roadless plain to win the Apple of Eris with speed that honors wind ghost of the primal seed from which all creatures of spinning Earth spring at spark of love when Daughters of Time sing. When people thank God for their victories in sports competitions to win Gold Keys, I laugh because they still believe the creed which Al-Ghazali taught in fevered screed that God controls where every atom goes so what occurs is Law that God bestows. If every act of force that I perform was decreed by God before I was born, then I am but dumb puppet of his Will, so I commit no sin, though I may kill, and thus cannot be punished for some crime that God makes me do in flow of space-time. Yet supernatural conscious God of Fate, who forces us to play his game as bait, is not as real as priests want me to think, since atoms randomly swerve at the brink which causes them to swirl in globes of life where brain-urged creatures clash in hungry strife. If flashing atoms always beam too straight through boundless void of space due to their weight, they never would collide in coils of light that form matter of the universe right, so Epicurus taught that atoms swerve in random deviations of the curve. If we could predict where each atom moves our actions would be locked in legal grooves, predetermined by divine will of God which would make us puppets committing fraud, so random swerves of atoms in the void breaks chain of necessity we avoid. Thus we assert soft force of our free will when we ascend to fruit grove on the hill where we tame horses with sweet fruit of trust, subsuming mindless energy of lust, so we can bridle passion of their flight in race to achieve the heavenly height. How far across the spinning globe I fly on horse of wisdom to discover why our bodies spring from laughter of the sea as we investigate how to live free when we assert free will by conscious choice, then chronicle events with honest voice.
Surazeus Astarius Συράζευς Αστάριος. Cartographer. Epic Poet. Hermead epic poem about Philosophers 126,680 lines of blank verse. http://tinyurl.com/AstarianScriptures
Orpheus tends to his horse who glides gracefully in the meadow, admiring how she reflects beauty she inherited from her ancestor, the Darley Arabian.
ReplyDelete