The growth of wings
SocratesSomeone who was initiated long ago, or has been corrupted, is not swiftly carried from the beauty that bears its name here towards beauty itself. He does not revere what he sees. Giving himself to pleasure, he tries to mount like a four-footed beast and sow his seed; in his excess he feels neither fear nor shame in pursuing pleasure against nature. But one recently initiated, who saw much in that former place, shudders when he sees a godlike face beautifully imitating beauty, or a similar form of body; some of his old awe returns. Then, as he gazes, he reveres the beloved like a god. If he were not afraid of seeming utterly mad, he would sacrifice to the youth as to the image of a god. After the first shudder come a change, sweat and an unfamiliar heat. Beauty enters through his eyes and warms the place where wings grow. As it warms, the hardened covering around the growth, which once kept it from sprouting, melts. With the flow of nourishment, the shafts of the feathers swell at their roots and begin to grow through the whole soul, for once the whole soul was winged.