Suppose the Greeks were right – br that, though some of us br may seek to climb Olympus br (the rocky scramble exhilarating br in the moist fresh morning, br the scent of coffee, baking bread, br rising from the valley below, br the occasional shout of shepherd to his dog, br up higher, the tiptilt goats surprised, br and then the mist, the thinning air, br the inner urge, ambition br fading, as humility, surrender, grow) br br that all of us, fully although seemingly in some degree, br yearn for the True, the Good, the Beautiful, br perhaps not in that order, or at least at first, br and believing or not believing br that ultimately, we may know the state br when in their glory, all these three br might merge, be indistinguishable; br br for this, no climb is needed, since br the gods - the Greeks were sure of this - br dwell ever in our hearts; at rest, but br waiting for their call, or ours, br to show us to ourselves, and bursting forth br in what we recognise as enthusiasm.. br br but for those who love to climb, br who love the view, the upper air, br the risk, the challenge and the sport - br the topmost crags surmounted, br the scree no longer playing its game br of snakes and ladders with our feet and hearts and minds, br the clouds like a white, concealing mystery, br now below us; the gods invisible to ground level eyes br run eagerly to greet us in our hearts; we now br pure oxygen for the others still visible br through breaks in the white clouds of poetry, br climbing on their way; our hearts breathing pure oxygen for them br saying yes the climb is worth it, br the Greeks were right.