Edward C Patterson

The Festival at Thebes Edward C Patterson

Outrageous and unleashed, words can light a fire under the meekest soul - a conflagration of the soul, melting all those near and far. To those near, it's infectious, encouraging singing and dancing. For those far, it lifts a lamp for them for follow through the night and shout to sleepers to arise and join the reveling. It's an ancient tradition this - this gathering and celebrating under the moon and beneath the stars, imbibing life in every gulp and not caring whether the sun will rise again. Such is the Festival at Thebes. This is my brazen self calling you to ponder lightly and engage much. Because those who remain at home and shun The Festival of Thebes - the noisy, reckless flight of the spirit's gush and gall, they will crawl to the dawn's window and squint in life's mundanity. But for those who frolic the night away and sleep the days to oblivion, they enjoy the gift of comradery and the spoils of amnesia - the remembrance of nothing of note, but the moment's passing.