The Clarity Protocol (Sophrosyne)

Lyrics

[Intro]

In the Lyceum's shade, 335 BCE,
Aristotle paces, his cloak brushing olive leaves.
You, my clay kylix, cool in my palm,
barely touched by watered wine.

[Verse 1]
Sophrosyne, you whisper through the vessel's curve,
Plato's words etched like wax on tablets,
circa 428 to 348 BCE, Charmides unfolding.
Self-knowledge in the mild Athenian spring,
18 degrees Celsius, early morning light.
I hold you, kylix from the symposium,
smell of olive oil and myrrh lingering.
Your rim, a boundary for pleasures,
Aristotle's mean, 384 to 322 BCE,
Nicomachean Ethics, book three.

[Chorus]
Clarity protocol, in your empty bowl,
neural pathways balance, no excess fires.
Moderation's gate, dopamine steady,
mental fog lifts like dawn over Athens.
You teach restraint, small strange fact:
young men offered olive branches,
invoking your spirit at altars.
Hold me to this, my kylix,
in the gymnasium's musk.

[Verse 2]
Wax tablets and styluses scratch your virtue,
bread and olives on the table, portioned just so.
No vehicles rush, only peripatetic steps,
measured pace through the grove.
Plato at forty, pondering temperance,
Aristotle at fifty, defining the mean.
Your cool texture against my lips,
a sensory anchor, flickering lamplight.
Damp earth after rain, woolen cloaks gathered.

[Bridge]

Gaps in the record, unnamed women,
enslaved hands that shaped you, kylix.
Their sophrosyne unscribed, lived in shadows.
Yet here, in my grasp, the protocol endures,
neuroscience of balance, synaptic calm.

[Verse 3]
The heavy gaze of mindfulness,
equanimity in your hollow.
From Lyceum to now, the clarity protocol,
moderation's glow, improbable yet true.
Aristotle's quote: sophrosyne is a mean
with regard to pleasures.
Plato's endeavor: self-control for the good life.
You, my vessel, hold the essence.

[Outro]

In this intimate hold, close-miked sigh,
one thousand perfect breaths,
sophrosyne eternal.