DARK TO LIGHT

The Old Man: And so King Gilgamesh

the great King Gilgamesh

was bested by a little thing

an unheroic snake

and he broke down altogether

and he wept the tears of a furious child

for he knew himself to be a failure

and he held himself cheap

and there wasn't a thing which he cared to do

and there wasn't a thing for which he cared

and he knew the frustration

of one who cannot have

what he thinks he wants

and he knew the shame

of one who knows that at least in part

he was himself the author

of his own undoing

and he knew the rage

the hideous rage

the helpless, hopeless rage

of somebody who's been stolen from

who knows he will always be stolen from

because he's here

because he's human

and because he must be off his guard

from time to time.

But as bad as these things were -

and they were very bad-

they did not trouble him so much as did the cold and awful

certainty

that he had not truly wished for

this bauble he had been denied.

That it would not and could not have made him happy.

That the only joy it promised wasn't joy at all

But tremulous relief

at being spared the pain of its loss.

And it was this ironic knowledge of

his own, his inconsolable vanity,

Which made him hate his life and everything he had.

And it was this self-same knowledge

Which later gave him the strength, the presence of mind,

And the imagination to act out the rest of his life

As decent and productive man.

So it was with Gilgamesh.

So it has always been.