One Great Year

by Tamara Veitch

  The men agreed that there was a higher world, a world of true knowledge, more real than the oft-misinterpreted subjective world of the senses. However, their analogous thinking and respect for one another did not prevent them disagreeing on many occasions. Marcus admired Socrates’ unequivocal acceptance of the soul’s existence. He understood the order of the Universe without past-life memory or instruction. He developed his own elaborate, brilliant theories, and his intuition and brainpower astounded his pupil.

  Plato learned continually from his companion: how to question, how to orate, how to inspire others without becoming sanctimonious and self-important. At times he felt like an imposter, a cheat in Socrates’s midst. The advantage of his Marcus-memories, his first-hand understanding, felt faintly deceitful. It was difficult to entertain ideas that countered what he knew to be true without growing frustrated and overbearing.

  Socrates’s influence in Athens continued to grow. He spoke publicly, encouraging people to question everything, for nothing was taboo, particularly religion, human nature, and politics. His unrestrained criticisms of the government and current democratic system made him an enemy to the regime and a target of their displeasure.

  Plato grew desperately concerned for his friend and warned that he was drawing too much attention to himself, but Socrates was characteristically irreverent and would not be silenced or intimidated. The practical genius was undaunted and grew only more critical of the so-called democracy that he asserted defied its own definition and dragged the greater society into a pit of commonness and ignorance.

  Socrates came under direct fire when government officials charged him with corrupting the youth of Athens, for encouraging them to question the social structure and the distribution of wealth in their society. Socrates railed against the establishment to his students.

  “The educated aristoi of society need to stand out! Stand up and lead! Democracy will be the ruin of mankind; wise men of wisdom and reason should govern our cities! You!” he said pointing at his students. “You! You! YOU! Men of thought and intellect need to be the decision makers and take care! Not the masses. The unphilosophical man is at the mercy of his senses, believing them real and mistakenly trusting them. The way a prisoner in a cave, his back to the entrance, might believe the shadows cast before him represent truth, so do the ignorant and easily led believe their eyes and ears. They look no further for enlightenment and a greater understanding of truth and reality!”

  Charges were brought against the malcontent, and fortunately there was a law protecting freedom of speech that worked in Socrates’s favor. The politicians, however, did not relent, and they continued their persecution. They exploited an obscure edict prohibiting the disbelief of the ancestral gods and charged Socrates with impiety15 to silence him.

  Socrates entrusted Plato with continuing his school during the trial. Though Plato wanted to attend court, Socrates was adamant. “It is more important that debate go on, especially now. This trial is a ruse, a stratagem by Meletus and the other politicians to silence me,” he said. “I’ll not be thwarted, and these phonies will bear the humiliation of their ridiculous mendacity. It is their intent that I am intimidated and stifled, but I will not be controlled. There is no strength in words without action! Worry not, Plato,” he assured. “The law is on my side and justice will be the victor.”

  “I have less confidence in the law than in you. I have many times been witness to the darkness in men, and those shadows burgeon in the courts as they currently exist. I have no faith that justice will prevail,” Plato answered. “Laws are fashioned and perverted by those in power for selfish gain.”

  “And that, my friend, is why we speak out. Why we orate and question and challenge. It is the very reason I will not act contrite in the face of these self-serving reprobates.”

  Socrates clapped his gnarly hands together and, patting his stout belly, suggested they eat. He was famished and longing for a strong cup of ale to lull the commotion in his ever-active mind. Together the men adjourned to a long wooden table in the back courtyard. Bread, meat, olives, and a strong beer were brought, and the fellows spoke of greater things than the trial.

  They philosophized about the role of man in the world, the role of God in creation, the role of mathematics in everything. They discussed mankind’s connection to the cosmos and to one another. Plato was inspired as always. The men lit a fire within one another and never grew tired of their conversation or of each other’s company. They did not always agree, and those times were the best, the most heated, the most challenging, and brought the greatest epiphanies and revelations. The bliss that they knew as they delved deep into the workings of the world and the Universe fed their friendship and bonded them in heart and mind.

  The trial continued, and as it progressed Plato was finally able to attend. He worried for Socrates and urged him to take the charges more seriously.

  “It will be as it should. What lessons there are to be learned by this process will come despite my smirk. I will show this jury the audacity of their allegations. I will continue to emphasize the ludicrous nature of these claims indicting a poor man of words,” Socrates answered.

  The unperturbed accused spoke at great length on his own behalf, and, to the annoyance of the jury, he surmised that he must be the most knowledgeable of all the men in Athens “for I alone know that I know nothing.”16

  Constantly surveying the displeasure of the jurors, Plato continued to caution him. “Socrates, it is clear to all who observe that your irreverence and lack of concern serve only to enrage Meletus and the other jurors. They are determined to silence you and to punish your apathy and disregard for them. I can feel their energy; a bad turn is coming.”

  “I am but a seed to their dirt. By my unwillingness to be silenced, others will be encouraged and will take root,” he replied. Socrates appreciated Plato’s concern but altered nothing in his behavior.

  The gifted philosopher delivered a brilliant oratory to the court, easily debunking the weak charges against him. It was with sincere shock and disbelief that he heard the guilty verdict. The jury of five hundred and one had only narrowly found him guilty, and the expected penalty was a fine.

  “Perhaps I should dine at the table of the winning Olympians?” Socrates suggested, further aggravating and insulting the jurors by mocking what his consequence might be.

  Despite his popularity and fame, Socrates, his wife, and his three sons lived in relative poverty. He offered a paltry one hundred drachma to the court and it was rejected. Plato had appealed to Socrates’ students and raised three thousand drachma to appease the court. But to their mortification, as requested by his accuser Meletus, the jury ruled that Socrates be put to death for his crimes.

  “Arrangements have been made to get you out of Athens tonight. The three thousand drachma are yours. You can be gone in a few hours,” Plato informed him.

  “I shall not flee,” Socrates answered calmly. “I am old; I will not scurry like a rat in a deluge. I have never run from debate, confrontation, or challenge. I will not now become less than the man I have always been. I have earned the esteem of many and intend to maintain my self-respect at the end of my life. I will be steadfast and fearless as the consequences are brought.”

  “The consequences are unjust! A travesty and a symptom of the illness that plagues this foul city! This jury, these men, exact a most heinous wrong upon you in seeking to silence your galling voice. You are a light to this time and these people. You cannot slip silently into death. I have been told that they will not pursue you. I have been given a promise. They want you out of Athens, and you can live out your days peacefully in the country somewhere.”

  “Cowardice! Would you wish to remember me as such a man, Plato? Should I leave this world a eunuch, a flower stripped of every leaf and petal and trampled underfoot?” he fumed. “Would you choose to end this life a spark instead of a flame? I would not! I will leave this world happily, willingly, into the extraordinary life that awaits
me on the other side, finally privy to all of the answers that we so desperately seek. Only at my death will I leave Athens. She is my blood, my bones. I am nothing without her walls, her people. I will go out a flame, my friend, a light intense and glaring upon the wrongs I have tried to expose.”

  “Athens does not deserve you. They will not remember you in two generations. We are all as insignificant as a skin shed by a snake,” Plato replied miserably. His heart burned in his chest as if he had just run an Olympic sprint.

  “I do not seek to be remembered. I desire only that the philosophy and knowledge are not lost. Continue to teach the students to question everything; they will pass on the wisdom. Record what we have learned for future generations.”

  The realization that he was about to lose his beloved companion and mentor in such an unjust and preposterous circumstance devoured Plato’s patience and regard for mankind. Time after time they extinguished the brightest lights. Fear, doubt, and the quest for individual interests above the greater good consistently desecrated and destroyed the most perfect selfless beings. Plato’s Marcus-brain was flush with overwhelming anger and sadness and then … nothing. Numbness spread through him like a poison—like the hemlock that Socrates would be forced to drink in one day’s time.

  Socrates did not fear death. He was more concerned about the burden of grief that he was leaving behind for his loved ones. On the eve of his demise, Socrates was surrounded by distraught friends; only Plato was not present. The condemned sought to console those in attendance but grew impatient with their emotional outbursts. He optimistically anticipated great clarity and knowledge after death and spoke with eagerness about his journey into the next realm.

  Plato was too heartbroken, too angry, too tired of it all, and he wondered what sort of grand lesson he was supposed to be learning. How did this cycle of continual life, death, joy, and grief evolve? How was he supposed to make a difference in this ruined world, where men execute the likes of Socrates and raise up the idiotic, cruel, and self-serving? He had first-hand knowledge of the afterlife, heaven, hell, and the waiting place that he later called the “Meadow” when he wrote about it in the Republic, but none of his awareness soothed his disappointment at the waste and brutality of mankind.

  Plato had watched helplessly the dissembling of his beloved professor and friend. How was he to be an Emissary, a guide to people who would not hear or see what was plainly put before them? What could his role be? Feelings of uselessness engulfed him and he grew angry in response. He found himself wandering at the docks, remembering the day that he so fortuitously met Socrates. He almost smiled at the idea that it was chance that had brought him there, for he knew that it had most certainly been destiny.

  What now? What now that the foul, foul deed was done? The murder of a genius, a light to all mankind, had occurred without ceremony, like closing a door, snuffing a candle, without even a trumpet blast or shaking ground! Death by corruption, fear, and ignorance and yet the world went on, unaffected and uncaring.

  Marcus’s armor, honed from many lifetimes of loss, registered a hearty dent. Mankind was unworthy. Time after time, they ignored the messages placed so obviously before them and embraced waste, chaos, evil, and pain.

  Where was the unity? Could they not feel their connection to God, to each other? Could he? Marcus felt hopeless and alone, bringing all of his centuries of angst to his current life as Plato. The lifetimes of fighting, teaching, and searching for Theron had exhausted him.

  Plato drifted through the port until sunrise, and as the sky lit with gorgeous arrays of red, gold, and orange he was struck again by how life went on eternal. In that moment, and not for the first time, Marcus regretted taking the potion. He regretted his past-life memory. One lifetime of winning, losing, birth, death, beauty, and horror is enough to remember. It was too much. He longed for Theron’s company as deeply as he ever had.

  Marcus looked at the image carved carefully in the filigree on the hull of the boat beside him: the seed of life. The significance of that symbol finding him in that moment did not escape him. Each petal signified lifetimes of lessons learned and that lives were a cycle, a process. Even as an Emissary, he had come to understand that he too must complete his cycles, and being the thinker that he was, it set him up for deep contemplation.

  Plato looked to the heavens for guidance, and after a few moments of silent introspection, he decided he would leave Athens. His Marcus-brain urged him to continue the search. Finding Theron would make him whole again. He had to escape Athens and the inhumanity of Socrates’ wrongful death.

  CHAPTER 15

  PLATO IN EGYPT

  The Oracle

  Plato departed Athens soon after Socrates’s death and spent the next twelve years searching for Theron, tormented by his inability to find her. Socrates had been a fine companion and a distraction from Marcus’s loneliness, and Plato continued to miss him bitterly. He couldn’t identify the grand purpose he supposed he should feel as an Emissary and his path unfolded day by day.

  Plato began plotting the cycle of the Great Year. Plato hadn’t coined the phrase or come to the realization alone. It was ancient knowledge, and Marcus had learned it in Atitala, though he wished now he had paid better attention. He studied the constellations in the night sky, knowing that from his place on Earth, they shifted bit by bit and appeared to move over the ages. The nearly twenty-six thousand years it took for the entire zodiac to cycle in the sky from one exact position back to that same position was one “Perfect Year” or “Great Year.”

  Plato made certain that, should his writing survive, this fundamental concept was recorded for future generations. It mattered where the constellations were in the Earth’s heavens: Taurus, Leo, Aquarius, and the rest. They each had their own significance. The energy that came to living Earth through the cosmos made a difference. The Ages were set: Gold, Silver, Bronze, and Iron. With each Age came a level of knowledge and enlightenment that the Emissaries had been sent to safeguard.

  Plato identified exactly where he was in the cosmic circle of evolution—after all, knowledge was power … and sometimes torment. How far from the Golden Age of Atitala had Marcus come? By his best estimation he was in the middle of a Bronze Age. It was disheartening; he was only a third of the way through, and as ugly and ignorant as the citizens of Athens had proven themselves to be, things would get much worse before they got better.

  The world was descending into a time when the Darkness had the upper hand. How would Marcus cope with having such great knowledge and memory through times that were increasingly cruel and backward? Where was his Theron? He could bear it, if only she were at his side. Once again he wished for the bliss of ignorance, the serenity of a clean memory.

  Plato searched for Theron’s energy as he traveled, and he kept himself busy passionately writing. He remained aloof, isolating himself from other people and determined to avoid the pain of attachment and loss that had affected him so deeply. He spent some time in Italy and was befriended by a philosophically minded man named Dion. Dion looked up to Plato and the two men enjoyed great philosophical debate, but after a brief time Plato moved on. Plato did not know then the role Dion would later play in his life.

  Plato ended up in Egypt. The ancient land of Khem felt like a comfortable second skin. He had been there in more than one previous lifetime. His memories came back to him in lucid dreams, as real and vivid as daily life.

  As the Great Pyramid of Giza had risen up before him, owning the vast landscape, Plato had been reminded of Atitala. The pyramids were a gift from another Age and were the ultimate symbol of spiritual connection, ascending and descending, pointing to heaven but anchored in the Earth. Plato smirked when he heard that the Egyptians were claiming the pyramids as their own creations. The memory of the Sun Gods—Emissaries who had engineered the structures—had been lost or relegated to myth over time.

  The School of Mysteries was Plato’s ultimate destination in Egypt. It was a legendary and secret society fou
nded by Hermes who, unbeknownst to Marcus, had once been Red Elder. The hidden schools were modeled after those in Atitala and Lumeria and were in place around the globe to enlighten and educate the worthy. Marcus had been there before in other lives, though he had never crossed paths with Red Elder in those times.

  While still at the Academy in Athens, Plato had listened gladly to stories about the Egyptian Mystery School. It was said that the ancient mathematician Pythagoras had spent many years there, and Plato was sure he must have been an Emissary. He wished he had shared a lifetime with the genius; they could have discussed the mathematics and geometry that Plato found so enthralling.

  Unlike the civilizations of the Golden Age when the schools had operated openly for everyone, the current corruption and darkness of humanity made secrecy a necessity. Only the honorable and trustworthy seeker could be given the knowledge. Only the solid and unwavering could study in the sacred halls. Marcus had more to learn … and perhaps Theron would be there.

  Plato was happy to be returning to the Mystery School; the difficulty was that he had to find it. Like water, the mystery schools were constantly moving. Plato had made his way to Heliopolis but, though he felt that he was very close, he had been unable to find the enigmatic location on his own.

  The marketplace in Heliopolis bustled and squawked, hot and pungent in the noonday sun. Plato inhaled the scents of spices, humans, and beasts as they rose and fell around him. Despite having adopted the robes of the locals, Plato was recognizable as a foreigner.

  “Mister, you need?” a young boy called to him in several broken languages, trying each in turn. Plato was struck by the boy’s tenacity and language skills, and he turned. There was a familiarity. He did not see the indigo karmic code of an Emissary, but he did recognize the aura of this soul. They had met before. Marcus knew it was the same soul who had once shown him mercy as Sartaña’s guard in Stone-at-Center, and he filled with gratitude at the memory. It was remarkable to find him once again. It must have meaning.