Don & Juan


And then her eyes shined
with a shine never to be seen
And her lips glowed
in a red glow never to be tasted
Her hands moved slowly
towards his unshaved face
And she kissed him
in a way that no one has ever kissed again

This is the story of two lovers that met one day of May and never again leave each other alone.

It was night. A night that none of them will ever forget. A night that fate played its games once again. A lonely night, not of people around them, but lonely of love. It was the month of May. It was him, and it was her. Two souls meant to be together but never met before. You can call it fate, karma or whatever you like. But they were there. Looking each other, loving each other with just one look.

He was 12 years older. She was 12 years younger. But what does age matters to love? Love. An eternal word. A word that you can tell, but never describe. A word that has so many meanings. But they, they were loving each other with every possible meaning of love. They were lovers, even before they have met. They were soul mates that never die. They were the fulfillment of love.

And the wind blew once again
And covered their eyes
With rain, snow and dust
But they were standing there
Holding hands
Loving each other

The story is very big. It started, but never ends. It is a story that anyone can end it whenever he likes. It is an endless story if you want it to be. But they are here, there, everywhere. They are wherever you want them to be.

Days passed, weeks, months, almost a year. But they were one. They became one by the time they touched each other. In their “holy place”. They united eternally. Nature was their so called priest. The trees, the moon, the winds and every single breath were their witnesses. They needed no one else. They had each other.

And when the time comes, you will know
Gods always show their signs
And you will be alone no more
And I will be alone no more

soulmate-stephanie-noblet-

There are many stories that can be told inside this little story. There is one story in every story that exists. Love is the story. The author is different.

They decided to leave behind their past lives, and moved away. They have gone to a small beautiful town, where they started slowly building their new dreams. The things were not easy, but they were simple as both of them used to say. He loved her and so did her. So their love was the solution to everything.

And there were times of sadness and crying
And there were times of sorrow
But there was always love to guide them
And their love was strong

Their story can be a poem, a painting, a novel, even History or a myth. Their story is a tale of love. A love story with mythical facts and true words.

His name was Don and hers was Juan. They are not their real names, but what does it matter? You can put your names if you want to, or just leave the Don and Juan.

They shared hopes, dreams, moments, but above all they shared their passion for everything around them. They wanted to learn everything. To travel the world. To write music. To compose poems. They kept on writing, composing, talking and holding each other every single day that passed.

And the time has come
For their souls to leave this world
And the world cried
With tears of happiness, nor of sorrow
And they lived together
Forever and ever

The story never ends. As long as lines can be written and added. The story will never end. Love lives eternally. Love never dies. Neither does this story. Start it and end it all over again. From the beginning to its end. But always write down the lines. Every time different lines. Different words combined together, as their souls did and continue doing it.

And the story will never end
Their love will be eternal
The story is me and you
The story is every Don and every Juan

Make your own story out of it. Understand it however you like or want. Fulfill it your own ways. But always remember. The story ends whenever you want it to end. Don & Juan never ended their story. And they lived happily ever after.

Georgios Rachiotis

Georgios Rachiotis is a freelance writer for the past decade as well as a radio producer-presenter and multi-instrumentalist. He is the founder of Literatology and also the Chief Editor and MAnager of it. He likes music, poetry, literature, arts, mythology and all kinds of stories and tales as well as folklore. He also attends courses of History, Literature & Poetry in Universities all over the world.
Georgios Rachiotis is a freelance writer for the past decade as well as a radio producer-presenter and multi-instrumentalist. He is the founder of Literatology and also the Chief Editor and MAnager of it. He likes music, poetry, literature, arts, mythology and all kinds of stories and tales as well as folklore. He also attends courses of History, Literature & Poetry in Universities all over the world.

The Origins of Ancient Symbols and their Meaning (Part 1) – The Star of Venus, Pentagram


We have already talked about the Delphic Epsilon so I thought that it would be quite interesting to penetrate in the beginning of other ancient symbols as well .Within the next connections that we will keep through Literatology, I will try to present you a series of ancient symbols and secrets, which have been preserved over the centuries.
kudurrTo talk about the symbols and understand their contribution during the centuries, we must first understand their natural origin. When we refer to symbols we talk about a code for a condensed image of limitless elements.
One of these symbols, which will be the first of these series, is the star of Venus, or best known to all as “the five-pointed” otherwise pentagram. It is a misunderstood symbol, as by its nature is a symbol of balance, health and protection. In our days though, however, it is connected with the worship of Satan, causing in that way a feeling of abhorrence.
To understand the meaning of the symbols, as we already have said, we must study their origins.
The five-pointed star is rumored to be originated around 4000 BC in the areas near Tiger and Effratis River. It is believed αρχείο λήψηςthat the symbol refers to astronomical studies of that era. Later on it was found in 2700 BC in some Sumerian civilization, symbolizing the four cardinal points with the sky. Amongst other things, it is associated with the planet Aphrodite. That is because the years of this planet are completed in every five years.
The pentagram is a perfect shaped geometric symbol. It is very complex, as it represents the convergence of several lines. It is harmonious because all angles form a symmetrical whole, and particularly dynamic, as it represents sharp corners that tend outwards.
We say that the pentagram is extremely misunderstood, because as mentioned above, by its nature it symbolizes

Giordano Bruno Campo dei Fiori.jpg
Giordano Bruno Campo dei Fiori.jpg

health and balance. To be more extensive, therefore, it also represents the full and able-bodied man. That is why the Pythagoreans from 400 BC sealed their letters with a pentagram together with the word Health. Affected by the tactics of the Pythagoreans, Giordano Bruno (1591) places inside the five-pointed star a human body with its legs and arms open.
The history of the Pentagram is found in many cultures, civilizations as well as in many nations’ flags. That can be noticed in the US flag and in Turkey’s flag as well. Also, in Chinese culture, the Pentagram symbolizes the five elements of life: water, metal, earth, fire, wood, while in Latin America it can be found in the form of flowers.
It is said that its protective strength solidifies when it is placed within a circle. In that way, there are combined the individual elements of a human.
The significance of this symbol was not tainted until the 16th century. It wasn’t combined with the negative magic, because it symbolized perfection. In the book of Bruno that is referring the unit, there is a man within an inverted pentagram with his anton-szandor-laveyback reversed and able to be seen by the reader. This man seems to be the fallen Adam. Thoughts like the above ones, with the inverted pentacle, led occultists of the 19th century to connect the inverted pentagram with the cult of Evil. They also added a goat inside the Pentagram thus forming the hideous stamp of the devil Leviathan, which was endorsed by the church of Satan by Anton Szandor LaVey in 1969.
The real importance and meaning of the Pentagram is more pure, free from the cult of of the devil. In reality it is the most beautiful flower of unity and protection from witchcraft.
I hope that reading about this symbol was an enjoyable enough. I promise you that continuity of these series of the “Symbols” will be exciting.

Alexandra Zevgiti

Alexandra Zevgiti is studying History and Archaeology in the University of Ioannina. She likes poetry, art & literature and she loves writing short stories and poems. As a member of Literatology she writes articles and short stories as well as some poems.
Alexandra Zevgiti is studying History and Archaeology in the University of Ioannina. She likes poetry, art & literature and she loves writing short stories and poems. As a member of Literatology she writes articles and short stories as well as some poems.

Aspects of Humanity


A cycle
A square
A triangle
And the face is ready
Another cycle0052-fantasy-grain-humanity
And another square
And another triangle
And another face
So many more patterns
And so many faces
A lot of faces
Millions
Really! So many faces where were they found;
Each one different!
But all so alike!
Cycles, squares, triangles
And sometimes rhombs and rectangles!
Irregular lines
But such symmetrical!
So unsymmetrical!
And all of them faces!
So many faces!
Different!
But always the same!

Georgios Rachiotis
Original Version of the poem “Aspects of Humanity”
Written by Georgios Rachiotis
For a group of poems named “Thoughts”
Πτυχές της Ανθρωπότητας

Ένας κύκλος
Ένα τετράγωνο
Ένα τρίγωνο
Κι έτοιμο το πρόσωπο
Κι άλλος κύκλος
Κι άλλο τετράγωνο
Κι άλλο τρίγωνο
Κι ακόμα ένα πρόσωπο
Τόσα ακόμη σχήματα
Κι άλλα πρόσωπα
Πολλά πρόσωπα
Εκατομμύρια
Αλήθεια! Τόσα πρόσωπα που βρεθήκανε?
Όλα τους διαφορετικά!
Μα όλα τόσο ίδια!
Κύκλοι, τετράγωνα, τρίγωνα
Κι άλλοτε ρόμβοι και παραλληλόγραμμα!
Ακανόνιστες γραμμές
Μα τόσο συμμετρικές!
Τόσο ασύμμετρες!
Κι όλα πρόσωπα!
Τόσα πρόσωπα!
Διαφορετικά!
Μα πάντα ίδια!

Georgios Rachiotis is a freelance writer for the past decade as well as a radio producer-presenter and multi-instrumentalist. He is the founder of Literatology and also the Chief Editor and MAnager of it. He likes music, poetry, literature, arts, mythology and all kinds of stories and tales as well as folklore. He also attends courses of History, Literature & Poetry in Universities all over the world.
Georgios Rachiotis is a freelance writer for the past decade as well as a radio producer-presenter and multi-instrumentalist. He is the founder of Literatology and also the Chief Editor and MAnager of it. He likes music, poetry, literature, arts, mythology and all kinds of stories and tales as well as folklore. He also attends courses of History, Literature & Poetry in Universities all over the world.

Melodrama


Melodrama By Madart Painting
Melodrama By Madart Painting

Shadows around, they covered my light
Black shadows, lines scattered on white papers
Incoherent words, metaphors, similes
And some blood to flow in the veins

You see is that I never told you that I love you
You see is that you never asked me
See? Nothing has changed here
Everything is as you left it

The days that go by, let the time flowing starkly onto me
The nights? The nights are endless between empty bottles
It’s that I never heard you saying here I am
Where are you? You’re lost! I love you! Can you hear me?

Georgios Rachiotis

Original Version of the poem “Melodrama”
Written by Georgios Rachiotis
For a group of poems under the name “Last Performance”

Μελόδραμα

Σκιές τριγύρω σκέπασαν το φως μου
Μαύρες σκιές, γραμμές σκόρπιες σε λευκά χαρτιά
Ασύνδετες λέξεις, μεταφορές, παρομοιώσεις
Και λίγο αίμα να κυλάει στις φλέβες

Είναι βλέπεις που ποτέ δεν σου είπα σ’ αγαπώ
Είναι βλέπεις που ποτέ δεν ρώτησες
Βλέπεις; Τίποτα δεν έχει αλλάξει εδώ
Όλα είναι όπως τα άφησες

Οι μέρες που περνούν, αφήνουν το χρόνο να κυλά άχαρα επάνω μου
Οι νύχτες; Οι νύχτες ατέλειωτες ανάμεσα σε αδειανά μπουκάλια
Είναι που ποτέ δεν σε άκουσα να λες εδώ είμαι
Πού είσαι; Χάθηκες! Σ’ αγαπώ! Ακούς;

Georgios Rachiotis is a freelance writer for the past decade as well as a radio producer-presenter and multi-instrumentalist. He is the founder of Literatology and also the Chief Editor and MAnager of it. He likes music, poetry, literature, arts, mythology and all kinds of stories and tales as well as folklore. He also attends courses of History, Literature & Poetry in Universities all over the world.
Georgios Rachiotis is a freelance writer for the past decade as well as a radio producer-presenter and multi-instrumentalist. He is the founder of Literatology and also the Chief Editor and MAnager of it. He likes music, poetry, literature, arts, mythology and all kinds of stories and tales as well as folklore. He also attends courses of History, Literature & Poetry in Universities all over the world.

Nobody knows whether by luck or by conscience


And that night was that he entered the room and asked the soul:
What do you hope from destiny?
Nobody knows whether by luck or by conscience,good-luck-tree--left-kristi-l-randall
The soul began to tremble
And leaned against the wall,
He tied her with chains and asked the soul:
What do you fear?
Maybe by Luck or conscience,
The soul smiled
And opened the window, to enter the room
Dim light from the star of the evening
Nobody knows whether by chance or by conscience
The soul began to cry
She knew that death was near
She felt the chill of the night
Hugging her body
Nobody knows whether by luck or by conscience,
She took hope once again from chrysalis
That used to fly here and there
Every night
At that cell

Original Version of the poem “Nobody knows whether by luck or by conscience”
written by Alexandra Zevgiti

Κανείς δεν ξέρει

Κι εκείνο το βράδυ ήταν που μπήκε στο δωμάτιο και ρώτησε την ψυχή:
Τι ελπίζεις απ’ τη μοίρα;
Κανείς δεν ξέρει αν από τύχη ή από συνείδηση,
Η ψυχή άρχισε να τρέμει
Κι ακούμπησε στον τοίχο,
την έδεσε με αλυσίδες και ρώτησε την ψυχή:
Τι είναι αυτό που φοβάσαι;
Ίσως από Τύχη ή από συνείδηση,
Η ψυχή χαμογέλασε
Κι άνοιξε το παράθυρο ,για να μπει  στο δωμάτιο
Λιγοστό το φως από το άστρο του βραδιού
Κανείς δεν ξέρει αν από τύχη ή από συνείδηση
Η ψυχή άρχισε να κλαίει
Ήξερε πως ο θάνατος ήταν κοντά
Ένιωσε το ρίγος της νυκτός
Να της αγκαλιάζει το κορμί
Κανείς δεν ξέρει αν από τύχη ή από συνείδηση,
Πήρε πάλι ελπίδα από τη χρυσαλίδα
Που συνήθιζε να πετά εδώ κι εκεί
Κάθε βράδυ
Σ’ εκείνο το κελί

Alexandra Zevgiti is studying History and Archaeology in the University of Ioannina. She likes poetry, art & literature and she loves writing short stories and poems. As a member of Literatology she writes articles and short stories as well as some poems.
Alexandra Zevgiti is studying History and Archaeology in the University of Ioannina. She likes poetry, art & literature and she loves writing short stories and poems. As a member of Literatology she writes articles and short stories as well as some poems.

Dawn


Sweetened is the dawn
And you like a spring ode
You are singing a prayer to me
Always be there

The day ends, is lost again
When it comes again, like a boat approaches meimages
And in the mast top is you
Foulard made of amber
Decorated is the moon
With grapeseed flowers
Down to the lake you run
and someone you are seeking
Sweetened is the dawn
And you like god’s joyous voice
At the door of the angels you’re standing
And for him you await to be together

Alexandra Zevgiti

Original Version of the poem “Dawn”
written by Alexandra Zevgiti
Αυγή

Γλυκοχαράζει η αυγή
Κι εσύ σαν ανοιξιάτικη ωδή
Μου τραγουδάς μια προσευχή
Να είσαι πάντοτε εκεί

Φεύγει η μέρα ,πάλι χάνεται
Όταν έρχεται ξανά, με πλησιάζει σαν καράβι
Στο κατάρτι πάνω είσαι εσύ
Φουλάρι από κεχριμπάρι

Στολισμένη η σελήνη
Με άνθη από σταφύλι
Στη λίμνη κάτω τρέχεις
και κάποιονε γυρεύεις

Γλυκό χαράζει η αυγή
Κι εσύ θεού χαρμόσυνη φωνή
Στην πόρτα των αγγέλων περιμένεις
Κι εκείνον προσμένεις για να ‘σαστε μαζί

Alexandra Zevgiti is studying History and Archaeology in the University of Ioannina. She likes poetry, art & literature and she loves writing short stories and poems. As a member of Literatology she writes articles and short stories as well as some poems.
Alexandra Zevgiti is studying History and Archaeology in the University of Ioannina. She likes poetry, art & literature and she loves writing short stories and poems. As a member of Literatology she writes articles and short stories as well as some poems.

Let me tell you a story – The Rainmaker


The night was cold and the fog flowed gently through the streets like a wave of magic and weird. She went out on the balcony and listened: Silence. Pinned her eyes to the sea. It was not very far. Just a few meters away. The moon graced her with its dim light. She remained to observe, so dark and wild, until she heard steps. She turned her head, and turned towards the sound source. She saw him. He walked boldly and decisively in the desert road, with frost as his only companion. His pace was quick and restless, as if he was late.

the_rain_maker_by_evergreenarts-d67tinkHe approached the large plane tree in front of the house, underneath her balcony. Once he arrived next to it, he stopped. He turned his head left and right a few times to make sure that he was alone. Then he started searching for something near the tree. She made no move. She remained to rely on the brass railings of her veranda, holding her breath, so as not to let him understand her presence and leave. For a while he was hiding by the foliage of the tree. The only thing that remained to witness his presence, was the crackle of dried leaves. As if they were complaining of his indifference to those. As if they were asking for his attention.

Suddenly, a metallic sound was heard. She stepped on the toes of her feet so as to be able to see him. He was holding a golden ladder, with ornate carvings on the edges. Where did he find it? What would he need it? For the first time in her life she was seeing such a beautiful creation. Imagined unreal, something out of a dream. He took a last look around him before he started to roll it out. One by one, increasingly more stairs appeared, which directed towards the sky. But, how was it happening? She rubbed her eyes with the inside of her hands: she will be surely dreaming.

She opened her eyes again. No. It was true. Enchanted as she was, she saw him beginning the ascent with a decisive look. Something did not seem right but something was not appropriate in all this dreamlike scene. She looked at his face again. Now, lighted by the silver moonlight, she could observe it better. But, she discerned something in his eyes. His lips were pursed, almost bloody from the pressure he exerted on them. And his eyes were red and bleary. “It hurts” she whispered, with a whisper similar to the wave splash, tied with the calmness of the night.

She continued to follow him with her ​​eyes, feeling her heart heavier, full of his sorrowful look. A few minutes after, he stopped climbing. She could just see him now. She narrowed her eyes and pushed herself to focus only on his figure. He tended his right hand, as if he was looking for something. A little later he clenched his fist. But what did he grab? What was he trying to pull close to him? She closed her eyes a bit more in an effort to focus better. She couldn’t. No. It cannot be. She took another look.

There was no doubt. It was a small cloud. It looked like cotton and in other parts it was white while in others it was gray. Having brought it fairly close to him, based with his hands, and managed to climb up. His sigh was hiding a dose of relief and a dose of happiness. He sat down and left staring towards the sea, like the way it was a while ago. For him all of these were ordinary. For him all of these were his life. She continued looking at him. Her neck began to complain – she had for too long her head turned to the sky – but she did not care.

She realized that little by little, his gaze was more and more darkened. His thoughts were crashing upon him, beats inside his heart and mind, were closing him inside them, and would not let him out. There was only one way out.

He approached his palms before his eyes, as they had begun to tear. Then he held them there. His crying was silent and peaceful. It did not last long. Her gaze followed his hands, which no were longer hiding his shining now eyes. She saw him to carefully place them on the cloud, to absorb all of their moisture.

painting of Rain maker by Yanni Stratoudaki
painting of Rain maker by Yanni Stratoudaki

A shine followed, like lightning, before the first drops started to fall. The exclamation of excitement that escaped from her lips made ​​him turn towards her. But how could he had not seen her earlier? He turned the ladder to the balcony, and began descending the golden stairs. She did not move again, still enchanted and terrified by the spectacle acted out before her. He approached her and tended his hand “Nice to meet you” his voice was gentle and deep, his eyes were both dark brown and amber, reminded her of autumn. She gave him her hand tentatively.

He smiled at her warmly and replied “My name is Rainmaker. Yours?”

Evi “Wild Rose” M.

Original Version of “Let me tell you a story – The Rainmaker”  written by Evi “Wild Rose” M. can be found here

Evi "Wild Rose" M. studies literature. Her mood to writing articles, short stories and poems led her a few years ago to create her blog, titled "Wild Rose" ( http://wildroseskylover.blogspot.gr/ ). In parallel, some of her texts have been published in a well-known Greek site named "Protagon" ( www.protagon.gr/ ). As a member of the Literatology team she writes poems, short stories and some articles.
Evi “Wild Rose” M. studies literature. Her mood to writing articles, short stories and poems led her a few years ago to create her blog, titled “Wild Rose” ( http://wildroseskylover.blogspot.gr/ ). In parallel, some of her texts have been published in a well-known Greek site named “Protagon” ( http://www.protagon.gr/ ). As a member of the Literatology team she writes poems, short stories and some articles.

Unless you lived History, read it – Dido Sotiriou & History


All of us can change the float of History. When? All those times when we decide to distance ourselves from the present time, all those days that we accept the mistakes of peoples as a result of all human nature. All the times that by being objective, we see the history of peoples as a unified universe and we only have the need to look to the future.

images
A Trip Without Return by Dido Sotiriou

History is written every day, is passing and is lost beside us, is woven for us and by us. Such an approach is not utopian. We are born notable, so that we can lend something more to that already exists. This is where lies the secret of the world and of the independence, on the target and the creation.

Numerous times the books offer an unprecedented awakening. But…

How long ago did you read something that agitated you really, that prevented you to get out of the rhythm of its pages, which drove you to a sleepless night?

Literature is not just entertainment. It’s the way to live countless lives with the same person. Like young outcast viewers.

It took me so many years to understand that some books are part of my self and of my mind and that their authors are not only talented, but also parts of history.

images (2)MANDATE

There will be none that I could compare with Dido Sotiriou. Her writing sample is remarkable. Not only because she was just excessively gifted but also because everything that exists in her books is a distillate of life, of a true and distressed soul which gives people something of its own history.

Regardless of beliefs, mindsets and torques, Dido Sotiriou is presented to the reader through her ​​books. And she often takes a sacred form. Not because she is a writer, not because you realize that she exudes pure personal experience through her stories, but for all the reasons that you stand in silence in front of those who have lived what you now hear and you tremble for.

It’s easy to learn the facts, it is easy to speak about them scientifically, but it is not easy to follow the Greek postwar History through a live narration.

In her book “Mandate” Dido Sotiriou is conveyed to a past that we prefer to let forgotten. She talks about a series of post-Civil War conflicts, for a continuous injustice and abolition of freedom and life. In her “Mandate” she then speaks of a Greece that we all strive to tuck away. The place of the division, of contradictions and of intrigue.

In that book you ache with those who ache. Because books magically eliminate space and time. And when the persons are real, and when the heroes still exist, you read and you read in order to bring catharsis some time. To feel that fair prevailed, the right thing.

The narratives are peculiar however in life. In the case indeed, who get the importance of historical testimony, then they rarely end with a desired manner.

What I will not forget is that Dido Sotiriou succeeds in all of her works to harmonize war and division with all aspects of life. She misses none. Even into the darkness flashes of life and love occur. But the most beautiful element in her writing and in the spirit of that, is that so strongly she integrates you on the psyche and the roles of the heroes. She initiates you to the images (1)injustice of the world, and in the end, so knowingly, she leaves you torn. You stand alone to toss about who won and who was eventually the victim. That’s because history operates with precision mechanisms. The heroes, the aggrieved ones or even the bold ones are gilded even after years. She leaves the abusers living by carrying their own stigmata. Never the victims are obvious.

Unless you lived history, read it, learn what happened in the streets you walk. What orders were taken in the language you speak. Do not learn history for others, learn it for yourself, for all those days that you will need to look back to appreciate and protect what’s already gained. Remember: if now the world is unrighteous, there was certainly a time that it was much worse. The solution lies on impulse.

Rafaela Maneli

Rafaela Maneli is studying Communication and MEDIA at the University of Athens, she loves writing and reading books by a very young age. It is above all an instrument of psychotherapy and contact as she usually says. She has participated and won the national competition of poetry of the Hellenic Literature Union and as she grows up she is trying to write as much as possible. ..
Rafaela Maneli is studying Communication and MEDIA at the University of Athens, she loves writing and reading books by a very young age. It is above all an instrument of psychotherapy and contact as she usually says. She has participated and won the national competition of poetry of the Hellenic Literature Union and as she grows up she is trying to write as much as possible. ..

You Can find the original text written by Rafaela Maneli in Greek Language right underneath

Continue reading Unless you lived History, read it – Dido Sotiriou & History

Images From Hell


What a horrible thing are dreams eventually?
Dreams, nightmares…
Who can say what is true a dream and what a nightmare?

William-Adolphe Bouguereau (1825-1905) - Dante And Virgil In Hell (1850)
William-Adolphe Bouguereau (1825-1905) – Dante And Virgil In Hell (1850)

There are many kinds of dreamers
Dream tellers however?
Is there such an art?

Once they told me that dreams have colors!
While nightmares?
They have no color?
And then what is the black and the red?
Colors you taught me that they are also!
Yet, of other kind!

Red of blood and black for the dark!
Yet dreams have darkness and blood!
These are not dreams?
Living or dreaming?
If simply I am dreaming – When do then I live?
And if I am eventually living than why am I seeing nightmares?
These nightmares ruined my dreams!
Or maybe my dreams ravaged the nightmares?

Life in Hell is not so simple after all!
It’s just my own paradise!
A paradise different, weird, full of color!
Black, white, blue, red…
What does it matter?
Everywhere color!
The images of hell filled with colors!!!!
The images!
Not Hell itself!!!!!

Georgios Rachiotis
Original version of the poem “Images From Hell”
written by Georgios Rachiotis for a group of poems named “Thoughts”
Εικόνες απ’ την Κόλαση

Τι φριχτό πράγμα τα όνειρα τελικά?
Όνειρα, εφιάλτες…
Ποιος μπορεί να πει αλήθεια τι είναι όνειρο και τι εφιάλτης?
Υπάρχουν πολλών ειδών ονειροπόλοι
Ονειρολόγοι όμως?
Άραγε υπάρχει τέτοιου είδους επιστήμη?

Κάποτε μου έλεγαν πως τα όνειρα έχουν χρώματα!
Ενώ οι εφιάλτες?
Αυτοί δεν έχουν χρώμα?
Και τότε τι είναι το μαύρο και το κόκκινο?
Χρώματα μου διδάξατε πως είναι και αυτά!
Όμως άλλου είδους!

Κόκκινο για το αίμα και μαύρο για το σκοτάδι!
Όμως και τα όνειρα έχουν και σκοτάδι και αίμα!
Αυτά δεν είναι όνειρα?
Ζω η ονειρεύομαι?
Αν ονειρεύομαι απλά τότε πότε ζω?
Και αν ζω τελικά γιατί βλέπω εφιάλτες?
Αυτοί οι εφιάλτες μου ρημάξανε τα όνειρα!
Ή μήπως τα όνειρα μου ρημάξανε τους εφιάλτες?

Η ζωή στην κόλαση δεν είναι τόσο απλή τελικά!
Είναι απλά ο δικός μου παράδεισος!
Ένας παράδεισος διαφορετικός, αλλόκοτος, γεμάτος χρώμα!
Μαύρο, άσπρο, γαλάζιο, κόκκινο…
Τι σημασία έχει?
Παντού χρώμα!
Οι εικόνες απ’ την κόλαση γεμίσανε με χρώματα!!!!
Οι εικόνες!
Όχι η ίδια η κόλαση!!!!!

Georgios Rachiotis is a freelance writer for the past decade as well as a radio producer-presenter and multi-instrumentalist. He is the founder of Literatology and also the Chief Editor and MAnager of it. He likes music, poetry, literature, arts, mythology and all kinds of stories and tales as well as folklore. He also attends courses of History, Literature & Poetry in Universities all over the world.
Georgios Rachiotis is a freelance writer for the past decade as well as a radio producer-presenter and multi-instrumentalist. He is the founder of Literatology and also the Chief Editor and MAnager of it. He likes music, poetry, literature, arts, mythology and all kinds of stories and tales as well as folklore. He also attends courses of History, Literature & Poetry in Universities all over the world.

The Delphic Epsilon


It is truly admirable within the meaning of admire and wonder at the same time, that a letter of the alphabet is by itself a topic of great discussions. The atmosphere surrounding the letter epsilon, and by extension the Delphic epsilon, as it is called, is very mystical.

skafos

The Delphic Epsilon was placed at the top of the pediment of the temple of Apollo at Delphi and it was accompanied the known to everyone “know thyself” and “Meden Agan” in the lower right corner of the same pediment.

The letter epsilon as a symbol, for the uninitiated, is directly related to the Delphic solar rituals, the initiation and more simply, of man to the light. Therefore, its placement at the top of the pediment of the temple of Apollo declares the perpetual relationship with the light, the perfection and therefore epsilon indicates the luminous. We understand that this is thus the key for all the Delphic mysteries.

φοιβος

The only information that we have, come from Ploutarchos, and this because the disclosure to someone uninitiated was a morale and criminal offense. From Pythagoras we know that the letter epsilon as a number is denoted by five. The interest in my opinion on this is that the number five stands for the four cosmological elements, such as land, air, water and fire with the quintessential of ether. And I say interesting because, all of the above mentioned synthesize human.

By analyzing further the letter epsilon, we find that it is the second of letters, of those having voice and it declares Apollo, the second largest after the god Zeus. On the other hand the number five indicates the concept of numbers as a “fifth” and thus is expressed the Pythagorean view that the number is the first and the ultimate cause of all things and that God eternally geometrizes.

Pythagoras-ntokimanter-platonas-pithagoras-greek-subs

According to Plutarchos, therefore, who is also our only source, as I have already stated, the unit is common in power in both species. This happens because if the unit is added to any number, makes the even number an odd and the odd number an even. Number two, on the other hand is the first even number and number three is the first odd. Therefore, the sum of these two numbers gives an excellent value, because as a first number it consists of first numbers and has been called by the Pythagoreans a marriage, because of the similarity with the unifying relationship, of even numbers to the woman and of odd numbers to the man.

Something else that we also find, is that by none mixture of them, not an even number is born, but always an odd number and never an even number when added to it even creates an odd number, but neither comes by nature, than just the inability to give birth to another. We understand, however, that if odd numbers are added to odd numbers generate many even numbers. All of the above mentioned is due to the understanding of the relationship with Apollo’s epsilon. The common point lies exactly in that Apollo is praised as eternal and indestructible, in correspondence with the epsilon (five) which if multiplied by itself it always ends in himself or in tens. And this is done indefinitely.

skafos

Finally, I would like to point out that behind the Greek language lies an entire philosophical system. The Greek language is the Word, and the Word is expressed ambiguous and proportionally to countless scaled levels.

Alexandra Zevgiti

Alexandra Zevgiti is studying History and Archaeology in the University of Ioannina. She likes poetry, art & literature and she loves writing short stories and poems. As a member of Literatology she writes articles and short stories as well as some poems.
Alexandra Zevgiti is studying History and Archaeology in the University of Ioannina. She likes poetry, art & literature and she loves writing short stories and poems. As a member of Literatology she writes articles and short stories as well as some poems.