I always loved that in a time that valued and celebrated men of battle prowess and epic strength, there was an Odysseus (or Ulysses). A man of wit and wisdom, of shrewd cunning, thinking two and three steps ahead of his large-thewed Greek brethren. A legendary, mythic hero of the intellect who also knew how to swing a sword and loose an arrow at need. Over the last six years of my own odyssey, my own exile from my own Ithaca, I've come to identify more all the time with Odysseus. Will my home still be there when I return? How many suitors will I need to chase away from my throne? My ship still wanders the Ionian waters, navigating Circe and Cyclops, and the day will come when I draw my bow to prove my worth, and reclaim my heritage.
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