September 8th

Ozymandias

                                        by Percy Bysshe Shelley

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I met a traveller from an antique land
Who said: "Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert. Near them, on the sand,
Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown,
And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things.
The hand that mocked them, and the heart that fed.
And on the pedestal these words appear:
'My name is Ozymandias, King of Kings:
Look on my works, ye mighty, and despair!'
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare
The lone and level sands stretch far away

        I was on my way to class; swimming almost in the waves and currents of students flowing across the common. Almost like sailing into an ebb, I found a brief  moment of stillness in the swirling humanity as I stood at the top of a staircase, allowing me to see the buildings that surrounded me. In sharp contrast to the hurried motion of the students, these buildings seemed still, solemn and savant. It was perhaps at this moment that the poem above came to my mind, something that had been softly coursing through my mind for some time. Here though, it surfaced to give me clarity . . 

      The poem of course speaks of a fallen empire, one that at the time would not have seen it's future demise. Buildings, structures and statuary were all raised in almost worshipful manner of the greatness of the day. Although the artisans and creators of these edifices were not always dutiful followers or subjects of the images they created (as the poem infers), they could not deny the powers that were, the powers that would demand their greatest workmanship. But while the stones may have survived, the civilizations and kings they depicted did not. Power dwindled, people passed on and ultimately the worth of that nation was to be solely in the eye of the beholder. Empires built upon stone have only left legacies of tragedy and ruin.

      Which leads perhaps to what struck me there as I looked across the campus. The legacy of the university was not to be found in the grand designs of it's buildings, or even in the vast libraries and collections it may have. 

The legacy that lives has never been written on stone, but rather has been written on hearts. 

      The true riches in this life are given from the heart. When speaking of great individuals, it is rare that our favorites are dictators, emperors or cruel kings. Rather, we look to the ones that spoke to our souls, enlightened our minds and broadened our horizons. We pass their words on, knowing the good that can come from wise council. We use those words to lift up others, to inspire, to comfort, to console. When in our darkest hours, do we run to find solace in sculpted stone or twisted steel? No, we seek for words, we seek for feeling, we seek for the things that only a heart can give. 

       If this is true, I wonder how much our lives reflect it . . . we spend so much time creating our empires and legacies of "stone". Our work, our money, our material things. While these things are neccesary to live in our time, they cannot become all that we are. If they do, we may yet find ourselves like Ozymandias, building an empire that will mean nothing when we pass.

          Not to say that there is only one way to live, or to say that the choice is black and white, but  rather a gentle reminder to see the purpose in our actions, to see whether we write on upon the souls around us for both parties benefit and well-being or whether we choose to follow blind ambition to a cold and lonely existence. With this perspective, one can determine the legacies they leave behind and the ones they allow to guide them.