My Initiation Into the Mysteries
The Initiation of Plato



         Here in this secret place I wish to recount my initiation into the Mysteries of the Universe. The ordeal I had to endure tested my wit, my wisdom, my bodily endurance, my bodily strength, and my ability to resist those most bodily temptations, the latter perhaps the most difficult of all.
         I see the students of the Academy, future just and great leaders of Athens, and my heart aches withholding the secrets the Egyptians opened my eyes to see. Just beginning this tale I am filled with a great zealousness to finish it and place it somewhere to be found when these young boys have been turned into good men. Socrates said the greater the zeal, the greater the evil, but I am old. The body: that is what is destroyed by evil, and my bones grow weary. I approach my eightieth year, and will soon rest a body which is already ravaged.
         There is another fear in me. I feel I have never written so candidly or close to my heart, without hiding behind the rhetoric of the questions and answers of characters. The story I will herewith account to you is fantastical, personal, an experience I fear many will not hold in good opinion. But should I care about the opinion of the many? Good men, and they are the only ones who are worth considering, will think of these things truly as they happened.

         Before Pythagoras showed me the truths of mathematics; before on Academos’s land was founded the Academy; before the deaths of Dionysius, his son, and Dion; the King of the Empire of Egypt greeted me into his home with open arms, and all of the splendour of that imperial country. There was a revival going on in Egypt, as the Northern Egyptians undertook to build a renaissance upon the models of their rich and ancient history. After seeing so much corruption in Athens following that Spartan victory, and having to leave the council (all for the better - because of their evil actions, they went on to be known as the Thirty Tyrants), I marveled at the Pharonic empire. In comparison to what I found in Egypt, the Greek city-state is a peculiarly unstable form of government. The Greek city-state, with its humanism, its individualism, should be celebrated. I have seen the darker places of this world. But Greece could learn much from the Egyptian forms of state, education, and art.
         When I first arrived in Egypt, I was struck by the extent of its decoration. Grandeur surrounded me, exquisitely cut stone works, gilded gold everywhere I turned. Like the Phoenicians, the Egyptians are lovers of money. Though it does not compare to the hubris and vanity of Pericles’s Athens, they have an arrogance which enrapts their culture. A priest of that country once told me that Greeks are all children in the ancient gaze of Egypt. At first I scoffed, then found myself amused as I kept in mind what Socrates so often repeated to us and is engraved at that portal into what was once Pythoness’s domain: “Know Thyself.”
         Who are we Athenians? We Greeks? What is our nature? Our history is rich and full, but our dive into the higher truths, that which permeates us, our nous, how new and how young is this interest to the Greek blood? Egypt carries in its people’s veins a legacy of contemplation. The Egyptian dog of the Book of the Dead, the jackal-headed god of judgment and discernment whose job it is to make the finest distinctions among things in this world, symbolizes the precise, reasoned judgment of Egyptian thought.
         The Egyptians have a long and detailed history of worship for their gods, some of the ritual so strikingly similar to those performed in Athens, I am led to believe Egyptian celebration of faith may be the stage on which Greek religion is played. Where the river Nile divides the head of the Egyptian Delta, there lies the city Sais in the district called Sais from which the King Amasis came. The citizens there claim that their city was founded by Neith, and is asserted by them to be the same whom the Hellenes call Athene. They greeted me very warmly there, and professed a love for Athenians. The people of lower Egypt also hold a feeling of kinship for the Greeks. I was met with love and fascination all around in those African places.
         I have reason to believe that when Solon, one the great Seven Sages, went to Egypt, he found the story of common Athenian and Egyptian creation by the goddess Athena. If Solon had only, like other poets, made poetry the business of his life, and had completed the tale which he brought with him from Egypt, and had not been compelled, by reason of the factions and troubles which he found stirring in his own country when he came home, to attend to other matters, in my opinion he would have been as famous as Homer or Hesiod, or any poet.
         The Book of the Dead is that most detailed book of teachings and prayers of all kinds which are to be put in the graves with the dead to instruct him when his spirit climbs free of his mortal frame. According to this book and the ideas of priestly wisdom, Osiris was a being that could be found in the human soul itself. Each man is a tomb for Osiris, and the highest life a man can lead must consist in changing himself into an Osiris, awakening the divine and immortal within himself. Solon was initiated into the creation of worlds by an Egyptian priest, and I, who had traveled the world in search of knowledge, deigned to suffer this same initiation, to wake up the eternal within my own soul.
         All men who possess even a small share of good sense call upon God at the outset of every undertaking, be it small or great: I who was therefore undertaking the Mysteries of the Universe must needed invoke gods and goddesses, praying that all I said would be approved by them in the first place, and secondly by myself. I prayed to Athena, Minerva, Isis, and Osiris. I then approached the Demiurgos, a most respected priest, and received permission to begin my studies in Egypt.
         I, like the other aspirants for initiation, was subjected to secret ceremonies. We were shown the truths that one who obeys only the demands of his body is not moral, that only when the soul is alone with itself can it bring forth the eternal truths out of itself. I was able to say that my body was a tomb for the divine, that I was dead to the material world, that Osiris could be reborn within me.
         For a year I studied thus as a Neophyte, until I was freed from error, folly, fear, fierce loves, and all other human ills and, as the initiated say, lived in truth with the gods. Then it was time for my initiation.
         In the nights preceding the ceremony, the priests continued, as they had, to attempt to keep any knowledge of the trials to come from me. All, however, were in such an excited state that they became less guarded in respect to what they said in my presence, allowing me to gleam information, and where outside of sight of me they spoke, allowing at times for me to overhear.
         I heard them say the King would take place in the initiation, that the ritual would be brilliant, reflecting their high expectations of me. Praise had rarely been shown to me in that year of study, but I heard them say the Ceryce marveled at my intelligence, my creativity, and the amount of progress I had made in such a short time. This astounded me - the year had passed as a day, so immersed was I in the thought and dialogues. I had changed, or rather felt as if I had been adequately primed for the great change to overcome me, but I was still a Neophyte, and still felt as such when caught in the gaze of a powerful and respected Patriarch.
         I heard them say Socrates had called me “the swan of the Academy,” though I was not aware of him ever having said such a thing before he knew the taste of hemlock. The comment came form two priests standing outside the door to my small chambers in the palace the night before the initiation was to commence. My heart swelled at my lost Master’s recognition; an ease came over me which allowed me to rest briefly despite feeling as skittish as a wild colt.
         My anxieties had begun when earlier that same night I had heard of the consequences of my failure. Whether they meant for it to be heard by me or not, two priests had argued from the back of the bath house, where they were supervising my ritual cleansing and anointment with sacred oils. The oils and herbs had been rubbed into my flesh and hair, my skin then wrapped tightly in the same fine linens used for the mummified kings, and I was left by the assistants to absorb the concoction into my body through the pores. Perhaps the priests had thought me asleep, as I laid there for much time, or merely they had not been aware of the stone chamber carrying their voices, with clarity, to my ears.
         The first priests’ voice I did not recognize, though I found an immediate dislike for it. He asked the second priest if he thought that I had the strength to complete the difficulty of the trials, and the question was posed with such a casual air one would have thought he inquired about an ass’ ability to finish the sowing of a field. He mentioned my age offhandedly, my muscle tone, as if I were a slave for auction.
         The second priest answered that it would be a shame if I were to fail, that a life sentenced to employment cleaning and caring for the coffins and bandages of the mummies did not befit me.
         I flexed my arms beneath the wrappings.
         He said that I would be confined to the underground caverns where the mummies were kept in the cool, dry places. “These cruelties to those who fail are necessary. Our secrets could be divulged by those presumptuous foreigners who come from afar to solicit initiation and cannot survive it.”
         The first priest then spoke again. “But a time will come when men will be separated from the evils which divide them, and freed form the errors of common thought. A time will come when our treasures of science will be the heritage of all men.”
         I heard then the scurry of the assistants reentering to unwrap and finish with me, and the priests began to shuffle off.
         My thoughts were clouded with a future in the catacombs, but also with a future in which all men inherit science. I imagined a world filled with other Academies, where the marvels of man’s advancement into science help ease and prolong the lives of men. I imaged a Mercurial age where information is shared freely between all peoples. I imagined a world where each man’s spirituality is developed through his own means, where men take responsibility for their beliefs in that which we can all see, and that which we cannot. I imagined a world where all men are led by their nous, and allow themselves completely to be led, a world where each man is guided by his own true will.
         These fears and excitements, these visions attributed to my skittishness. Only in my chambers when I became a swan did my mind ease so that my body could rest.
         Three priests I did not know woke me early the next morning. They had me dress in my traveler’s clothing and let me eat only a few pieces of fruit and bits of cheese. Then they walked me out of the palace and away from the city, into the fields along the river.
         My initiation began.
         I was led to a dark and deep hole in the ground, scarcely larger than a man. A sturdy chain was placed about my waist and fastened securely. One of the priests handed me a lighted lantern and merely gestured at the darkness into which I was to descend. Inching and squeezing my way through the damp, cold earth deep towards Hades, all the while struggling with the chain, I saw a light and followed it. I emerged into a large subterranean hall filled with pillars both standing and toppled, giving me the impression of some sunken but once glorious palace. Between my lantern and the dim light of several torches in the cavern I was able to see vague shapes of stone along the walls and a crumbling set of stairs leading down into the shadows.
         At the bottom of the stairs, I waited. There was no sound but the whistling of a slight breeze bringing air into the chamber from above through tunnels like that which I had traversed. The air was still stale. My body was pumping with the joy, and fear, of finally undertaking what I had planned and studied for more than a year - perhaps my entire lifetime - to accomplish. I could not stand still, and turned my light to guide me to the stone shapes along the walls.
         Approaching the first, slowly, I saw the shapes were slabs upon which vague forms lay. To my horror my light fell upon the shriveled leather body of a mummy, its flesh and wrappings filled with jagged holes from the jaws of beetles. Into what horrors had I descended so painfully? I recoiled, my body light with fear, and almost stumbled.
         Suddenly, I heard a sound behind me, and spun lightly on my feet. I saw one of the priests standing not outside an arm’s length from me, clothed in a loose-fitting white robe and startling red belt. How he came to be in the chamber with me, I do not know, for his robe was pristine and clean, unlike my own, which was covered with earth from my descent.
         “What do you seek here?” his voice boomed in the silence.
         I made my voice passive and forced my body to become rigid, clutching tightly to the lantern. “Wisdom.” I had spoken before I could think, but my nous had guided me to truth. A life of study, of discourse, of searching for wisdom, had led to this day.
         “It is impossible, without science, for man to interpret the grand hieroglyphics of the universe. What is science?”
         I answered almost immediately. “It is the comprehension of causes and their effects, when the spirit of God is discovered in the bosom of man.”          “And wisdom?” he asked.
         “The knowledge of good and evil, justice and injustice; it is the love of the one and the hatred of the other.” I knew this answer to my depths. On the day before Socrates’ execution all of his disciples enjoyed a long discourse with him on the subjects of wisdom, immortality, and justice.
         He responded with an air of finality. “In order to reach it, know thou thyself.”
         And with that, he turned and sank back so quickly into the shadows I could not see where he had gone. I stepped forward to follow him, but before me rose a great flame that appeared and dissipated so quickly, I hardly felt its heat. I stopped my chase, though the fantasticality of it did not come into my mind.
         I called out to the priest; I aspired to comprehend. Why had he disappeared thus? ‘Know thou thyself’: the profound sentence of the King Sesostris is graven upon the Temple of Delphos, and Socrates charged me not to forget it.
         But before I could comprehend his meaning, the chamber was filled with movement and sound. Shapes rushed by me in the dimness. They were too quick for me to turn my head and gaze upon them, but from the corners of my eyes I thought I saw extraordinary monsters running and leaping, and all the while these creatures uttered savage and frightful cries.
         Thunder crashed through the cavern as if the whole earth was shaking with it, making the very links of the chain about my waist rattle against my bones. The sounds culminated in volume with the rattling of great and terrible chains I could not see. Then I was plunged into absolute silence.
         My heart raced in my chest and pounded in my ears. It took me several moments to calm the shaking of my hand upon the lantern, I was so filled with genuine fear for the first time since I entered the black tunnel. The horrors of that place; the noises and the profound silence which succeeded them, caused my flesh to creep.
         I labored to quiet my heart, as I knew this was only the first of many ordeals, and called out “You cannot trouble my spirit!”
         Almost instantly a voice rang from the darkness “Does your heart fail you; have you need of assistance?”
         “No!” I shouted in reply. My heart would not fail me.
         I turned and placed my lantern upon a tomb to again wait. A gust of wind entered through the tunnels and made the fire of the torches flair. Ruins, tombs, sublime dust, shades of men surrounded me. Then there was dimness and silence again. Was it these husks of men who were to reveal to me the secret of life? And if it was the dead, who would teach me to live?
         As if in answer, another voice called out to me from the darkness.
         “Is not the past the lesson of the future?”
         I could not tell the direction of the voice, though I searched the darkness with my eyes as I answered, “I know that in the physical order and in the moral order, all that which has been accomplished can be done again, excepting the effects of time’s labors on matter and the growth the conscious makes through the experiences of time.”
         This second priest stepped forward so smoothly and silently on his feet in his white robes that I almost took him to be a specter. He stopped just inside the small circle of illumination from the lantern and raised his arm slowly to indicate the fallen pillars, remnants of a fallen nation.
         “Justice is the sole providence of empires. If they do not practice it, what remains of the most powerful kings of the earth?”
         Slower still he moved his arm to encompass the leathery shapes, and his voice dropped to be a mere echo on the air.
         “A handful of ashes and the scorn of posterity.”
         The words chilled me then as they do now. Rebellion swelled in me and forced its way out of my mouth.
         “The benevolent and modest man leaves at least a respectful remembrance, sympathetic regrets, a noble example. Man by his labors may prolong his existence through the centuries, and speak, so to say, from the foot of his tomb, to all generations that may come after him.”
         The priest smiled at this, and a warm breath seemed to fill him.
         “It is the noble ambition of great hearts to live on honored in the memories of men. It is beautiful to do so. But know that as night and day succeed each other, so do life and death. The motion of the universe causes every thing to transform itself continuously - the earth in a season, man in a century or so, the stars in millions of years. Even those innumerable lights which pass through the night sky have had, as we have had, their birthdays. In the moments we have been speaking, you and I, some stars have ceased their glow, and others just begun to spark, all at unfathomable distances! But it is given to man alone to place order and understanding on the universal harmony.”
         I was struck by the beauty of his words and felt in that moment the surety of the shared Athenian-Egyptian line. I think if I could have heard the pulse in that damp and dark place between the world of mortal men and the place to which they return, I would have found our hearts to beat in time.
         I barely breathed my words. “Sentiments of such grandeur ought to be proudly impressed on all of man’s most beautiful works.”
         To my surprise the priest almost laughed. “It ought to render him jealous of his self-respect, and lead him to harbor in his heart the love of other men, as the Parakist tends this lamp of which it is the symbol. What means the chain with which you are confined?”
         “It symbolizes the ignorance and prejudice which still oppress me, and of which I labor to despoil myself.”
         Looking down upon the chains I felt that rebellion swell once again, and it took control of my limbs. I ripped and tore at the chains violently until finally a link snapped and the fetters fell with a clatter at my feet.
         Breathing heavily with my efforts I proclaimed “Thus I liberate myself from foolish passions, and from foolish beliefs, based only on hypothesis!”
         The priest smiled a queer smile once again and turned away from me to speak.
         “All you have freed yourself from is a chain, if your spirit is still open to suggestions of intolerance and error. Know that perseverance is the secret of a perfect soul.”
         He gestured off-handedly at the slabs in the long chamber and began to walk back into the darkness.
         “Listen carefully to what these men say from the foot of their tombs. Read their inscriptions, or rather their sentiments, and continue across the way. It is strewn with stones, and the path is yet long, but your journey will impart you with the knowledge of important truths. Ask for nothing from the coffins of this gallery, as they contain only the ashes and dust of traitors put to death for having betrayed our institution. Goodbye.”
         I called to him and urged him to continue his discourse, but I received no answer, then.
         There was naught to do but to turn to the dead and continue along the way. Before thanking and saluting each of the bodies I read their inscriptions carefully, and remember them all to this day:
         “I was a secret guardian, I suffered injuries, and I employed my time well.” Was it Chilon whose spirit imparted me with those words?
         “I often repented of having spoken, rarely of being silent.”
         "Make war only upon three things: sickness, ignorance, and injustice."
         "Render to thy kind, who is thy brother, the assistance which thou wouldst receive from him; and do not to him that which thou wouldst not he do unto thee." It was great Confucius of the East, who transmitted to us these maxims so simple and so true. They merit him the eternal remembrance of mankind.
         "O mortal, who seeketh truth! Learn that there exists but one sole Architect of the Temple called the Universe. He hath created all things, the good and the evil, the wheat and the poison; but to thee he hath given a discerning intelligence, and the liberty to labor for thy own glory and thy happiness."
         At many ceremonies since that time I have poured libations for these dead.
         I thanked and honored them humbly before looking about me on how to continue. I had reached the other side of the chamber, away from the torches, and the light from my lantern seemed to permeate the darkness less effectively. Finally I saw a tunnel extending into the wall. It was tall enough for a man to walk through, and so I approached.
         As I began to enter the tunnel, I became aware of the breeze whistling by me. Was this one of the tunnels that fed air into the chamber? No, it did not approach the surface, but the whistling grew louder and thicker until the air was rushing past me, pulling at my robes. The fury of the wind multiplied until it was so strong the lantern was torn from my hands, plunging me into darkness, and I fell forward. I did not hit the ground, however, but the very speed of the air picked me up and whisked me head first down the tunnel.
         Fear took hold of me a second time. I put my hands out to try to find some purchase on the earthen walls but there was none to be had. Small stones and bits of dust whirled with me on the current and we continued this way for some time before the tunnel opened up into another large chamber filled with an orange glow and I was hurled to the ground with such force my mind became blank for a length of time I cannot enumerate.
         When I awoke, my body was covered in sweat. The room was of near intolerable heat. I stood and saw the source of the glow in the room. I had fallen but the length of a man from the edge of a deep chasm, at the bottom of which I saw Hades’ fire itself. The molten, bubbling liquid oozed like a river below me, with small fires flaring up along its surface.
         To my right I saw a bridge that spanned the chasm. It was made very simply of two chains with sheets of stone placed across them. I had never seen a bridge like it, and have yet to see one since. I stepped lightly onto the first stone and felt the structure shudder under me. But unlike that air which had taken me against my will, the fire had solidity which the very force of my will could see and fight against. I steeled myself and began to cross the stone bridge.
         Almost immediately the heat penetrated my thin leather sandals and my feet raged. Halfway across the bridge, a strange smell came to my nose, and I realized that the heat was so intense it was beginning to char my clothing. I continued, though my head was swimming and felt full of steam, until I had finally crossed the bridge and collapsed on the earth on the other side, once again going black.
         I do not think that I slept for very long. When I awoke I stood woozily and approached a tunnel much like the one I had exited. Hesitation took me, for fear of the wind returning, but I had to get away from the heat and so pressed forward. Deeper and deeper into the darkness I crept, keeping a hand upon the wall and seemingly walking straight, until the glow behind me disappeared. There was nothing with me but complete black and the sound of my breath.
         Eventually the wall seemed to slowly turn and to descend, or perhaps I only imagined this, but my feet did sink deeper into the earth below me until eventually I was traipsing through mud, and then in water that came up almost to my knees. I continued this way very slowly in the dark, listening to the sounds of my feet sloshing through the water, keeping pressed against the wall. I seemed to have walked for hours without the water changing depth when suddenly I stepped forward and was plunged under the water.
         There was a current below the surface which tore at my feet and began sweeping me along with it. I was a vigorous swimmer in my youth, but could not keep my head above the surface fighting both the current and the flow of my loose robes. I pulled them off over my head and was able to keep afloat as I was swept along. The water was cold and some had gotten into my lungs. I was freezing and felt I would drown if I had to continue any further.
         Just when I had almost given up hope, a brilliant ray of sunlight shone down from the ceiling some distance ahead of me. The sunlight illuminated a wooden ladder which extended down into the water from the hole through which the sun shone. I was delighted and almost wept with joy before concentrating all of my efforts into preparing to grab the ladder before I was swept past. I caught hold of the ladder with just one hand and was jerked so roughly I felt at the time that shoulder would never again be any use to me. Luckily I held on and climbed the ladder up out of the water.
         But time labors on all things. The damp had rotted the ladder, and as I got higher the rings became less sturdy. The rings began falling out from under me as I climbed, and just as I grasped the earth above the ladder fell from under me altogether and I found myself suspended.
         The bright sunlight burned my eyes, and as I hung from the tips of my fingers, panting with the effort, I saw the faces of a priest from the cavern and a woman so lovely I mistook her for Athena come to carry me back down to Hades in her chariot.
         I remained suspended, the muscles in my arm straining, as she spoke to the priest.
         “I am inspired with such tender interest for this Greek philosopher, that I tremble, and offer up my prayers for him.”
         “Do you feel your strength failing?” the priest asked me.
         “Not yet, but -”
         And luckily before I could finish my reply, the priest grasped my arms in his and pulled me out onto the solid earth.
         I was exhausted, utterly spent. Around me gleamed magnificent gardens, statues, tripods, tables, a collation. It makes me laugh to think I had noticed, but the day was a little gloomy, which saddened me.
         The beautiful woman knelt beside me and proffered me a pile of linen and a tunic for investing me.
         “You nearly caused him to perish,” she said to the priest with the most gentle concern.
         “It was very necessary that he be purified by the four elements.”
         They spoke over me as if I were not there, and I was glad for it. The trials had been exhausting and the thought of more to come made me swoon. My shoulder was beginning to swell painfully. The priest gave the beautiful woman a significant look before striding off into the gardens. She smiled at me thoughtfully and helped me into the vestments. She took my uninjured arm and guided me down a shaded path through thick foliage to the courtyard of a low building decorated with statues of both Greek and Egyptian origin. By the time she led me through several of the buildings ornate rooms, I felt I could hardly keep my feet. She urged me to lay on a soft mattress of feather pillows and quickly left the room.
         I know that I drifted in and out of clarity before awakening to hear the beautiful woman giving instructions in the hall outside my door.
         “Azema, you will offer our services to this valiant Neophyte. But first, urge him to empty this cup, that the herbs may give him comfort.”
         “Yes, my sister,” a second voice replied, lower in pitch but no less as sweet. “The air shall be filled with the aromatic perfumes of the censers, and the melodious chants shall be clear and full of harmony; the most succulent and inviting dances shall prepare the fall of this proud philosopher - he shall not rebel against love.”
         The door opened and this second creature came to be in my presence. She offered me the cup, though I did not notice, I was so enrapt with her hair the color of rich Athenian soil, I was so entranced by the movement of her supple flesh beneath her thin coverings. Her eyes were lined thickly with coal, her delicate wrists decorated by many thin strands of gold. Her mouth was stained with the thick juices of some ripe Egyptian fruit, tinting it a crimson so deep as to approach purple. My eyes were trained on her slightly parted lips showing a hint of white teeth as she raised the cup to pour the bitter liquid into my mouth. The cup was all too soon emptied and a calmness swept through my limbs. My shoulder ceased its throbbing and she laid a gentle hand on my face when she saw me relax. She curled her beautiful full lips into a smile and left the room.
         I again heard the women speaking in the hall.
         “Quickly, now, we must prepare.” It was the voice of my rescuer. “When he again rouses you must enter there and display your most seducing and irresistible graces. The women of our Priests will bear crowns of laurel; add the myrtle and the amaranth to yours.”
         “The crowns are done, princess…” Their voices faded down the hall.          The calm from the bitter liquid overtook me, and I found myself immersed in a slumber so comforting and restful that should they have returned they may have mistaken me for one of the traitors of the tomb.
         I regained knowledge of my surroundings to find the tinkle of hundreds of tiny bells and the plucking of a harp. Around me in various poses on the feather pillows swarmed dozens of voluptuous young creatures. The tiny bells I heard were attached to fine strings of gold wrapped around the waists, wrists, and ankles of the many women, ringing softly whenever they moved. My body felt rested with no pain, and I saw that on my shoulder had been placed a poultice underneath a tight wrapping.
         There, sitting before me, was the form of the woman whose beauty had stuck in my mind associated with the visage of Athena.
         “Oh hospitable women! Whether you be nymphs or goddesses, Plato offers you a thousand thanks and salutes your gentle hearts.”
         The girl whose name was Azema with hair the color of Athenian soil exhaled happily, telling me “It is but weariness and the effect of the herbs which tell you we are goddesses; we are simple mortals, Zais and I; princesses it is true, but without pride, and very happy to see you, and to welcome you.”
         "Yes," said Zais, "we are delighted to have you here, and your success fills us with mirth. Accept our comfort and this nourishment, which we are exceedingly happy to offer."
         Azema took a cup from a platter one of the other women bent and offered. When she leaned forward, the thin garments parted and I had a view of the creamy tan of her breast broken only by the dark circle of her nipple. The woman looked at me from under the laurel crown with a sparkling eye.
         Azema brought the cup to my lips. There was an acidic smell to the steam that met my nostrils. "Drink this - it will invigorate you. The trials are still long! So far you’ve done well, but we only expected that of you, my sister and I."
         I drank deeply, then "You expected my success?"
         Placing her soft hand on my arm, Zais leaned closer to me. "Yes, the priests’ speech of your talents has ranked you high among we here. Their praise has only confirmed the high merits we knew of you before."
         They both smiled at me warmly, and I felt myself quickly falling deeply endeared to them. I was moved to speak.
         "If you were less flattering under these circumstances, you charming princesses, I would consider myself a most fortunate mortal."
         "No," said Zais, "You are one of the most amiable and eloquent of men."
         She leaned yet closer to me and moved her hand to my chest.
         "Mercy spare me," I breathed as I felt myself stirring beneath my vestments. "You are both so beautiful."
         Zais turned and snapped her fingers. Immediately the women rose and began to assemble themselves in the room. The rhythmic movement of their hands and feet made the bells ring in time. They moved their bodies slowly, sensuously, their garments opening occasionally to allow glimpses of varying sections of flesh.
         Azema rose and joined the dance. Her grace and the flowing movements of her muscles made her instantly outshine the other women. After a few minutes of the dance, she reached up and let her hair down. It fell to an extraordinary length down her back. When she moved her hair swayed like rippling fields of wheat in the wind just before harvest.
         The dance picked up speed to a height that had their legs and arms quivering, the flesh of their bodies shaking voluptuously under a beautiful sheen of sweat. They slowed gradually until, one by one, they laid their crowns of laurel at my feet and reclined once again about the room. Azema was the last to slow, and placed her crown upon my knees. She reclined heavily next to me, her breath hot and sweet and moist where it reached me.
         Zais reached and took Azema's crown from my knees and placed it upon my head. I tried to wave her off, but she and Azema's mouth close to my ear urged me not to resist, and I relented. Zais told me to keep the crown, if not to please her then to be agreeable to her.
         "I see in it a symbol of your triumph, which will be recounted in centuries to come."
         "Oh, but this is to forget," I responded, "the regard which is due to your prisoner."
         "No." She looked deep into my eyes. "It is I who am held captive."
         I could feel the warmth of her body so near, and feel my very pulse in my firmness. The drink they had given me must have accounted for some of it, as I had never, and have never, felt myself as I did then, as stone. I reached and took one of the crowns from beside me and placed it gently upon her head.
         "Then let both of us be immortals."
         She moved her body against me and let loose a clear laugh that rang like her many tiny bells.
         "Why, thank you, Plato. I shall keep the crown that you have placed upon my head to always remind me of the simpatico we share."
         She again snapped her fingers and the women began a rhythmic stomp of their belled feet and clap of their belled hands.
         "Listen to this prayer, will you?"
         The women began to chant.
                 “Isis! Oh fruitful play!
                 Thou veileth night and day
                 Happy to give from above
                 Health, joy, and love.
                 Let us celebrate the sky's mar-
                 The glow of that most radiant star,
                 To which men oweth existence
                 And the most precious of penance.
                 Of other suns we know
                 And other inhabited globes
                 Rejoicing in the morn's glow
                 Keeping us from sorrows.
                 Isis! Oh fruitful light!
                 Thou veileth the day and the night
                 Happy in giving to man
                 All that love can.
                 Love is the source of life,
                 The principle on which the Universe strives,
                 The grand law of harmony
                 Whence diverse things come to be.
                 To remain to it, to devote
                 Let us guard this with oath
                 For love causeth the beautiful ones
                 To desire new loves.
                 Isis! Oh fruitful burn!
                 Thou veileth all the earth’s turns
                 Happy to give without spurn
                 All that our true will can learn.”
         Their chanting ceased and music from the harp began once again, slow and touching the feelings.
         "Now, Plato, what could I do to best please your heart?" Zais laid her hand upon my breast. "Anything you ask will be yours, for I love you, and I rule in this domain."
         How could I respond to these inquiries, so enticing and so touching? I could not.
         Zais raised herself above me and embraced me with her arms. "I love you! Let us go to one of the discreet places in the gardens! Let's go quickly!"
         I pulled her arms gently away from me. "You seek to seduce me, oh Princess who is as fair and eloquent as Athena. You know my duty, and this is not the least formidable of my trials."
         After a quick glance at Azema, she continued on. "I do not defend myself against this charge. But I am held in the web I wove for you! I know of your achievements, your intellect, your glory, and I love you. Do not fear! I know a place of absolute secrecy, a beautiful shade. Come, come, I ask of you!"
         She pulled away and took my hand to lead me with her.
         "Enchantress! You are so desirable, but you know that I can only admire you."
         "I love you with all of my heart! There is nothing to cause you worry! After having supplicated you, will you betray me, dishonor me?”
         The look on her face was so imploring, so stark, I felt my heart aching. She had admitted to the trickery freely; could she hold a genuine desire for me? I did not know, and was torn. The herbs Azema had given me made my pulse race, and the heavenly smells of woman and incense made me feel hot and amorous. I felt the ache of my heart in other places. I had to stop this.
         "If your feelings were true, you would not abuse your powers here to me, you would stop trying my honor. I hold you in the highest regards, and will remember you tenderly and often."
         Her features twisted in rage. I had offended her.
         "High regards and tender remembrances may please the women of Greece, but to me, a princess, Plato, your refusal is a crime which could cost you your life. Perhaps you will reconsider, as we are at the moment still free, and I do not wish to command you. Come! I love you, and I ask for the last time. Please come with me!"
         "Would that I were Mercury, dear woman. I would give you this honor and fly you to Olympos to become the admiration of the gods. But I am only Plato, who would be a mere mortal submitting to a bodily temptation, which I know I must resist. I think of the steady constellations in a stormy sky and that example reassures me."
         "You are cruel!" she spat. "It is not your life in danger, but my own! Be merciful, Plato. The daughter of the King of Egypt is begging you!"
         I could not, and for many days since then I have lamented it. For many lonely hours I have mourned Zais, beautiful princess of Egypt.
         I almost choked, but held steadfast and said slowly "Whether you are sincere or not, it is my duty to refuse you."
         She sank, and at the same time grew larger with her anger.
         "Go! Take your philosophic stoicism! It is a merit to cause my death."
         Her words condemned me, and I have contemplated them often.
         She took the crown from her head and threw it at me before storming out of the room, quickly followed by a weeping Azema.
         I do not know if I intended to follow the women or not, but I rose and looked at the helpless faces of the other young women in the room. As if to spare me from decision in acting, the Ceryce, a most respected priest, burst into the room. He was clothed in his most brilliant ritual garb, a fine tunic of black with a sky blue girdle. In his hands he held a twig of mistletoe.
         “Plato! Throw away that crown of the whores and take this golden branch. Come with me, quickly. Do you know who is the most happy of men?”
         I was stunned by his sudden question, though I took the crown from my head and let it fall to the floor. He thrust the golden mistletoe into my hands and began to walk quickly out of the room. I found myself trotting after him, though my heart was still troubled by the last words I would ever hear Zais utter.
         I stumbled over my response, which I knew was his intention to do, and berated myself for it.
         “The… The most happy of men. Socrates proclaimed the most happy to be the most just. I say it is the most liberal.”
         We turned quickly down the ornate corridors, passing by countless rooms with speed. I knew not where we were headed, and so many passages were taken that I could not have found my way back.
         “And the most modest of men?” he pressed.
         The Ceryce stopped in front of a set of large carved wooden doors and looked to me for my answer.
         “It is he who understands himself the best.”
         The Ceryce smiled near imperceptibly and struck the door with his fist violently three times.
         From the other side of the door I heard someone call “What foolish mortal knocks thus to interrupt our Mysteries?”
         I opened my mouth to speak, but the Ceryce waved me off and opened the door without entering.
         “Sublime Patriarchs, Sages, and respected priests, here is the Neophyte, Plato of Athens, who comes bearing the golden branch.”
         “If his conscience is pure, let him enter now.”
         I stepped in after the Ceryce to view the temple of the priests for the first time, brilliant in its decoration. The walls held many windows surrounded by illustrious Egyptian cotton curtains of sky blue which illuminated the room alternately brightly as the sun outside passed behind clouds. Painted on the high ceiling was the sun, about which were inscribed the planets in their rotations and the zodiacal signs, also many stars. On the wall to the right above the windows was depicted two men standing above spheres. One was lying in a small vessel on the sea, the other was beardless holding a rod in one hand and a thunderbolt with an ear of corn in the other. Could these be the Father and the Son, Osiris and Horus? On the left wall were two obelisks with much delicate writing printed on them I could not perceive from where I stood.
         Directly before me was a long altar covered with a thick, luxuriant green cloth fringed in gold. On the altar was a heavy copy of a thick book bound in leather with thick papyrus pages and a long candelabra holding seven lit candles. To the sides of the altar were statues, to the right a sphinx, and the left a vaguely feminine form covered with a thin veil - Isis. Behind the altar were three chairs, two occupied by the Patriarchs. Next to them sat the Sages, and behind them stood many of the priests.
         The Ceryce left my side to take the remaining seat behind the altar. As soon as he took his place, a flaming triangle appeared above his seat on the wall behind the altar. It gave off very little light and no heat, and did not seem to be consuming the wall or anything connected to it. I do not know how it burned.
         I took a few steps toward the altar before one of the first Patriarch held up his hand.
         “Stop. What do ask of us here?”
         “I demand the revelation of the mysteries.”
         The Patriarchs glanced at each other before the Patriarch spoke again.
         “What have you done to merit the revelation?”
         “Never have I willingly done wrong to any person. Never have I forgotten the respect to which I owe every creature, including myself, without the deepest repentance. I was taught by the stoic Socrates, and have followed his lessons well in my everyday life. I have traveled the world in search of knowledge, which brought me to this land of Egypt. I have listened to your priests, and descended to the land of the dead to listen to wisdom of traitors. I traversed earth, air, fire, and water. Finally, I was rescued by two beautiful mortal goddesses who deigned to pledge their love for me by giving me freely of their flesh.” My composure faltered with images of Zais flashing before my eyes. “I had to refuse those women, and was brought here, to you.”
         The Patriarch beckoned me to approach, and I did.
         He asked, “Which is the most noble study to which a man can devote his time on this earth?”
         “That which focuses on the law of nature within and without the seeker, finding knowledge of what he is, from where he was born, and where he will go in death.”
         “The sun and the moon, Osiris and Isis, symbolize the balance of nature, though Isis is always depicted with a veil. Why is this?”
         “In the Temple of Sais upon her statue is graven ‘I am all that which has been, all that which is, all that which will be, and no mortal man has yet raised the veil which covers me.’” I filled my lungs and looked at the Patriarch directly before continuing. “I think that statement to be false.”
         The second Patriarch shifted and looked to the first, while general discomfort and shuffling overcame the audience, though I do believe I may have seen the Ceryce briefly smile before the first Patriarch raised his hand for silence.
         “False?” the first Patriarch asked. “And how does your arrogance come upon this?”
         I was ready to defend myself. “At each law governing nature that man discovers, at each new insight into the harmony of the Universe, at each discovery into one’s own arrogance, does not man raise the veil?”
         “No, the difficulty that separates her from us is not removed! You are a scientist and learned may. You may know the weight of the stars, their speed, their distance, and you may calculate their paths; you can study the laws of light and heat, transfer energy through water or fire, or push of other objects. You can transform the earth with your studies, but the great Unknown is beyond your laws of nature, and incomprehensible to an unmovable heart. Learn that this triangle,” he gestured to the flaming triangle above the Ceryce’s seat, “just as the sun is the soul of the world, symbolizes to our cult the unity of God. See how the uninitiated have idolized animals. The laborer, deprived of learning, called those stars of the bull which arose at the same period of their labor each year, the star of the Virgin that which arose at the height of their harvest, and more. The laborer’s children have forgotten why he named the stars so, and worshipped the Virgin, the Bull, the Lion, when they arose at favorable times for their labor, then labeled them as gods! Do you believe the Sphinx is one of these false?”
         It was a question one would ask of children. “No, great Patriarch. The Sphinx recalls the fruitful cycle of the Nile, the combined Virgin and Lion.”
         There was a silence then that I didn’t understand.
         Then the second Patriarch spoke. “In the center of our Universe is the sun. Mercury, Venus, the earth, Mars, Jupiter, Saturn, travel around the sun while spinning around themselves. The fixed stars gravitate afar from the planets, some of which hold their own planets, and hold planets with a favorable atmosphere and are inhabited. Do you know the significance of the red cross upon the flag of Egypt?”
         “Like Isis and Osiris, it is a symbol of the changing seasons, or of balance, or of immortality. It represents the equator and the meridian, spring and autumn, the equinoxes.”
         The second Patriarch nodded approval.
         The Ceryce began speaking to me once again.
         “What is morality?”
         “It is the duties charged to us by the conscience, that which we hold as a personal rule of fairness and justice, that which we cannot violate without feeling shame.”
         “And justice?”
         “It is placing a man before the law, and judging from the law what this man owes or is due.”
         My answer did not seem to supplicate him. He chewed his lip for some time before asking, “Do you feel that judges discredit themselves with they admit to having made a mistake in their justice?”
         My initial urge was to affirm this, but reason held my tongue. I answered, “No. If the authority withheld their admission and allowed innocent men to be punished, that would lessen their authority.”
         “Where do justice and morality originate?”
         “In each man’s conscience.”
         “How do you distinguish between good and evil?”
         I thought for some time before coming upon the simple answer. “Any that restrain men’s rights is evil; all that keeps or increases men’s rights is good.”
         “Do you think women are inferior to men?”
         Zais again swam through my mind and I almost laughed at the absurdity of the question. “No. She is his equal in all things, and the support behind many of his successes.”
         “And what do you think of the death penalty and corporeal punishment?”
         “I say these are signs of a civilization which struggles to uphold the law while ignoring justice.”
         “Then what qualities would signify a superior civilization than our own?”
         “A nation absent of priests.”
         I said the words surely, slowly, but without defiance. Still, the room exploded with sound and many priests stepped forward angrily.
         “So priests have no purpose? So pretending to live by a code of good and evil is enough to guide men’s enlightenment, or even their happiness? Plato, your arrogance makes you ungrateful!” one shouted at me. I did not move.
         The Ceryce stood and turned to address the priests, then.
         “Brothers, seat yourselves. We must be bold to speak what is true, above all when our discourse is upon truth. I praise Plato for his honesty; a Neophyte has not had the strength to say something so provocative in many years, and I am sure he has sufficient beliefs to justify this stance. Please, Plato,” he turned to me and sat down once again, “explain yourself to us.”
         “In the depth of the heart of each man dwells the want to console the victim, chastise the criminal, and rejoice the good samaritan. In each man also is the want to better himself, and to understand the world around him. Men are inherently good and capable of leading themselves to the higher truths.”
         A second priest from the back shook his fist and shouted “You make light of the first need and want of a society!”
         The Ceryce raised his hand to quiet him, but I was already answering.
         “No, I place it back in the hands of the people.”
         Whispering did break out among the clergy, but just then the sun broke clear of clouds and its light shone bright through the windows. On the Ceryce’s face, now, was an open smile. He stood and came around the altar to hand me a cup and my Etangi.
         The first Patriarch said, “Drink deep of what is distilled from the lotus. Drink and forget all envy, all hate, all misunderstanding. Put on this robe so all may see you as devoted to science and virtue.”
         I drank of the cup and looked into the smiling eyes of the aged Ceryce. With his delicate hands he helped me into the Etangi, the beautiful striped robe which would represent to all the blazing White Light of the illumination I have achieved, the discipline by which I live. My Etangi signified my initiation.
         After I was clothes, the Ceryce leaned close to me and whispered into my ear. “You’ve done well, Plato. Come, you go to be initiated into the last of our Mysteries.”
         The two Patriarchs stood and began to proceed to the large doors through which I had entered. As they moved across the room, the flaming triangle moved after them. Its glow burned down to a deep red and seemed to almost smolder in the air. The Ceryce took my arm and we began to follow them, the priests coming after. The triangle merely floated in the air, following the Patriarchs as if pulled by some invisible wire, though I knew it to be no trick, only a sign of their deep understanding.
         We proceeded this way in silent, slow steps down a long hall and through a set of outer doors which led to the gardens. We continued through the gardens to the very banks of the River Nile. The Patriarchs stopped on the bank and turned to face the setting sun, which was behind me. They moved apart and the flaming triangle sank to settle between them at the height of a man’s chest. Priests bearing censers came to stand beside the Patriarchs, throwing fresh herbs onto the charcoal. The smoke was rich with the smell of asafetida and daemomorops draco, powerful banishing and cleansing herbs.
         Another priest came and presented the Ceryce with a large book of bound papyrus pages.
         The first Patriarch said to me “Before the triangle of fire, the emblem of our sublime institution, swear to obey the sacred laws, to always force your passions to submit to your ability to reason, and to work ceaselessly for naught but the good of thyself, and the good of humanity.”
         The Ceryce opened the book to a page filled with signatures and held it before me. A priest knelt at my feet and held at my waist a gilded bowl containing a small amount of ground herbs I did not recognize. The first Patriarch approached me and gripped my left arm over the bowl, the other Patriarch drew a slim dagger from his belt and placed the edge gently against my flesh. He looked me in the eyes, in warning or for confirmation I do not know, but I nodded and he slid the metal across my flesh easily. The blood began to run almost instantly and trickled into the bowl, mixing with the herbs. The first Patriarch drew a reed pen from the folds of his robe and handed it to me. I dipped the pen in the warm ink of the bowl and used my blood to inscribe my name on the delicate page before me.
         The Ceryce handed the open book to the first Patriarch and began to wrap the laceration on my arm with a soft piece of cloth. He moved slowly and gently, and soon had the wound closed under a tight wrapping. The contents of the bowl were poured by the priest over the censers, filling the air with the sickly-sweet scent of burnt flesh.
         As my blood bubbled over the charcoal, the second Patriarch took from around his neck a golden symbol of the Tat on a leather chord, and placed it around my own neck.
         “This knot is of Minerva or Isis, representing an owl and his wisdom. An owl as a child is blind at birth, and only through his experiences and the light of wisdom and reflection does he become a man. May Isis always inspire thee!”
         The most fantastical of my experiences happened, then. I had relaxed, confident that my ordeals were over, when the two Patriarchs took hands and began to walk towards the water. Their feet did not sink into the dark mud of the fertile Nile, no, and when their feet touched the water of the moving river it held them above the surface. The water was as land under them. The flaming triangle followed them, smoldering even deeper in color. When they were above (or on, I know not how to describe it) the deeper part of the river they suddenly disappeared, and the flaming triangle burst into a column of fire that quickly dissipated. A gust of wind came and swept over the party, sending away the last scent of the burning blood, then the wind was gone.
         I was shaken by such a blatant display of control over the elements and the forces which run through them. The priests took no notice of it at all, as if they had expected as much from their masters, and surrounded me to give their congratulations before moving back toward the building.
         The Ceryce stayed by my side as each of the priests greeted me with their acknowledgements. After all the priests had gone, the Ceryce embraced me and pulled my head down to kiss my forehead.
         “It has been said by Hegel that the owl of Minerva spreads its wings only with the coming of dusk.” He chuckled. “Look to the west; dusk approaches, and tonight we shall rejoice your rank among us.”
         He embraced me again and led me back toward the building. From there we traveled on foot to the one of the luxurious temples on the palace grounds; it was not far, and green trees lined the way. As we approached the temple, we had to press through the crowd which was already gathering. Slowly, our identities preceded us and the people began to create a path for us to traverse.
         A long set of stairs led to the entrance of the temple, at the base of which two lions stood guard. As we reached the foot of the stairs, the sun came clear of the clouds for the last time before sliding behind the horizon and shone down brilliantly on the obelisks behind the lions. Soldiers holding torches lined the way up the stairs, at the top of which sat the Patriarchs and the many priests, and before the, the Demiurgos and the King.
         One of the Patriarchs saw us at the foot of the steps and signaled with his hand. Immediately horns began to trumpet a fanfare and the crowd roared behind us. A flute player, playing a lively tune hardly audible over the trumpets and the crowd, danced out of the mob around us before heading up the stairs.
         The Ceryce leaned over and said to me, “The flautist is the Canter, who bears the symbol of music.”
         Then two men dressed as priests came out of the crowd. One carried a sacred book that much resembled the book in which I had just inscribed my name. The other carried an inkhorn and a reed pen.
         The Ceryce told me, “He who carries the reed pen and ink is the Sacred Scribe. The other is the Aurispice, the observer of times.”
         They began to ascend the steps after the flautist.
         Then came a young man, wearing a peasant’s clothes and carrying an ornately carved spear.
         “He is called the Standard Bearer, and he carries with him the cubit of justice.”
         And then came a man whose visage will forever be burned into my memory. He was blind with a bloodied cloth tied round his eyes, though he seemed to have no trouble knowing the way. He wore naught but a small and soiled loin cloth. His arms and legs were crossed with scars, and on his chest was a large representation of the symbol I held around my neck, though it appeared to have been branded into him. All the crowd roared for him, and when he turned to walk up the steps his back was a mass of painfully red and oozing slashes. I was repulsed by this creature.
         The Ceryce said to me, “He is the Prophet that bears the symbol of a thirst for science upon his chest. He is the last in the procession before you. After you will come the Loaf Bearer, who carries precious gifts for Isis, and after her will be the aspirants for initiation. They follow the classes of mathematics, music, sculpture, painting, medicine, architecture, and so forth. But now it is your turn - ascend the steps and give your ear to the Demiurgos. First turn and show the people who you are.”
         I mounted the first two steps, turned, and raised a hand to the people. They exploded with cheers and shouts of joy and adoration. As I looked out upon the throng, I felt strangely sad; I was once one of them. But from that moment on, I knew that I would have nothing to do with the transitory in nature. I thought also then that it is impossible for any of those men to gain understanding into the subjects to which I have seriously devoted study. I thought there would never be any treatise of mine dealing therewith, for they cannot be captured in verbal expressions as other studies can. Only as a result of continued application to the subject itself and communion therewith is it brought to birth in the soul on a sudden, as light that is kindled by a leaping spark, and thereafter it nourishes itself. I thought that then, and still I cannot express the totality of my experience in words, only the events that took place. But someday the knowledge can be revealed to the people, and I do not want my experience to be lost.
         I continued up the steps and was embraced by the Demiurgos.
         “Plato,” he said to me, “remember well all that you have learned here. Remember the drama of the gods, that gods are not present in the materially comprehensible world, that gods lie spell-bound in nature. Remember that only he who awakens the divine within himself can approach the gods. Remember that the whole world is divine, and man is no more divine than other beings, though in other beings this divinity is concealed and in man it is manifest. Remember that love is not a god, but something leading man to the gods. Remember that the gods are perfect, and possess beauty and goodness, but Eros is only the longing for beauty and goodness. And always remember that the learning and knowledge that we have, is, at the most, but little compared with that of which we are ignorant. Now go, spread to your pupils the sublime truths which you have learned here; but accord this knowledge only to those chosen, who have been slowly prepared for receiving them; build not upon sand; write not upon snow!”
         He embraced me again and turned me toward the king.
         The king held up a necklace identical to the one I was wearing and I leaned forward for him to slip it over my neck.
         “I am happy to bestow this great honor upon you, Plato. This symbolizes your great love of truth, your devotion to science, and your perseverance under the trials.”
         He smiled and embraced me, saying in my ear “I am proud to have you among our ranks.”
         Then he pulled away and took my hand leading me toward the stairs.
         “Now follow me, Plato. Although the common people are simple, they are enthusiastic about the good and the beautiful. Let us show them your triumph with science and virtue. Though they know of the trials and courage of the initiates, they cannot comprehend what it means to be initiated, though they love to throw feasts for the initiates, and to applaud them.”
         The king smiled at the people and waved, the horns trumpeting us as we descended the stairs to the applause of the people.



Bibliography

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Esonet.org. Retrieved 1 Dec. 2003 .

Initiation of Plato. Retrieved 1 Dec. 2003 .

Lefkowitz, Mary R., Guy M. Rogers. "Ancient History, Modern Myths." Black Athena Revisited. North Carolina: University of North Carolina Press, 1996.

Moses, Greg. "By the Dog of Egypt: Plato's Engagement with Egyptian Form, and the Scholarship of Cheikh Anta Diop.” Diss. SUNY-Binghamton. Oct., 1996.

Steiner, Rudolf. “Christianity as Mystical Fact - Egyptian Mystery Wisdom.” Retrieved 1 Dec. 2003 .

A Wiccan’s Light. Retrieved 1 Dec. 2003 .



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