Sisyphus

 



The man of our times struggling to scale the highest peaks of success, with the enormous weight of the "pig" of ambition, violence, and selfishness on his shoulders.

Titian 1548 - 1549 Museo del Prado, 

In Titian's painting, the figure of Sisyphus appears bathed in light against the background of a dark abyss. His muscles are tense from the tremendous effort of climbing the hill with a heavy load on his shoulders.       

More than a stone, what carries Titian's Sisyphus on his shoulders is an enormous monster, similar to the wild boar or wild pig that Heracles or the Roman Hercules was entrusted to bring back alive from Mount Erymanthus. The soft texture of the montuno pig's skin molds itself to the contours of Sisyphus's shoulders, but not the rigid texture of a rock.

Sisyphus's face, bent by the enormous weight on his neck, looks down and back, grimacing with anguish for fear of seeing the vast, dark abyss below from which flames of fire issue, ghostly eyes that through the shadows stalk him everywhere and huge snake that chases him between his feet; In addition, a dark colored band, like the same abyss from which it comes, girds it around his hips.

With his version of Sisyphus, Titian seemed to represent the man of our times in his efforts to reach the peak of his dreams, ambitions, and desires until he became Nietzsche's "superman." The man of our times, in a superhuman effort of his own "will" to reach the top and establish himself as a god. The man of our times struggling to scale the highest peaks of success, with the enormous weight of the "pig" of ambition, violence, and selfishness on his shoulders. The man of our times, with a look of anguish generated by the fear of falling into the "abyss" below, to not be, to not exist, to fall into nothingness, to perish from the deadly bite of the "serpent" of wars, envy, jealousy, lies, and persecution of ethnicity, race, and religion. The man of our times struggling to climb the hill to the pinnacle of his ambitions and dreams, gripped by the "dark band" of low passions, hatred, resentment, violence, and injustice. (From my book's manuscript "In Search of Sophia" - An Extraordinary Search for Peace and Love Through the Seven Highest Mountains of The World.)

About me: 

I am a Vietnam veteran and the son of a Pentecostal Pastor. (RIP). I live in Puerto Rico, but as a US citizen, I was drafted into the US Army in 1965 because Puerto Rico is a US territory. In 1966, I was sent to Vietnam for a year tour. Upon my return, I was greeted with the contempt and hatred of those who protested against the war and society. At the stopover at O'Hare International Airport in Chicago to take another plane to New York, we were immediately recognized by the military uniform, and the shouts and violent gestures began with the expletives of murderers, baby killers, to the point of physical aggression. One of my West Virginia companions was spat on and automatically reacted. He jumped the fence that separated us and grabbed him by the neck, and the intervention of the police saved him from certain death by strangulation.

Observing happy receptions and painful farewells, I was waiting for the next flight to New York when the memory of my fallen companions came to mind: the wounded, some with amputated arms, others with amputated legs, and others, like me, with amputated soul and spirit. In a flash of seconds, I saw Danny's face when we were on guard duty at the perimeter together. All of a sudden, we heard the hiss and the smoke of the mortar as it came toward us. We ran to the bunker. I yelled at Danny to run faster, but the explosion drowned out my scream. I saw him fall; I doubled over and started punching him in the chest to make him react, but only those glazed eyes, looking towards a distant point in space that only those who pass through that valley of shadow and death could know. Trembling and about to go out screaming, I went to the bathroom and locked up there so that people wouldn't see me. I gave free rein to that volcano of pain and sorrow that squeezed my throat. The scenes of my fallen companions came to my mind... and the question: Why did I come back, and they couldn't come back? There, I started fighting another war back home. 

“Lasciate ogne speranza, voi ch'intrate" ((Abandon all hope those who they come in here). Inscription at the entrance of Dante's Inferno.





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