The Odyssey of Seeing

I. The Call

I set out believing the world was stone,

its crushing weight pressed against my chest.

But the quiet voice of Epictetus rose:

Men are disturbed, not by things,

but by the views which they take of things.

And so began my journey—

not across lands, but through the lenses of the mind.

II. Trial of Loss

Loss appeared first, cloaked as a thief,

stealing faces, voices, warmth.

I trembled, until I saw—

it was my story of absence

that hollowed the room.

Loss became a teacher,

showing me love by the echo it left behind.

III. Trial of Joy

Joy came next, fragile as glass.

I feared its shattering,

clutching it too tightly in my hand.

But when I simply let it flow,

joy was a river,

endless, unbroken,

carrying me whether I clasped or not.

IV. Trial of Fear

Fear rose as a monstrous shape,

its teeth bared in the dark.

Yet it was my gaze that sharpened its fangs,

my breath that gave it size.

When I faced it without story,

fear shrank to a shadow,

a passing cloud across the moon.

V. Trial of Hope

Hope flickered as a feeble candle,

fragile against the wind.

My doubt, not the breeze, dimmed its glow.

But when I tended it gently,

hope became a sunrise,

a horizon widening as I walked.

VI. Trial of Anger

Anger blazed like fire,

threatening to consume all it touched.

But it was my tale of injustice

that fed the hungry flame.

When I shifted the view,

anger became a compass—

a signal to guard what truly matters.

VII. Trial of Love

Love appeared brittle,

a crystal destined to break.

But it was my fear of loss

that made it so fragile.

When I released my hold to let it breathe,

love was wind—

endless, unbound, and alive.

VIII. Trial of Death

Death stood as an unyielding wall,

closing the path forever.

But it was my dread of endings

that made the stone solid.

When I turned the lens,

death became a doorway,

a solemn passage into mystery,

a clear reminder to live while I walk.

IX. Trial of Destiny

Destiny came as an iron chain,

binding me to a single road.

But it was my fear of choice

that forged the heavy links.

When I looked again,

destiny was a river,

its currents shaped by my oars,

its deeper bends revealed as I sail.

X. The Liberation

At last I stood at the summit.

The trials were not monsters,

but mirrors of my own forging.

The world is not the burden,

only the lens I hold to it.

To change the lens is to change the weight.

To change the weight is to change the life.

Epictetus whispers still,

and I walk unburdened,

into the vastness of things as they are.