On the shore, ever distant, stood He Who Found Life, wondering as he watched them approach.
“What of the Stone Men, the eternal crew? Why does a stranger come sailing—wild and never before seen?”
He landed, and seeing the old man, commanded, “Tell me where may I find The Distant One, who the gods granted eternal life?”
He Who Found Life asked, “Why are you so gaunt of form, hollow of cheek, so frost-bitten by the wasteland, so burned by the desert sun, worn down and spent? Why does such grief ache within you, Oh man? Why have you embraced the journey harsh?”
Woefully, he answered:
“I am Gilgamesh, king of great-girded Uruk.
“Should not my cheeks sink, should not my face be worn, scoured and burnt?
“Should not this heart ache?
“Should not I be worn and spent?
“My friend, my close companion, my brother, whom stood by my side through every peril—even against the gods—Enkidu, whom I loved, the doom of mankind overcame him.
“For six days I forbid his burial, trusting in the very fury of my grief to revive him. For six days and seven nights I mourned him. Then a maggot fell from his nose and I waned, fear-filled, before Death. I cannot bear the passing of my wild friend, so I have set out to roam the wild, to find his wild place.
“My true friend has turned to clay. I would not also fall into the dust never to rise.”
“So I must find He Who Found Life, whom men call The Distant One. I would hear from his lips how he overcame Death.
“To this end I have wandered the wide world, trekked across vast deserts, haunted the wastes, scaled the high mountains, journeyed through the underworld and sailed The Great Deep.
“Rarely has sweet Sleep caressed my face. Through ceaseless striving I have suffered pain, anguish and fatigue. I have killed bear, lion, hyena, leopard, tiger, deer, antelope, ibex, have feasted on their flesh and have donned their hides.
“After all, I have achieved nothing but filthy, heartsick exhaustion. I would close the gate of sorrow behind me and seal it with tar and pitch.”
He Who Found Life spoke;
“Gilgamesh, why grieve so? Consider your blessed life next to a fool’s lot. You are part god, and the eternal powers have lavished gifts upon you. From birth you were assigned a throne and they commanded you to rule over men.
“The fool’s lot is beer dregs instead of butter, stale crust instead of bread, rags instead of robes, an old cord instead of a wide-fringed belt and cursed is he with a frantic, senseless, dissatisfied mind.”
“Why not recognize your fortune for the boon it is? For all of your anguished striving, what have you achieved but to draw one day nearer your last day?
“By night the moon traverses the sky as the sleepless gods in heaven observe us with their undying eyes. This is the established order of the world and has been since ancient times.
“Yes, the gods took the Wildman’s life. But life is short by nature, bending before the breeze of the eternal powers, liable to be snapped like a marsh reed. The handsome man and the lovely woman are, in their prime, often dragged away by Death.
“The face of Death remains unseen, her voice unheard, yet suddenly, brutally, Death comes for us all, old or young.
“But still, we build houses, make pacts, dispute our father’s patrimony and conflict occurs—and although Humankind is long-lived, the river rises, floods and carries us away, like mayflies floating downstream, looking with wonder into The Sun and vanishing forever.
“The sleeper and the dead are kindred spirits! Yet the sleeper awakens while none who lay in Death’s embrace return. Who of us may know when his last day shall come? When the eternal powers converge, they ordain our fate, granting us life and decreeing our end, though Death calls at her own, unrevealed hour.
