I. Stillness Before the Descent What stirs in silence but the thought of falling? The soul leans forward at the edge of time, Where earth gives way to rhythm without measure— No firmament beneath, no axis left to climb. The wind is absent here. The light, unsure. All motion trembles on the breath of stillness. We speak of peace, yet dread the calmest shore— For we have built our gods from fear and witness.
II. The Water Below Not storm, not wave, nor tempest’s hissing swell, But quiet depth—the fathomless unknown, Uncoiling silence from a buried bell Where light has never touched the sea-worn stone. Here dwell no monsters, save the mind’s own eye. The fear is not of drowning, but of seeing— That which reflects not sky, but self, and why The soul recoils from naked being.
III. The Humbling The sea does not instruct with word or wind— It shapes the soul by salt and slow erosion. A kneeling cliff, worn smooth where waves have pinned Each boast to sand, each name to dark devotion. The deeper still you go, the less you hold— No torch remains, no doctrine, no command. The deep forgives, but never does it fold— It presses wonder into trembling hand.
IV. What Remains So is the fear a gift, once held aright— A trembling compass on the soul’s long chart. For he who feared the deep, yet dared its night, Returns not wise—but hollowed, whole of heart. He cannot speak of what he saw below, Only that silence taught him how to kneel. And those who know will know. The rest may go To read their truths upon a turning wheel.
He lifts himself from bed without remark to meet the worn, repeated tasks at hand. No record marks the ground on which he strains— no witness, no laurel, no acclaim. His strength lies not in storied deed but labor plain: a hearth kept warm, a family fed, life sustained. No tale is told, no stone inscribed or raised— the ordinary man, in toil, is born.
The meaning lies in being, not in praise; in beauty glimpsed, not possessed though understood. No crowns he needs nor feast days held for him; his worth is in the craft, the nail, the wood. He does not seek to master, nor to flee, but walks the field, or mends a gate, or tends a tree. In passing light, in gesture undesigned, a truth is touched, not grasped, yet binds.
The purpose is in others—in shared bread, the coat repaired, the cup placed in the hand; in love soft-spoken, faithful in its giving, not in the vow proclaimed, but in the deed. His days are stitched with care that shows no seam, his name unsung, his work by others’ need. Though he may pass unnamed when he is gone, he will have sown the path that others walk upon.
“Il faut imaginer Sisyphe heureux.” (“One must imagine Sisyphus happy.”) —Albert Camus, Le Mythe de Sisyphe (1942)
But perhaps he was mistaken. Perhaps the truth is simpler: When the stone is gone, the man remains.
Sisyphus Undone; or, It Was Tuesday
by Donald S. Yarab
He rose, as ever, with the morning’s breath, the hill still steep, the silence oddly wide. No stone to greet him with its weight or will— no groan of earth, no task to be defied.
The gods were gone. Their laughter had grown faint, or else the air refused to carry sound. The path he wore through centuries lay bare, a scar now healing into senseless ground.
He searched for signs: a crack, a trace, a mark, but found no proof that toil had ever been. His hands, once strong with strain, now idle hung, still shaped by burdens long dissolved within.
He sat. The dust rose lightly at his knee. A lark began to sing, then flew away. The sky, untroubled, held no word for him. The world had turned. It was another day.
What is the self when labor fades to wind? What is the myth once struggle slips its chain? He breathed. No answer stirred the lucid air. The hill was whole. The man was left, and plain.
One of the most striking images from Montaigne’s Essays, which has lodged itself firmly in my mind, comes from his Apology for Raymond Sebond. Specifically, within one paragraph, he uses wheat as an extended metaphor or an allegory wherein he suggests that the more wisdom or knowledge one acquires, the more humble one becomes. He writes:
To really learned men has happened what happens to ears of wheat: they rise high and lofty, heads erect and proud, as long as they are empty; but when they are full and swollen with grain in their ripeness, they begin to grow humble and lower their horns. (Montaigne, 1963, p. 227)
The image captures what I have found to be my experience insofar as that, with each passing year, as my hair has silvered and my eyes dimmed, I have found that wisdom requires casting the certitude, rigidity, and knowledge of youth aside for the humility of lived experience.
Additionally, I find the lesson to be an extraordinary corollary to my personal motto, about which I have previously written, Humilitatem Initium Sapientiae (humility is the beginning of wisdom).
Thus, having reflected if not obsessed upon Montaigne’s insight for well over a fortnight, I finally shaped my thoughts about it into a poem, the results of which are below.
The Ripened Ear (Inspired by Montaigne)
Beneath the sun’s unyielding gaze, it grows, The tender stalk, upright and full of pride, Its hollow strength unbent by winds that blow, Yet void of fruit, it stands unsatisfied.
But time, the patient sower, bids it yield, To weight of grain within its swelling breast, It bows its head, as on the golden field, The burdened ear finds wisdom’s humble crest.
So too the soul, in ignorance, stands tall, Unbowed by truths it dares not yet to see, Until the harvest’s gentle weight does call, And bends the heart to find humility.
For wisdom ripens where humility’s sown, And humbleness, by wisdom, is full-grown.
Montaigne, M. de. (1963). Essays and selected writings: A bilingual edition (D. M. Frame, Trans. & Ed.). St. Martin’s Press.
Throughout my life, two essential sources of guidance have been my personal motto, “Humilitatem Initium Sapientiae,” meaning humility is the beginning of wisdom, and the insightful advice from Thomas à Kempis in De Imitatione Christi. His words inspired the lyrics of my composition, “The Beginning of Wisdom,” recently set to music using Udio.com. The song emphasizes the importance of humility, seeking good examples, and self-correction. It beautifully portrays the idea that through humility, wisdom shines bright, leading us forward even through the darkest nights. The powerful message is conveyed through gentle and reflective lyrics, inspiring listeners to embrace humility as the start of wisdom.
Korea, hanging scroll, ink on paper. Egret and Reeds, late 1800s. Yang Ki-hun (Seuk-Eun) (Korean, 1843–1919?). In this hanging scroll, an egret walks along the shores of a salt marsh where reeds abundantly grow. Yang treated his subjects of flora and fauna with an observant naturalist’s view, yet his choice of subjects—an egret and reeds—is deeply rooted in traditional symbolic language: the egret stands for the scholarly reclusive life, while reeds indicate humility and modesty. Cleveland Museum of Art.
Two of the most treasured sources of guidance throughout my life, which I frequently call to mind, are my personal motto, Humilitatem Initium Sapientiae, which may be translated as humility is the beginning of wisdom, and the prudential advice offered by the canon, author, and scribe Thomas à Kempis (d. 1471), in De Imitatione Christi: “Study also to guard against and to overcome the faults which in others very frequently displease you. Make the best of every opportunity, so that if you see or hear good example you may be moved to imitate it. On the other hand, take care lest you be guilty of those things which you consider reprehensible, or if you have ever been guilty of them, try to correct yourself as soon as possible. As you see others, so they see you.” These words informed the lyrics of my most recent composition which I then set to music using Udio.com
Humilitatem Initium Sapientiae (Humility, the beginning of Wisdom) – by Donald S. YarabAudio file for “The Beginning of Wisdom” (Lyrics by Donald S. Yarab).
Lyrics:
In the quiet dawn, wisdom’s voice we hear, Whispering softly, drawing us near. In the humble heart, truth finds its place, Guiding our steps with gentle grace.
Humilitatem Initium Sapientiae, Through the shadows, a light to guide our way. In the path of humility, wisdom shines bright, Leading us forward through the darkest night.
Guard against the faults that others display, Seek the good examples, and follow their way. Correct your own missteps, strive to be true, For as you see others, they also see you.
Humilitatem Initium Sapientiae, Through the shadows, a light to guide our way. In the path of humility, wisdom shines bright, Leading us forward through the darkest night.
With each humble act, our spirits rise, Touching the heavens, reaching the skies. In the silence deep, where the soul is free, Wisdom’s beginning, in humility.
Humilitatem Initium Sapientiae, Through the shadows, a light to guide our way. In the path of humility, wisdom shines bright, Leading us forward through the darkest night.
In humility, we find our start, With wisdom’s light, within our heart. Humilitatem Initium Sapientiae, A guiding star, forever to stay.
