Imagine this: a rebirth requires, first (of course), a birth. A birth so foundational that it can be built upon without question. A birth that is the water we swim in.
Picture yourself living in Rome, yet unaware of Roman history. You exist beyond the city’s youth, beyond its rush and height, but the city still stands. It is perhaps the year 1200. Oh, what glories your daily life brushes against, though only in the briefest fragments. How much there is to discover, to rediscover! Yet no journey away is required, only a journey inward.
For you are Roman. You live in Rome. But you have forgotten the meaning of your own identity. The awakening of inquiry, of looking within, of questioning is how all renaissances begin. Your birth is assured, but your rebirth? That remains uncertain, a pivotal fact of your life that only you can decide.
And so, one day, you awaken. From your vantage point, it seems as if everything is behind you. Life is comfortable. The glories, wars, and struggles of youth may be buried deep, seemingly settled. Yet you are the product of what now needs to be excavated. A column juts out here and there, offering hints of what might inspire your next becoming.
Friends, within you lies the Rome of your birth, waiting to be rediscovered! There is a great history written in the dead language of your youthful dreams, waiting to be translated into the modern text of your life. Excavate your fate before it is too late!
But rebirth is not mere repetition; it is a fusion of past and present. The wisdom of your current perspective joins hands with the rediscovery of what once was. Rediscoveries are the sails that guide us toward new discoveries. They work in tandem.
Yet even the realization that rediscovery is possible is a novel event in our lives. It is not assured to occur. But when it does, oh, how much there is to sift through! The very ground you walk upon, the life you lead each day, is an archaeological goldmine. A treasure buried not beneath foreign ruins, but beneath your own forgotten self.
Oh, the Middle Ages of Rome, and your own middle ages—might they not be the same thing? There is a wisdom in the macrocosm that mirrors the microcosm. The middle ages of your life are not the dark ages, for you are getting along just fine, but do you not feel a lingering stirring? A sense that something vital has been tamped down and forgotten?
There is a glorious history to return to, but only so that it may be built upon. The last golden age is a lamp, lighting your room just enough so that you may find the window, open the curtain, and prepare for a resplendent sunrise.