Thy love, O gracious God and Lord,
All other loves excelling,
Attunes my heart to sweet accord,
And passes pow'r of telling;
For when Thy wondrous love I see,
My heart yields glad submission;
I love Thee for Thy love to me
In my poor, lost condition.

Yea, Thou hast loved our fallen race,
And rather than condemn us,
Cast out and banish from Thy face
Thine only Son didst send us;
Who died upon the cross, that we
Should all be saved for ever;
Hence Jesus also died for me,
My soul, forget it never.

Thy love, O God, embraces all,
And Jesus' merits cover
The guilt of all, both great and small,
The world of sinners over.
Thy Spirit doth Thy light afford
To all who will receive it,
And from Thy knowledge bars Thy Word
No soul who will believe it.

But what hath moved Thee, gracious Lord?
Why is Thine heart still yearning
Since the great world rejects Thy Word,
Thy love and mercy spurning?
For men go on in sin each day,
In carnal-minded blindness,
And O how few Thy call obey
And heed Thy lovingkindness!

In us no beauty Thou couldst see,
And no intrinsic merit;
We all were poor--but misery
And sin we did inherit.
We wandered each a different path,
And in our lost condition,
By nature children of His wrath,
Whom sin doomed to perdition.

Our virtues and our own good deeds
With God cannot avail us;
With these the enemy misleads,
Such righteousness shall fail us;
Our will and strength and soul are dead
In evil inclination;
Christ Jesus has the ransom paid,
And gained for us salvation.

 O gracious God, Thy loving heart
Was full of sweet compassion;
And felt our woe and desp'rate smart,
And planned our restoration;
Thy grace and justice found a way
To save us from death's horror;
And everlasting judgment stay,
And give us joy for sorrow.

 On Christ, the rock, I'm anchored fast,
By faith in Him remaining;
I'll weather ev'ry stormy blast,
My peace of soul retaining;
On Father, Son, and Holy Ghost,
My ever firm foundation,
Until the harbor bar is crossed,
And I see God's salvation.

 O Jesus, at my dying breath
Hold Thou my hand securely,
And may I in a living faith
Hold fast to Thee most surely;
That my last prayer to Thee may rise,
My soul to Thee commending,
And I shall find in Paradise
The joys of life unending.

How fair the Church of Christ shall stand,
A beacon light in all the land,
When love and faith all hearts inspire,
And all unite in one desire
To be a fam'ly and agree
To live in peace and unity.

'Tis all in vain that you profess
The doctrines of the Church, unless
You live according to your creed,
And show your faith by word and deed.
Observe the rule: To others do
As you would have them do to you.

Resentment, hate, and cruel jest,
Must not be harbored in the breast
Where love and charity should dwell;
Then think and speak of others well,
Refrain from all that causes strife
And mars a truly Christian life.

So let your tongue, your heart, and mind
Agree to banish ev'ry kind
Of malice, falsehood and disguise,
And here on earth a paradise
Of peace and harmony maintain,
Where concord and good will shall reign.

For God observes our thoughts and deeds,
The secrets of our heart He reads;
The wicked cannot be concealed,
Their evil ways shall be revealed,
He ev'ry true believer knows,
And love and grace on him bestows.

My soul, be therefore of good cheer,
Though sinners threaten, scoff, and sneer,
Serenely on your way proceed,
Nor worldly strife and clamor heed,
For Jesus' sake the cross you bear,
And soon with Him the crown shall wear.

O gracious God, wilt Thou my heart
So fashion in each secret part,
That Thou be sanctified in me,
Till Thee in heav'n above I see,
Where holy, holy, holy Lord,
We sing to Thee with one accord.

Join us with Sigma Tau Delta and the Student Senate as we welcome Burl Horniachek! Enjoy poems and a hymn sung on Monday March 30th at 7:00 p.m. in the YFAC 101: Choir Room!

Where I’m from is an old little house,
Fraying at the seams with waterlogged edges,
An enclosed porch with a screen door that falls off, 
A door that doesn’t lock or unlock,

A yard once full of fun things,
Now reduced to empty grass. 
No more rotting swingsets,
Broken slides,
Reclaimed sandboxes, 
Dead grass patches from a long-gone pool.

A place where two kids played,
Full of life and joy,
Running wild and free,
Under a careful mother's eye.

Where I am from is an interior slowly replacing a once lively bunch,
A coffee table once covered in color and scratches,
Sanded and painted, now used as a decor piece.
An entertainment center once chipped and broken,
Restained and repaired. 
A chipped and dented railing is now made new.

A mother once present and kind,
Turned cold and distant.
Two daughters pushed out, lost and hurt,
Wandering in again in hopes of finding what once was.

Carpet once deep pine green,
Now pale and beige.
Walls once chipped and stained with playful antics,
Now, freshly painted, comes with warnings.
A wall filled with pictures is now bare except for
A singular painting left to decorate.

A mother’s harsh warning,
“Don’t ruin everything like before.”
Two daughters too afraid to touch a thing,
Afraid of angering their once kind mother.

A mother whose love grew strong,
That sheltered two daughters,
Now withered and decayed.
Anger and resentment now take place,
Leaving two daughters confused as they are erased,
A mother is now set on fixing and replacing everything that isn’t perfect.

Where I am from was a home that once housed two children,
Reduced to primed and preened perfection,
Warnings given to be careful of the new items,
“Lest you damage them like before.” 
A yard once loud with laughter,
Silent except for the mower.
A house once full now lies,
Half empty.

1. Rambling oak branches that curiously reach this way and that, like energized neurons trapped in a cerebellum.

2. Distant city lights, which sparkle like the white of an eye against the darkness of a deep, blue sapphire iris. 

3. The sound of the train in the early morning, its voice like the murmur of distant thunder.

4. Rich purple and light pink clusters decorating an emerald green bush, their lilac scent sweet and inviting.

5. Wooden doors that open to rows of aged pews, where the lost soul leans on the pulpit. 

6. The giggling melody of a goldfinch as it flies over hunched-backed sunflowers.

7. Or a deep, powerful laugh that rises from the core and echoes through an empty tunnel, filling the abandoned solitude. 

8. The golden waves of wheat that confidently stretch towards the sky to be blessed by the sun. 

9. Turquoise waves of salt water pounding against a gilded shore as constant as blood coursing through the body.

10. A moment like you.

I love my parents, I do—it’s true,
But they taught me everything I shouldn’t do.
I played Barbies alone, tucked away in my room,
While they stared at their phones, lost in the gloom.

They expected me to raise my little brother,
But why couldn’t that be the job of my mother?
As I grew older, the pattern stayed the same—
I was dragged into fights and their endless blame.

My mother made me choose: her or my father.
I chose her, yet I was still a bother.
That’s when the drinking started to flow,
And her actions became the cruelest blow.

To her, I was him—the one who hurt her.
Since she couldn’t touch him, she turned to torture.
The screaming, the threats, the constant blame,
The degrading words, the guilt, the shame.

I’ll never forget the nights on the bathroom floor,
Weeping, locked behind that fragile door,
Hoping for safety in my own home,
While my mind drifted, desperate to roam.

She hated that I stopped letting her control me,
Hated the strength I found to be free.
Even when Grandma opened her door,
My mother’s words cut deep, impossible to ignore.

I worked long hours just to stay away,
Finding solace in the chaos of the day.
Standing up for myself, I became defiant,
But to her, I was nothing but disobedient.

Yet through it all, I’ve learned to see—
Strength blooms in the cracks of misery.
And though I still carry the weight of her pain,
I’ve vowed to break the cycle,
To never let it reign.

Lord–

Countless familial and novel names filled my childhood prayers.

Words followed the same pattern, cadence, and tempo as I recited:

“Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray the Lord my soul to keep;

If I should die before I wake, I pray the Lord my soul to take.

God bless Mom, Dad, Ali, Emily...” and so forth.

To name is to save, or so I thought. I can’t miss anyone, or they will die.

As if I controlled the outcome and who goes to Heaven, but I may as well try.

Checking off boxes, flooding my mind as I go through nightly rituals.

Lord–

These names were spoken outwardly, while the dates stayed inward.

No one knows of Christ’s exact return; people openly guess through visions.

If I say certain periods of time, they can be held,

And I can spend more time with those I named.

Every day of the month, holidays, school events, and seasons,

Raced my mind, starting closest to the present.

To say a name and save a date gave ease; thus, no final date

As I won’t be the one to decide when the world ends.

Lord–

Night after night, I worried endlessly about legal labels and counting.

If I mispeak or forget, all the work is erased, and the proceeding is redone.

Rationalizing these thoughts, more so fears, shows me as guiltless and powerless.

Similar to many things, it is easier said than done.

Right now, I would rather spend time focusing on the present, on what needs to be done.

Laundry, dishes, homework, exercise, and more are often pushed aside.

As I need to be, not wondering when I or others will die.

I would rather not know or speculate about Christ’s return, as it is not up to me.

What would you be willing to do to get back to your significant other after twenty years of separation? In Epic: The Musical, Odysseus, King of Ithaca, discovers exactly how far he is willing to go to return home to his wife.

Epic is based off of Homer’s Odyssey, and consists of forty songs, which are divided into nine sagas. It was written, compiled, and published by Jorge Rivera-Herrans, who released the first saga in 2022. I first discovered Epic in late 2023 while browsing songs to listen to on Youtube. An unofficial release of “Done For” caught my attention, and I instantly fell in love with Rivera-Herrans’ music. Since then, I have eagerly listened to each saga as they have been released. The last saga, The Ithaca Saga, was released on Christmas day of 2024, bringing an end to the development of what is, in my opinion, one of the greatest musicals ever written.

After ten years of fighting in the Trojan war, Odysseus and 600 Ithacan warriors find themselves separated from their homes and families by 600 miles of open sea. This is but a foretaste of the plethora of trials and tribulations Odysseus undergoes during the course of the musical. Because of these challenges, he undergoes a drastic change of character throughout the sagas. In particular, how he changes through The Circe, Underworld, and Thunder sagas is important if one wishes to understand why he makes certain decisions in the latter half of the musical. These sagas and their challenges change Odysseus, molding him into something more dangerous and more broken than he was in Troy.

Leaping with open arms into The Circe Saga, we find Odysseus physically exhausted, mentally shattered, and emotionally mangled. He has just lost an encounter with a ruthless god, resulting in the deaths of 557 of his 600 men. Struggling with this weight, Odysseus manages to sail his fleet’s last ship to the nearest island. Once they land, Odysseus sends out a squad led by his trusted right-hand man, Eurylochus, to scout the island for any possible threats.

After far too short a time, Eurylochus returns alone, battered and distressed. Odysseus immediately questions him as to what happened, and Eurylochus passionately tells him, revealing the main challenge Odysseus will face in this saga: the island they landed on is home to a powerful witch who seduced Eurylochus’ squad and turned them into pigs.

Odysseus is now faced with a choice. Does he run away with his remaining men, abandoning those captured to the witch’s mercy, or does he face the impossible and fight a god-like being even though he has no certainty of winning? His emphatic and immediate answer when Eurylochus presents him with this dilemma is yes–he will fight the witch no matter the odds–for he cannot abandon his men. It does not matter to him that he has never fought a witch before, that he has no one to help him, or that he has just lost almost 600 men and is deeply sleep deprived. He will face her alone. Odysseus will not betray his friends’ trust in him. He will not leave them helpless to the attacks of anyone, mortal or divine. He is doggedly loyal to those he loves, and would do anything to protect them.

Despite not knowing how he’s going to defeat the witch, Odysseus is determined to do so. While advancing through a forest to reach the witch’s palace, he is hailed by an unfamiliar voice. The voice introduces himself as a friend and offers to help Odysseus save his men from the witch, who is revealed to be Circe. The voice tells Odysseus that defeating Circe will require divine assistance, specifically from a god unafraid of sending messages. Odysseus then realizes that he’s speaking with Hermes, who laughs and offers Odysseus the root of a magical flower. This root has the power to neutralize Circe’s magic and allow Odysseus to manifest a creature to fight the witch for him.

Up to this point, Odysseus has had far more interactions with the gods than any sane mortal should. During the Trojan War, Zeus forced him to murder an infant. Poseidon killed 557 Ithacans just to spite Odysseus. Safe to say, Odysseus’ relationship with the gods is rocky.

Despite all the pain and trickery he has endured at the hands of the gods, Odysseus chooses to trust Hermes and accept his help. This, oh esteemed reader, you may find absolutely bonkers. After suffering so much at the hands of the divine, how could Odysseus trust a god? My answer to this, though unsatisfying as it may be, is that he has no choice. Hermes has power that Odysseus needs. If Odysseus truly wishes to save his friends, he must trust Hermes and lay aside his skepticism.

Emboldened by Hermes’ encouragement and floral aid, Odysseus continues on his quest towards Circe’s palace. He reaches the palace without incident and enters confidently. Within those walls, Odysseus and Circe engage in a battle of wits and magic, and Odysseus is ultimately victorious. He does not, however, kill Circe, but he begs her to release his men and help them get home. Circe, with unexpected kindness, agrees to help him. She cannot deliver him back to Ithaca, but instead sends him and his men safely to the underworld. There, Odysseus is to meet with Tiresias, a gifted but dead prophet, who will be able to tell him how to get home.

As we say farewell to The Circe Saga, we see Odysseus in a completely new mood. Starkly contrasting his depressed state when he landed on Circe’s island, Odysseus is calm, collected, and resolute as he and his men prepare to dive headfirst into the underworld. The challenges Odysseus faced during this saga have, much in disagreement with the rest of the sagas, built him up. His tangle with the witch proved his capability of fighting against colossal odds. Herme’s assistance showed him that even when facing enmity from multiple gods, Odysseus can still put some trust into the divine, their promises, and their aid in times of trial. This rebuilding of confidence affects not only Odysseus, but also his men. Seeing their captain and king once again fully in his strength, Odysseus’ crew is instilled with a strong devotion. These factors play an immense role in how the rest of the sagas play out, for without this devotion and confidence, the Ithacans would never have followed Odysseus into the underworld.

Contrasting the slump we find our beloved war criminal in at the start of The Circe Saga, at the beginning of The Underworld Saga, Odysseus is confident and determined. As he is travelling through the underworld to find the prophet of Apollo, Tiresias, he is confronted by the screams and nightmares of the dead. Memories of the infant he slew in Troy assault Odysseus. The voices and visages of his dead friends hound him. Worst of all, from out of the darkness, Odysseus hears the voice of his mother. He had thought she was safe at home in Ithaca, yet she was singing to him. She weaves a bittersweet melody of pain, sorrow, and love, but, despite this and the many other voices surrounding him, Odysseus and his crew follow Circe’s instructions and remain on course.

Once he and his men find Tiresias, Odysseus goes alone to consult with him, leaving his men to watch their ship. Upon entering the Prophet’s resting place, Odysseus is immediately greeted with a confirmation of his worst fears. Tiresias declares there is not a world where Odysseus returns home. Hearing this, Odysseus tries to bargain with the prophet. He cannot understand how this happened after everything the Ithacans have been through. Instead of answering, Tiresias continues his foreboding prophecy, telling Odysseus of visions and horrid futures. Once he has finished giving his awful revelations, he disappears.

After the vanishing of the prophet, Odysseus is left by himself. Alone with his thoughts, he becomes deeply contemplative, wondering if all the trouble he and his men have faced until this point has been his fault. Would they make it home safely if he gave up trying to be kind? Would they make it home safely if he gave into his anger, ruthlessness, and cunning? Would they make it home safely if he became a monster just like Circe, the Cyclops, and Poseidon? Under the pressure of not only returning his crew home, but also returning to his wife, Odysseus determines that it is better to be a monster and return home, and thus, he becomes the monster.

As an astute reader would notice, this saga is comparatively short to The Circe Saga. In truth, The Underworld Saga is the shortest part of Epic. However, to make up for its lack of length, it is perhaps the most impactful of any saga. Until this point, Odysseus has been doing everything he can to prevent unnecessary bloodshed. He has been trying his hardest to get the Ithacans home safely without loss of life, and till this point he has mostly succeeded. In the name of open arms, he refused to kill the lotus eaters, the cyclops, or Circe and her nymphs. All this mercy and trust cost him the lives of 558 of his men, and brought him to the underworld where he is told he cannot return home. Odysseus cannot accept this. Instead of falling into depression and giving up, Odysseus only grows in rageful determination and decides to throw away all mercy and kindness, instead acting only in the interest of him and his men getting home. Odysseus’ ultimate goal, for which he would sacrifice anything, is to return to his wife.

The Thunder Saga begins serenely. The listener is drawn in by a haunting, oceanic melody that develops into a siren call. Taking on the guise of Odysseus’ wife, Penelope, the siren calls out and attempts to entice, seduce, and convince Odysseus to leap into the ocean to be with her. Odysseus declines, but strings her along to gather sorely needed information. Since he and his men left the underworld, they had been sailing vaguely towards their home without making much progress. Odysseus and his crew had little direction, no plans, and only a vestige of hope, but that all changed when Odysseus discovered the sirens.

 Sirens have an immense and detailed knowledge of the seas, and Odysseus is keenly aware of this. While he distracts and manipulates the first siren, his men capture several others in the area, dragging them onto their ship in nets. Odysseus masterfully presses the siren for information, and, confident in the magical power of her song, the siren humors him and tells where his only path home lies. Now, one would think Odysseus would be ecstatic to hear this, but he is terrified by the siren’s words. The Ithacans’ only path home lies through the lair of Scylla, a mysterious beast that even Poseidon fears. This revelation momentarily stuns Odysseus, but he swiftly gathers his composure and continues to lull the siren into a false sense of security. Once the siren is completely confident that he is entranced by her song, Odysseus acts.

The siren screams as Odysseus’ arrow tears through her shoulder. Odysseus shouts out from the ship, declaring to the siren that she had been deceived. He had known all along that she was a siren. Resisting her song was easy once he and his crew had filled their ears with wax, and he had learned the information he needed by reading her lips. While Odysseus is monologuing so deliciously, his men drag the wounded siren onto their ship, binding her and tossing her next to the other sirens. The pack of sirens is now completely at the Ithacans’ mercy. Knowing this, they beg and plead Odysseus to spare them, but he, being true to his words in Monster, hardens his heart and commands their execution. Odysseus embraces the bloodshed, truly becoming the monster.

Sometime later, the air is still and silent as the Ithacans sail towards the lair of Scylla. Odysseus stands by himself, deeply troubled. Eurylochus approaches Odysseus and makes an attempt at conversation that is about as cold as the waters passing beneath them. During a lull in the tragic excuse for conversation, Eurylochus tells Odysseus that he has something to confess. Eurylochus, full of remorse, tells Odysseus that he had opened the wind bag Aeolus had given them. Odysseus, shocked by this betrayal, says nothing as Eurylochus begs for his forgiveness.

As Odysseus and Eurylochus stand there in silence, the ship sails into a large cavern, the lair of Scylla. Seeing that they have reached their destination, Odysseus commands Eurylochus to light six torches. Eurylochus does so and distributes them amongst those men who are not rowing the ship into the darkness. The light of the torches shines out over the water, and by that light Eurylochus notices something approaching the ship. As the being moves closer, it becomes obvious that the entity is Scylla. She rises menacingly from the water, her six heads poising to strike. Odysseus, having waited until this moment to execute his plan, yells for his men to row for their lives. Odysseus hopes that by moving fast and distracting Scylla, he and his men can go through her lair mostly unharmed. He was only half right. The Ithacans make it out of Scylla’s lair and onto the path home, but not without the blood of six men soaking into their ship’s deck. As they sail away from the cave, Odysseus can see the faint outline of Scylla watching them from its entrance.

Eurylochus approaches Odysseus, the crew trailing behind him. Everyone looks stunned, angry, or confused. Everyone except Odysseus. As the king of Ithaca stands on the deck, surrounded by old friends and trusted comrades, Eurylochus speaks, demanding to know whether the death of the torchbearers was planned. He demands to know whether Odysseus willingly sacrificed them, using them as an offering to get through Scylla’s lair. Odysseus, determined beyond what his flesh should have allowed, declares he did. Odysseus, King of Ithaca, sacrificed six of his men so the rest had a chance to get home. Odysseus, who so wished to greet the world with open arms, chose ruthlessness, but Eurylochus cannot abide this. Eurylochus feels betrayed, and backed by the rest of the crew, decides that they can no longer trust Odysseus. Surrounding their captain, brother, and king, they mutiny. Eurylochus draws his sword and advances on Odysseus, demanding he surrender himself. Odysseus draws his own sword and commands Eurylochus to drop his weapon, but Eurylochus defies him and attacks.

In a fair battle, Odysseus would have won against Eurylochus. Just as Odysseus gets the advantage over him, one of the crew steps forward and strikes Odysseus in the back, ending the fight immediately. Odysseus drops his sword in shock and covers his wound. Beginning to black out, he gasps in pain and asks why they would betray him like this. The crew, surrounding him, reply, saying they can no longer trust him. At this, Odysseus collapses onto the deck unconscious.

Odysseus wakes, but no longer on the ship. Head aching and vision blurring, he sees Eurylochus standing nearby and asks him where they are. Eurylochus responds, despondently saying that they are on the first island they found after the mutiny. The island is teeming with cattle, and the crew is starving. Eurylochus tells Odysseus that nearby there is a statue to the sun God, Apollo. Odysseus, connecting dots faster than a four-year-old high on sugar, begins pleading with Eurylochus, begging him not to kill the cattle. He tells Eurylochus that the island must be the home of the sun god, and killing his cattle would doom them all. Eurylochus, tired, starving, and with no hope of ever returning home, disregards Odysseus. As Odysseus begs him to reconsider and tries to convince him that they can get home, Eurylochus raises his blade and slays the nearest cow. As soon as the cow falls, bellowing in pain, the skies change. A storm surrounds the island in a flash, winds blowing with divine anger while thunder claps all around them. Odysseus cries out, telling Eurylochus that he’s doomed them all. Eurylochus, confused, just stands there as the men cower. Odysseus, a king to the end, takes command, having his bonds cut and instructing the crew to run to the ship and row as fast as they can. Swiftly, everyone gets on the ship and they sail away from the island as fast as they can, but it is of no use.

Thunder rings out all around them, and the skies swell in anger. A man descends from the skies, halting the ship in its tracks before addressing Odysseus. Revealing himself to be Zeus, King of the gods and Thunder Bringer, the man queries Odysseus, asking who will pay for the death of the sacred cattle. Zeus declares someone must take the blame for the death of Apollo’s cattle. Someone must die for this transgression. Merciless to the core, Zeus gives Odysseus the choice to either give up his own life or give up the lives of his crew.

 Odysseus, once again given an impossible task by this god, begs him not to do this. He begs Zeus not to make him choose, but the Thunder Bringer is firm.

Eurylochus steps forward and calls to Odysseus, who is paralyzed by choice. Odysseus, replying emptily to Eurylochus, says that he has to see his wife. Eurylochus, despairing, tries to convince Odysseus not to choose against them, tries to tell him that they will all die if he chooses this, but Odysseus merely says that he knows.

Sensing that a choice has been made, Zeus rises above the ship, gathers all his might, and throws lighting down upon them all.

Odysseus watches as the ship and crew sink slowly into the abyss. Everything they did to get home has been proven useless. Every sacrifice was in vain. Worst of all, Odysseus sinks with them. The last things he sees before blacking out are the bodies of his friends and fragments of his ship drifting into the endless abyss.

The Thunder Saga ends opposite to how it begins. Instead of being in control and surrounded by comrades, Odysseus is drowning and accompanied only by broken bodies and timber. Instead of being confident in his choices and strength, he is quite literally torn apart by the choices he has made. While ruthlessness did get him through the sirens and past Scylla, it also got him a mutiny followed by a visit from a deeply hateful and indifferent god. For all his cunning, Odysseus never would have expected to be betrayed by his own men. Maybe it was fitting that his closest brush with death was delivered by the hands of his very brothers.

In this saga we see the effects of what Odysseus has undergone. His actions in Scylla and Thunder Bringer are especially noteworthy since they contrast so strongly with his actions in The Circe Saga. The man who would once risk his life to save barely a handful of men from nigh certain doom sacrificed six men for merely a chance to get home. The king who led 600 men through a decade-long war and did not lose a single one gave up the lives of his whole crew just to save his own. He sacrificed everything that mattered to him with utter ruthlessness. Truly, the Odysseus we now see is no longer the same man he once was.

Throughout the three sagas we have analyzed, The Circe Saga, The Underworld Saga, and The Thunder Saga, we have seen Odysseus’ personality and priorities change drastically. While he was never as carefree or happy as some of his men, Odysseus was not always the broken, tired, and bloodsoaked man we leave drifting into the abyss at the end of Thunderbringer. His fights with gods, monsters, and men have worn him down, shattering his hope, his strength, his mercy, and his love for his crew. The only part of Odysseus left intact after everything he underwent was his love for his wife. His single desire after The Underworld Saga was to return home to her. We see in There Are Other Ways that this love for his wife runs deeper than his pride. We see in No Longer You and Monster that his love for Penelope is stronger than his senses of self preservation and mercy. We see throughout the entire Thunder Saga that his single motivation is to return to his wife. While this has always been his desire, it grew into desperation so strong that he was willing to give up anything to see her again. This desperation is undoubtedly the consequence of the hopeless odds and unmitigated bloodshed and horror he has continuously faced throughout his journey.

As we leave Odysseus, King of Ithaca, to his supposedly water fate, we have several matters to ponder. What does this analysis mean to you, reader? What does it mean to me, and why have I written it? What was the point of this all? Unfortunately for you, this is possibly the one part of this entire paper that I am qualified to write.

The sufferings of Odysseus teach us several things. A dogged loyalty to your goal, if held, can outlast any trial, tribulation, or pain. Odysseus held to his goal of getting home despite every odd he faced. He stayed loyal to his wife despite the seduction of Circe, the prophecy of Tiresias, and the betrayal of his men. Love is stronger by far than any pain you can face in this life. Odysseus suffered greatly through his journey. Although he was given the choice of death and supposed peace multiple times, he did not give in. His love for his wife kept him strong through every fight and test he faced. Finally, there is no dishonor in asking for help when facing difficulty. Odysseus was only able to succeed against the odds he faced because of aid from his men, Circe, Apollo, and Tiresias.

Readers, there is no strength like love. There is no determination like that of a strongly held goal. There is no dishonor in seeking aid when your circumstances are overwhelming. These lessons may seem obvious, but I assure you, they are some of the most important things you can ever learn. These lessons have been important to me through my life, short as it has been, and I believe they are worthy of sharing. Jorge Rivera-Herran's work has reminded me of these lessons and reinforced them in me countless times, just as any great work of art and culture should. I believe that this musical is worthy of sharing, writing about, and loving because of what it instills in us, teaches us, and reminds us. There is no greater love than that of sacrificing your life for that of those you love, and Odysseus, King of Ithaca, for all his faults, displays that love strongly.

“If Santa isn’t real, what else have you lied to me about? The Easter Bunny? What about the Tooth Fairy?” 

These were the words that ten-year-old me screamed at my parents in the middle of the meat section of a H-E-B. For clarification, H-E-B is kind of like the Hy-Vee of Texas, except better in every conceivable way possible. For some background, I learned a bit later than others about Santa Claus not being real. For years, I blindly believed that Santa was real, even when my peers around me were being told the truth about his existence. Only when I began to snoop around during Christmastime, searching for any presents that my parents hid from me, did I begin to question the story my parents told me about Santa. However, my parents continued to perpetuate the Great Santa Hoax, and I would continue to buy into it. 

Can I really be blamed for believing in Santa for so long, though? Think about all of the tools that parents have at their disposal for tricking their children into thinking Santa is real. One of those tools is the NORAD Santa Tracker! NORAD? The North American Aerospace Defense Command? I’m glad to see my tax dollars are going to productive things… like lying to children! Every year, I used to call the NORAD Santa Tracker and ask when Santa would be making it to wherever I lived. There are so many other options at a parent’s disposal to further this hoax, so many people are out there that are able to facilitate fake videos, phone calls… you name it - they got it. My Mom made use of both phone calls and videos to trick me. 

When I was roughly five years old, my Mom called me into the kitchen, saying that she had something for me. I was shocked when I came outside to find a video from Santa in the middle of summer! I had never even considered that Santa COULD exist in the summertime. Much like any five-year-old who may or may not have developed object permanence a little later than others, I figured Santa dissipated into nothingness after Christmas. Now, this was a good video. This charlatan, who called himself Santa, took personalized video requests. He knew my name, what I wanted, and I’ve never quite pieced together how he actually got a live reindeer in the video, but somehow he did it. All of these things, these tools are created by those doing the fictional jolly fat man’s bidding and used by parents in order to further perpetuate this lie. 

Back then, though, I never questioned it. I lacked any sense of skepticism in order to critically think about the story that my parents had continuously told me. I was the kind of kid who believed grown-ups automatically knew everything about the world and would never lie about anything so big. If an adult had told me that the sky was green, I’d likely have looked up and started to analyze for shades of shamrock. Santa was just one of the things I never questioned.

Still, as I got older, small cracks started to form in the foundations of my belief in the jolly fat man. When I was in about the 3rd or 4th grade, classmates would tell me that they found out Santa wasn’t real. Being a child of the internet, I would often see things online about Santa not being real. I also developed a habit of snooping about when the holiday season rolled around. Sometimes on Christmas day, things would be labelled “From Santa” that I definitely knew didn’t come from Santa. I refused to believe what I had seen with my own eyes. Why? Because I don’t think that I could’ve believed that my parents had lied to me. 

This brings us back to the fateful day that I learned the truth. I was 10, and as much like every 10-year-old does, I believed that I knew everything that I needed to know for the rest of my life. I walked around with the stride of someone so confident in themselves that you would look at them and say, “Who does he think he is?” Yes, I was a brat who did not get spanked enough. It was the weekend, I believe it was a Sunday because that was typically the day we would go grocery shopping. While we were in the car driving, I saw a man in another car that looked exactly like what you picture Santa would look like - bushy white beard, on the bigger side, no hair atop his head, and to top it all off, one of those swaying Hawaiian girls on the dashboard. Classic Santa. I only remember that I said something about it, and then one of my parents passingly commented about Santa not being real. I began immediately seething with anger, white foam frothing from my mouth like a rabid dog about to strike. Fury was the only thing I knew, and for a while, I tried to hold it down, but like any powder keg that has been lit, I was going to blow. 

I walked into H-E-B with my parents by my side, but I wouldn’t dare look at them for my entire world was crashing around me. How could they do this? They had spent my entire life telling me not to lie, then they revealed they had been lying to me my entire life! I had been betrayed to the highest degree! These Benedict Arnolds were now my sworn enemies. Traitors, liars, I hated them for this! From my parents, of all people, the woman who carried me in her womb and the man who raised me, I would not let this treason stand! 

We were walking around the frozen meat aisle section, my Dad was looking around for... well… frozen meat. Finally, all of these pent-up emotions seemed to burst through the seams of my carefully knitted childish ego.

“If Santa isn’t real, what else have you lied to me about? The Easter Bunny?! What about the Tooth Fairy?!” 

And there it was… the outburst. My parents just stood there for a second, shocked at the rage-filled screams of a ten-year-old boy. I vividly recall the glances that my Mom and Dad shot each other as they tried to telepathically debate which one of them would deal with this conversation. Seemingly, it was my Mom who lost that argument as she tried to console me. My Mom, as amazing a woman as she is, couldn’t seem to calm me down as I continually interrogated them about the lies they had spoon-fed me my entire life. 

Thankfully, this youthful lust for justice didn’t last long. My Aunt and Uncle didn’t live far from us, and we would go over there quite often. I was pretty close with my Uncle and would often go to him for guidance, so naturally, I filled him in on what had happened during that particular grocery store run. Uncle Hug explained it in a way that I could understand:

“Parents want to make sure that their kids can have fun and use their imaginations, so if that means lying a little bit about what happens around the holidays, where is the harm in that? It might suck, sure, but didn’t you have fun up until now?”

Uncle Hug went on to explain that just because Santa isn’t real doesn’t mean that my parents are liars or anything like that – they just wanted to make sure that Christmas would have an extra sort of magic about it while I was growing up. Which, to a degree, I do appreciate. There is some sort of magic about wondering how a jolly fat man makes his way down way too small chimneys and delivers presents to roughly 2.3 billion kids within a 24-hour time span. 

Thinking about it today, I don’t know if I want to continue my parents' tradition, which was likely their parents’ tradition before them, and so on and so forth. To put it simply: I want my kids to think for themselves. In today’s world, you’ll see too many people believing whatever a news channel, website, media pundit, or politician says to them. People today are so brain-rotted into simply accepting what they are told, whether it be a headline, a clip on TikTok, or a post on Instagram. People no longer think for themselves and, instead, let others do the thinking for them, even if the evidence to prove the contrary is right in front of their faces. That being said, I want my child(ren) to think for themselves while also not being a depressing force on them. Because if you had a Dad who was telling you about how society is manufacturing your consent to believe that Santa is real, then I can’t imagine you had a very fun childhood. 

I saw something recently that I really enjoyed, it was from Neil deGrasse Tyson, and he was explaining how he handled the Tooth Fairy with his kid. His daughter lost a tooth, and he told her, “I heard that if you place your tooth underneath your pillow at night, then the Tooth Fairy will come by and give you money for it.” Notice what he said. He “heard” that if you place your tooth underneath the pillow, then the Tooth Fairy will come. There were no absolutes there; it was simple and vague while also not doing away with any of the magic that comes with being a child. But hold on, it gets better. The story continues as Tyson’s daughter loses a couple more teeth. She began to put traps in her room to see if she’d wake up whenever the Tooth Fairy came, but she didn’t. So, she and her friends at school organized, and when the next one of the group lost a tooth, they all agreed to not tell their parents to see if the Tooth Fairy would know or not. Well, one of her friends lost a tooth, and they stayed true to their word and didn’t tell their parents. Lo and behold, the Tooth Fairy didn’t visit, and her friend didn’t receive any money. 

This story allows for the child to actually come to their own conclusions while also not taking the child-like wonder away from them. It grants permission to the child to be skeptical about what they’re being told, and skepticism is always a good thing to have. 

If there’s one thing that I wish to impart from this story, it’s to never stop asking questions. I didn’t ask enough questions. I believed in Santa even when the proof was right in front of my face. Asking questions is healthy, and we have to encourage children to do so as well. When I was younger, I believed what I was told and didn’t question it. I held onto my beliefs even when I saw things that disproved them. Looking back, I want to laugh at the little kid in the middle of H-E-B screaming about Santa Claus, the Easter Bunny, and the Tooth Fairy. He was finally beginning to ask the questions that he’d neglected to ask for so long. Today, I finally recognize what he was truly mad about: not the lie itself, but that he never asked these questions to begin with.

I listened to you sing

like a golden canary 

in the branches of an ancient oak.

I watched you dance

just like a graceful ballerina

who made time stand still.

I watched you wither away

as the sickness chewed and gnawed

stripping away at your picture perfect self.

I watched you smile and sing like you were promised tomorrow

but the sickness twists, contorts, and pulls you down

until your once lively song and dance are no more.

I hold my younger self like a thrashing feral animal

-
In a tight and safe embrace.
She’s fighting back hard,
Baring her teeth;
I’m sure to her,
My arms feel like a cage.
I’m sure to her,
I’m the thing she hides from at night.
But her teeth and nails are blunt,
And small.
She’s worn them down scratching at herself
And biting her own tongue.
I don’t back down from her violent resistance,
The anger looks far too much like fear for me to
Take offense.
I know why she tears away from me,
Why she fears the way my arms hold her in.
Still,
The longer I hold her,
The more her muscles start to betray her by relaxing.
Her growls turn soft and curious.
It sounds far more like a whimper to my ears now.
She goes limp and exhausted in my embrace,
And I realize my muscles are starting to relax too.
“I’ve got you.”
I say.
“I know why you bite.”
The floor is hard and cold,
And it’s dark outside the kitchen windows.
My arms are red with the shape of my fingers
And my knuckles are white.
There is no animal in my arms,
Only my own skin.
“I don’t hate you.”
I whisper.
“I know why you bite.”

I remember

The gull’s cry as he wheels above salty shore,

A cloak of mist wrapped round sand and sea,

The crunch of sand beneath boots and the clink of mail, driving rain,

Long marches under heavy packs and long nights on the cold ground,

The sight of distant villages, the roar of uncharted waters, and the crumbling towers of an

empire long forgotten.

I recall

Great battles, kingdom against kingdom, army against army, man against man,

The clash of sword upon mail, lance upon shield. The sounds of the wounded and dying and

the hoarse cry of the crows circling above,

Feats of great men on bleak days, where the only victor was death,

The cries of fury and fire, of wrath and ruin. The oaths of honor, truth, and courage,

That I swore on the sword of liege.

Listen

As the days grow short and winter rails against these four walls,

As I speak of names, see faces that you do not know.

The tales I tell are not stories shared to pass the storms,

They are your past, the ghost of what is soon to come.

You remind me of the warm, cozy things in life,

The big sweatshirts to sleep in,

A cup of coffee with silky creamer,

Car seat heaters on a frigid winter day,

Sunlight softly kissing leaving mellowness,

A warm hug to remind of enduring love.

You remind me of all the safe things in life,

Like a shoulder to lean on,

Words of affirmation and encouragement,

Proving love by both words and actions,

Showing support in a strong emotional storm,

A hand to hold to get through the unknown.

You remind me of the relaxing, tranquil things in life,

The moments spent drifting off to sleep,

A slight breeze through Willow leaves,

Soft waves embracing shoreline,

An orchestra of grasshoppers crackling at dusk,

A sweet song hum reminding of lullabies.

With steady hands and guarded eyes,
She treads beneath the shifting skies.
Through storm and sun, through drought and rain,
She guards the forest's breath and vein.

For every seed, a promise planted,
for every tree, a life she's mounted.
The guardian of the earth's green flame,
A forester, by heart and name.