Теодора Сукарева

Isn’t myth, in essence, a moment when we ourselves choose our truth? Like the orphan, still debated—does he bring light or darkness? The singer, entirely sinful and captive to his own nature. The one who conquered evil with his boundless love. In its brief span of time, the legend of Orpheus granted us a choice.

The myths of Orpheus allow us to decide who he is. And in doing so, they reveal more about ourselves. Is he the son of Apollo or of Eager? Aristotle saw him as a mythical figure, while Boehme considered him a real-life aedes. Ancient sources present Orpheus through diverse expressions, names, and images. It is easy to surrender to the legends and believe in them, for in Orpheus, human qualities merge with divine essence. The earliest literary reference to him appears in a mere two-word fragment by the 6th-century BC lyric poet Ibicus: “Orpheus, known by name.” Orpheus and Orphism embody the profound cultural and historical connection between Hellas and Thrace. As Professor Alexander Fol stated:

“Orpheus is a shared heritage. He is Thracian because, as Hellenic and Roman authors wrote, music is ‘Thracian in origin,’ but it is also the universal language of initiation into faith and knowledge of the world.”

Perhaps this universal language was used to understand Orpheus—and through him, to uncover our own inner truths. To place our souls before the ultimate choice: love or death, faith or disbelief. And is the absence of faith not like a serpent, waiting for the perfect moment to strike, its poison sending us into the realm beyond?

Orpheus’ fleeting moment granted us a choice, and in return, we immortalized him through the Orphic faith. And if I have the power to choose, then I want to listen to the song of the waterfall, to feel the wind’s whisper harmonizing with the mystical lyre, while Orpheus mourns for his Eurydice. When birds, people, and rivers fall silent—when the grieving one, searching for the path downward, falls silent—I will say to him: Orpheus, do not despair! After my words, the saddest song will rise, until the flowers in paradise bow in reverence and the sun hides in shame. I will follow Orpheus. I will demand an answer from Hades.

Walking toward his mythical image, he, like me, will wander restlessly, eager for the fateful encounter. He will pause, doubt, then continue with hurried steps, breathless—chasing shadows of dark thoughts. In the end, we will realize: every habit of ours is his as well. He knows love, suffering, sacrifice, impatience, and loss. And he will perish in the depths of his sorrow, leaving us with the truth he always understood: it is not a myth that love will endure!

I know Orpheus.
I am Orpheus.
You are Orpheus.