The Law of Gods, The Law of Humans

Greek Gods in Rome

In Rome, the Greek gods:Zeus becomes Jupiter.Aphrodite — Venus.Ares — Mars.
The Hellenic world flows into Rome. Myths remain — the names change. It seems as if everything is simple: a translation from Greek into Latin, a change in sound. But along with the names, the emphasis changes as well.
Zeus — the thunderer. Strength. Sky. Lightning.Jupiter — supreme authority, order, law. Rome was more warlike than Greece, but it is in Rome that law is born — a system that asserts: disputes are resolved not by force, but by law. Not the right of the strong, but the right of the rightful.
Zeus — god of sky and lightning, the most powerful of the Olympians.But inspiration does not belong directly to him. The Muses — daughters of Zeus and the goddess of memory Mnemosyne — give the word.Calliope — epic.Euterpe — lyric.
Poets began with an invocation to a Muse. Remember the beginning of the Iliad — addressing the goddess is an appeal to inspiration. Jupiter was not a patron of poetry directly. But if the Muses are daughters of the supreme god, then poetry still has a heavenly origin.

The Poet as a Conduit

In antiquity, the poet is not a creator, but a conduit.He does not “invent” — he listens.Zeus / Jupiter — give fate and power.The Muses — give the word.Apollo — gives form.Dionysus — gives fire.
But this is not only true in antiquity: I too do not invent, I listen and write down. In general, when inspiration comes, it is very hard to tell where you are writing and inventing, and where you are listening and recording.
Sometimes you reach such polyphony: so many voices, and all of them shout, and all want to say something completely opposite — like a collective farm meeting or a parliament.
It seems to me that all poets started with one voice — lyrical, pure, like a solo. But gradually they felt the multiplicity of the world. And then, not knowing what to do with it, they wrote plays. In these plays there was usually a main love story — and in it was all the truth, all the reality. Other characters either helped unite loving hearts, embodying good, progress, light, or hindered them, symbolizing evil, envy, hatred, cunning, and meanness.
Today, it is different. Now so many loving hearts are united, and at the same time the world is filled with suffering, injustice, sadism, oppression, violations of simple human and civil rights, indifference, cliches, and limiting standards. Such a sea of cruelty and injustice.
And yet one has to ask oneself questions that cannot be ignored:— How to survive?— How to remain human?— How to educate?— How to resist evil when it seems everywhere?
Perhaps the poet is no longer just a conduit for one voice. Perhaps now he is the one who can hear all this polyphony — and turn chaos into words, trying to preserve humanity amid inhumanity.

Love and Identity

Love lyrics — almost all poets begin with them.;“You” appears, “I” appears. The word appears. Love poetry gives birth to the self. First feeling. Then awareness. Then opinion. Then understanding: this should be, this should not. And then the social domain begins.
And suddenly you find yourself facing a choice — to live by the law of humans or by the law of gods. In Mark Twain’s Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, there is one of the greatest moral moments in world literature. Huck helps the runaway slave Jim. By the laws of society, he is a thief. He was raised believing it was a sin. He even writes a letter to the slave’s owner — Miss Watson. Then he tears it up: “Well then, I’m going to hell.” He does not place himself above God. He places a living human above a dead law. Here is the gap between the law of humans and the law of conscience. Formally he breaks the order. Internally — he obeys a higher moral law. And at that moment, the self is born.
The question arises: by which law should one live?Horace would say — by the law of the gods. Kant — by the moral law within us.;Twain — by the voice of conscience, even if it means “going to hell.”
This is no longer a gesture — it is a position. In the biblical story of Abraham, the tension is not in refusal, but in the halted sacrifice. At the last moment, the command sounds: not a human. This is the symbolic end of human sacrifices.
The history of humanity is a struggle against the logic of sacrifice. Sometimes the victim is a human being in the name of law. Sometimes — in the name of an idea. Sometimes — in the name of order. And each time the question arises: is there a law above the system? It has been called variously:— the law of God,— the law of conscience,— natural law,— human rights.
But declarations by themselves do not guarantee a mature society. Freedom begins not with a document — but with the human.
Artists are born — but this is not biology. It is the moment when a second person awakens within you: first love, then “I”, then conscience, then the word. This “second” within you is like fire. It breaks caution. It does not let you pass by a drowning child. It breaks the door if there is a fire behind it.
But there is a nuance: saving — does not always mean breaking. Sometimes saving means speaking so that one is heard. There are two types of transgression:— destructive — out of rage.— creative — out of love for life.
If the source is protection of life, then the law of gods acts within you.

Curiosity, Theater, and Buratino

When I “break barriers” with words, I feel relief. If I do not voice it — it will torment me from within. But then almost always another feeling comes — dissatisfaction. I want to say more. To reach the cause, not just describe the symptoms. Sometimes I even start to resent poetry — it seems superficial, distracting. Then I go into philosophy, I read, I write articles, I try to lay everything out. But time passes — and poetry bursts through again.
It generalizes. Summarizes. Changes form. Prose records the process. Poetry — metamorphosis. You describe the life of a cocoon — and poetry already sees the butterfly. It is faster than thought. Over time, it has become deeper.
But I strive for simplicity — for the clarity of a child. My favorite book to this day is The Adventures of Buratino. I learned to read because of it. I was three years old when I saw an Italian film about Buratino — the one going back to the original Adventures of Pinocchio. It was my first film. It amazed me. Neighboring girls said, “There is a book.” I was living with my grandmother in a northern village. My parents and brother were in Moscow. I was lonely. Probably, I wanted a friend. And so I went after Buratino — into the book.
Now I think: it was then that my inner voice was born. Buratino — a log that “sounds differently.” Papa Carlo hears a special sound in it and carves a human. I think it is a very precise metaphor for a poet. Someone hears that there is sound in this tree. But Buratino is disobedient. He sells a primer and goes to the theater. Formally — a misdeed. In essence — a choice of fate.
Theater is life.
As William Shakespeare said: “All the world’s a stage, and all the men and women merely players.” Karabas-Barabas — the power that holds the puppets on strings. He sees Buratino’s uniqueness and wants to put it to use. To include him in the troupe. To subordinate him. But Buratino escapes. And I always want to escape.
Above all, what connects me with Buratino — curiosity. A long nose — like an antenna. True, my nose in childhood and youth was snub-nosed. Then it straightened. In Russian, the nose is a metaphor for curiosity: both in jest and seriously. But curiosity has a shadow — trustfulness. Alice the Fox and Basilio the Cat persuade him to bury gold coins. They promise a miracle tree. Then they hang him upside down.
I was also hung. A few years ago, I invested money in Tesla, Inc. Shares. Lost. Of course, it was upsetting. But I do not get angry. I was captivated by conversations about space, reusable rockets, and green energy. Yes, later there were decisions I disagreed with. There were disappointments. There were words I opposed.
But if choosing — invest in military industry and profit, or invest in space and lose — I would choose to lose again. Sometimes loss is purer than gain. I know many will not understand. But for me, it is more important to know that my money did not support destruction.
As for Musk — he, like any person, is complex. I saw progress and inspiring ideas, but also misinformation. Independence forced me to write against him. I did not blindly admire him, nor do I reject his progressive influence. I do not like dividing people into “hero” or “villain.” And yes, many will not understand.
But the truth is always that choosing meaning over profit is an inner act of freedom. Even if externally it seems like a loss, inside you remain free, and your “I” confirms your values.

Modern Reality: Body and System

The stomach needs food. The body — clothes and shelter.Hair — a hairdresser. And most importantly — teeth. Some are gone, some are sick, some are loose.
Dentists are inaccessible. Insurance only covers cleaning and X-rays. Each new doctor takes X-rays, promises to help later. He does not care that it is radiation, that there are already enough X-rays. The main thing — can the money be billed? My health does not interest him.
I remember the Soviet Union: you could simply go to the dentist, without insurance, without calculations. Fillings, prosthetics — all done if needed, quickly. Quality depended on the doctor, but there were many true specialists. They preserved teeth, rather than offering to remove and install artificial ones. If a fever rose — you called the clinic, the doctor came home in any weather. Listened, prescribed treatment.
Now the system is only bills, formalities, insurance rules. The human is almost absent. All decisions come down to money and paperwork. Each step is like a test, each visit like a patience exam. You do not heal. You play a game, where your body is only a resource for payment and accounting.
Reality itself turns into an inhuman algorithm: who pays — lives, who does not — suffers. And this is not an accident, not a mistake — it is the system. A system where caring for a person is secondary. Where health is a commodity. Where fear is a mandatory component.
And in this pressure — two people inside me.One — a poet seeking light, words, meaning.The other — reality, cruel, cold, formal. And they cannot coincide.