Gilgamesh Immortality Quotes

What you seek you shall never find. For when the Gods made man, They kept immortality to themselves. Fill your belly. Day and night make merry. Let Days be full of joy. Love the child who holds your hand. Let your wife delight in your embrace. For these alone are the concerns of man.

I like places like this," he announced. I like old places too," Josh said, "but what's to like about a place like this?" The king spread his arms wide. "What do you see?" Josh made a face. "Junk. Rusted tractor, broken plow, old bike." Ahh...but I see a tractor that was once used to till these fields. I see the plow it once pulled. I see a bicycle carefully placed out of harm's way under a table." Josh slowly turned again, looking at the items once more. And i see these things and I wonder at the life of the person who carefully stored the precious tractor and plow in the barn out of the weather, and placed their bike under a homemade table." Why do you wonder?" Josh asked. "Why is it even important?" Because someone has to remember," Gilgamesh snapped, suddenly irritated. "Some one has to remember the human who rode the bike and drove the tractor, the person who tilled the fields, who was born and lived and died, who loved and laughed and cried, the person who shivered in the cold and sweated in the sun." He walked around the barn again, touching each item, until his palm were red with rust." It is only when no one remembers, that you are truely lost. That is the true death.

You have known, O Gilgamesh, What interests me, To drink from the Well of Immortality. Which means to make the dead Rise from their graves And the prisoners from their cells The sinners from their sins. I think love's kiss kills our heart of flesh. It is the only way to eternal life, Which should be unbearable if lived Among the dying flowers And the shrieking farewells Of the overstretched arms of our spoiled hopes.

When all the illusions of personal immortality are stripped away, there is only the act to maintain the freedom to act.

Friendship is vowing toward immortality and does not know the passing away of beauty (Though take care!) because it aims for the spirit. Many years ago through loss I learned that love is wrung from our inmost heart until only the loved one is and we are not.

I wanted it so much. So much sometimes it felt like I couldn't breathe. Sometimes I would cry, not because I was sad, but because it hurt, physical pain from the intensity of wanting something so much. I'm a good student of philosophy, I know my Stoics, Cynics, their advice, that, when a desire is so intense it hurts you, the healthy path is to detach, unwant it, let it go. The healthy thing for the self. But there are a lot of reasons one can want to be an author: acclaim, wealth, self-respect, finding a community, the finite immortality of name in print, so many more. But I wanted it to add my voice to the Great Conversation, to reply to Diderot, Voltaire, Osamu Tezuka, and Alfred Bester, so people would read my books and think new things, and make new things from those thoughts, my little contribution to the path which flows from Gilgamesh and Homer to the stars. And that isn't just for me. It's for you. Which means it was the right choice to hang on to the desire, even when it hurt so much.

The hard things break. The soft things bend. The stubborn ones batter themselves against all that is immovable. The flexible adapt to what is before them. Of course, we are all hard and soft, stubborn and flexible, and so we all break until we learn to bend and are battered until we accept what is before us. This brings to mind the Sumerian tale of Gilgamesh, the stubborn, hard king who sought to ask the Immortal One the secret of life. He was told that there would be stones on his path to guide him. But in his urgency and pride, Gilgamesh was annoyed to find his path blocked, and so smashed the very stones that would help him. In his blindness of heart, he broke everything he needed to discover his way. With the same confusion, we too break what we need, push away those we love, and isolate ourselves when we need to be held most. There have been many times in my life when I have been too proud to ask for help or too afraid to ask to be held, and in the frenzy of my own isolation, like Gilgamesh, I have smashed the window I was trying to open, have split the bench I was trying to hammer, and have made matters worse by bruising the one I meant to be tender with. The live bough bends. The dead twig snaps. We are humbled to soften from our griefs, or else, in brittle time, become the next thing grieved.

How long will the Gilgamesh Project – the quest for immortality – take to complete?

The image of the Serpent, because of its association with life, rejuvenation, fertility, and regeneration, was a symbol of immortality. The coiled Serpent with its tail in its mouth was a circle of infinitude indicating omnipotence and omniscience. The Serpent, depicted in several successive rings, represented cyclical evolution and reincarnation. In ancient philosophy or mythological systems, creation and wisdom were closely bound together, and the Serpent was a potent symbol of both. It is in this capacity that the Serpent appears in the Babylonian and Sumerian mythologies, which contain elements akin to the Genesis story. The Serpent has the power to bestow immortality but also has the power to cheat humankind. In many of the ancient Near Eastern stories—for instance, the Gilgamesh Epic and myth of Adapa—the Serpent holds out the promise of immortality but then cheats man at the last minute.

What you seek, you shall never find. For when the Gods made man, They kept immortality for themselves. Fill your belly. Day and night make merry, Let Days be full of joy. Love the child that holds your hand. Let your wife delight in your embrace. For these alone are the concerns of man. —The Epic of Gilgamesh

Go up, Ur-Shanabi, pace out the walls of Uruk. Study the foundation terrace and examine the brickwork. Is not its masonry of kiln-fired brick? And did not seven masters lay its foundations? One square mile of city, one square mile of gardens, One square mile of clay pits, a half square mile of Ishtar's dwelling, Three and a half square miles is the measure of Uruk!

How long will the Gilgamesh Project – the quest for immortality – take to complete? A hundred years? Five hundred years? A thousand years? When we recall how little we knew about the human body in 1900, and how much knowledge we have gained in a single century, there is cause for optimism. Genetic engineers have recently managed to double the average life expectancy of Caenorhabditis elegans worms.12 Could they do the same for Homo sapiens? Nanotechnology experts are developing a bionic immune system composed of millions of nano-robots, who would inhabit our bodies, open blocked blood vessels, fight viruses and bacteria, eliminate cancerous cells and even reverse ageing processes.13 A few serious scholars suggest that by 2050, some humans will become a-mortal (not immortal, because they could still die of some accident, but a-mortal, meaning that in the absence of fatal trauma their lives could be extended indefinitely). Whether or not Project Gilgamesh succeeds, from a historical perspective it is fascinating to see that most late-modern religions and ideologies have already taken death and the afterlife out of the equation. Until the eighteenth century, religions considered death and its aftermath central to the meaning of life. Beginning in the eighteenth century, religions and ideologies such as liberalism, socialism and feminism lost all interest in the afterlife. What, exactly, happens to a Communist after he or she dies? What happens to a capitalist? What happens to a feminist? It is pointless to look for the answer in the writings of Marx, Adam Smith or Simone de Beauvoir. The only modern ideology that still awards death a central role is nationalism. In its more poetic and desperate moments, nationalism promises that whoever dies for the nation will for ever live in its collective memory. Yet this promise is so fuzzy that even most nationalists do not really know what to make of it. The

I was holding forth about this a while ago at a dinner for a bunch of writers. 'Gilgamesh was the first writer,' I said. 'He wants the secret of life and death, he goes through hell, he comes back, but he hasn't got immortality, all he's got is two stories — the one about his trip, and the other, extra one about the flood. So the only thing he really brings back with him is a couple of stories. Then he's really, really tired, and then he writes the whole thing down on a stone.' 'Yeah, that's what it is,' said the writers. 'You go, you get the story, you're whacked out, you come back and write it all down on a stone. Or it feels like a stone by the sixth draft,' they added. 'Go where?' I said. 'To where the story is,' they said. Where is the story? The story is in the dark. That is why inspiration is thought of as coming in flashes. Going into a narrative — into the narrative process - is a dark road. You can't see your way ahead. Poets know this too; they too travel the dark roads. The well of inspiration is a hole that leads downwards.

A hero ventures forth from the world of common day into a region of supernatural wonder: fabulous forces are there encountered and a decisive victory is won: the hero comes back from this mysterious adventure with the power to bestow boons on his fellow men. That is the pattern of the myth, and that is the pattern of these fantasies of the psyche. Now it was Dr Perry's thesis in his paper that in certain cases the best thing is to let the schizophrenic process run its course, not to abort the psychosis by administering shock treatments and the like, but, on the contrary, to help the process of disintegration and reintegration along. However, if a doctor is to be helpful in this way, he has to understand the image language of mythology. He has himself to understand what the fragmentary signs and signals signify that his patient, totally out of touch with rationally oriented manners of thought and communication, is trying to bring forth in order to establish some kind of contact. Interpreted from this point of view, a schizophrenic breakdown is an inward and backward journey to recover something missed or lost, and to restore, thereby, a vital balance. So let the voyager go. He has tipped over and is sinking, perhaps drowning; yet, as in the old legend of Gilgamesh and his long, deep dive to the bottom of the cosmic sea to pluck the watercress of immortality, there is the one green value of his life down there. Don't cut him off from it: help him through.

This fear of life is not just an imaginary bogy, but a very real panic, which seems disproportionate only because its real source is unconscious and therefore projected: the young, growing part of the personality, if prevented from living or kept in check, generates fear and changes into fear. The fear seems to come from the mother, but actually it is the deadly fear of the instinctive, unconscious, inner man who is cut off from life by the continual shrinking back from reality. If the mother is felt as the obstacle, she then becomes the vengeful pursuer. Naturally it is not the real mother, although she too may seriously injure her child by the morbid tenderness with which she pursues it into adult life, thus prolonging the infantile attitude beyond the proper time. It is rather the mother-imago that has turned into a lamia.63 (Cf. pls. XXXVIIIa, XLVIII.) The mother-imago, however, represents the unconscious, and it is as much a vital necessity for the unconscious to be joined to the conscious as it is for the latter not to lose contact with the unconscious. Nothing endangers this connection more in a man than a successful life; it makes him forget his dependence on the unconscious. The case of Gilgamesh is instructive in this respect: he was so successful that the gods, the representatives of the unconscious, saw themselves compelled to deliberate how they could best bring about his downfall. Their efforts were unavailing at first, but when the hero had won the herb of immortality (cf. pl. XIX) and was almost at his goal, a serpent stole the elixir of life from him while he slept.

What you seek you shall never find.   For when the Gods made man,   They kept immortality to themselves.   Fill your belly.   Day and night make merry.   Let Days be full of joy.   Love the child who holds your hand.   Let your wife delight in your embrace.   For these alone are the concerns of man.”   The Epic of Gilgamesh

Why?” “Because all humanity has turned its back on the Creator. For although they knew God, they did not honor him as God or give thanks to him. And they worshipped and served the creation rather than the Creator who is blessed forever. When our forebear Adam disobeyed the Creator, he and his beloved were exiled from the Garden and from the Tree of Life, that would have been the source of continued renewal to live forever. As Adam’s descendants, we are exiled from our Creator. The immortality you seek, lies in him and in his Chosen Seed.

Noah had used the covenant name of the Creator, Yahweh Elohim, that distinguished him from all other claims of deity. He was the true and Living God among the gods. Noah continued, “The gods you speak of are Bene ha Elohim, Sons of God from the divine council of Elohim’s heavenly host. They are Watchers of mankind. But they fell to earth in rebellion and set up their ‘assembly of gods’ as a mockery of God’s own divine council. They have sought to draw worship away from the Living God unto themselves and to corrupt the bloodline of the coming king.” “Coming king?” interrupted Gilgamesh. This struck him where it most hurt. Gilgamesh had sought to be the greatest king. “Who is this king?” “I do not know,” said Noah.

Noah watched them walking away. A dark pall of realization swept over him. He said, “It is time for us to return to the land between the two rivers. Elohim’s work with us is not yet done.” She looked up at him. She knew what he meant and dreaded it. She also knew that their lives were in the hands of Elohim, had always been in the hands of Elohim. From the moment their tribe had been slaughtered, to her captivity in Uruk, and Noah’s descent into Sheol, God had delivered them at the last moment from the hands of Inanna and her minions. He had brought them safely through the waters of the Flood. He would take care of them now. It had taken many years for her to heal from what their son Ham had done to her. His violation was not only depraved in a personal sense of defilement, it was an act of evil that she knew would result in a generational curse that only began with the fruit of that unholy violation: Canaan.

Enkidu did die, he said, yet it was Gilgamesh who wasted his time. He brought himself one step closer to death with his efforts looking sad, pathetic, and beaten. A man’s life was short, the immortal man said, cut down in an instant like a reed

that this must be the earliest science-fiction story still in existence, for surely the tale of a quest for an immortality serum qualifies as science fiction.

Ecclesiastes 12:13–14 The end of the matter; all has been heard. Fear God and keep his commandments, for this is the whole duty of man. For God will bring every deed into judgment, with every secret thing, whether good or evil.

Enoch Primordial (Sumer) Elohim Anu   Inanna   __ __ Noah Primeval (Sumer) Elohim, Yahweh __ Inanna __ __ Gilgamesh Immortal (Sumer) Elohim __ Ishtar   Ninurta Gilgamesh Abraham Allegiant (Babylon) El Shaddai __ Ishtar   Marduk   Nimrod Abraham Allegiant (Canaan) El Elyon __ Ashtart Ba’al Amraphel Divine attribute Creator Almighty Most High High God of pantheon Goddess of sex & war God of vegetation & storm A Nephilim     Creator God Nachash Giants Sons of God Noah Other Names Yahweh Elohim The Serpent Nephilim Bene ha Elohim Utnaphishtim Yahweh The satan Adversary Rephaim Watchers Ziusudra Elohim Mastema Emim gods Chosen One El Shaddai A Seraphim Caphtorim Heavenly Host   Angel of Yahweh Shining One Zamzummim Divine Council   Son of Man Accuser Anakim Shining Ones   El Elyon Belial Avvim Holy Ones     Diablos Horim Anunnaki       True Heaven Sumerian Pantheon Seven Gods Who Decree the Fates Sumerian Pantheon Four High Gods Mesopotamian Heavens and Earth Hierarchy Yahweh Elohim Anu Anu Yahweh Elohim’s throne Angel of Yahweh Enlil Enlil The waters above the heavens Seraphim Enki Enki The firmament Cherubim Ninhursag Ninhursag The heavens Sons of God Inanna __ Earth M’alak (angels) Utu __ The Abyss   Nana __

All he could think was that his own people, an emergent culture that had clawed its way back to its feet after the ice, was nothing but a shadow of that former greatness. It was not simply that the Gilgamesh and all their current space effort was cobbled together from bastardized, half-understood pieces of the ancient world’s vastly superior technology. It was everything: from the very beginning his people had known they were inheriting a used world. The ruins and the decayed relics of a former people had been everywhere, underfoot, underground, up mountains, immortalized in stories. Discovering such a wealth of dead metal in orbit had hardly been a surprise, when all recorded history had been a progress over a desert of broken bones. There had been no innovation that the ancients had not already achieved, and done better. How many inventors had been relegated to historical obscurity because some later treasure-hunter had unearthed the older, superior method of achieving the same end? Weapons, engines, political systems, philosophies, sources of energy . . . Holsten’s people had thought themselves lucky that someone had built such a convenient flight of steps back up from the dark into the sunlight of civilization. They had never quite come to the realization that those steps led only to that one place. Who knows what we might have achieved, had we not been so keen to recreate all their follies, he thought now. Could we have saved the Earth? Would we be living there now on our own green planet? All the knowledge in the universe now at his fingertips, yet to that question he had no answer.