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# When your time comes to die, as soon as your soul has left the sublunary world and the light of the Sun, go to the right along the sacred meadows and groves of Phersephoneia, taking careful heed of temptations
- URL: https://theparnassian.com/en/kogda-tebe-suzhdeno-budet-umeret-to-lish-dusha-tvoia-pokinet-mir-podlunnyi-i-svet-solntsa-stupai-napravo-po-sviashchennym-lugam-i-roshcham-fersefonei-tshchatelno-osteregaias-soblaznov/
- Published: 2024-07-16T20:08:42.000Z
- Updated: 2026-10-01T05:33:14.000Z
- Author: Alexandr Radayev
- Tags: Faith, Books, Observations

You will come to the well-built temple of Hades. On the right (on the left) is a spring flowing from the lake of oblivion, Lethe; white waters gush forth there, and beside it stands a white cypress. Do not go near that spring, not even close. Here the descending souls of the dead are cooled before a new incarnation, so that they may forget all that was. By the heavenly lake white waters erupt from the nocturnal heat in the gloomy, glistening depths of a cave of good stone. ...

Further on you will find another spring, flowing from the lake of Mnemosyne, all-embracing memory. This is a spring of cold running water. Before it, above the water, stand guardians. They will ask you shrewdly: "Who are you, whence do you come, why have you come, and what do you want, what do you seek in the gloom of ruinous Hades?"

Declare to them the whole truth. Say: "I am a son of the heavy earth and the starry heaven, by name Pythagoras, but my lineage is heavenly, for I too boast of descent from your blessed race. I am parched with thirst and perishing, so give me quickly to drink cold water from the spring that flows from the lake of Memory."

And they will take pity on you, obeying the king of the underworld, and will give you to drink from the divine spring of the lake of Mnemosyne. And then you will dwell in bliss with the other heroes.

And you will set out along the crowded sacred road. ...

And you will enter the majestic temple of Hades and say: "I (a soul) come pure from the pure, O queen of those below, Phersephone, O Eukleës-Eubouleus and other immortal gods, greetings to you! I too boast of descent from your happy race. I have paid the penalty for deeds by no means righteous: whether Moira struck me down, or Zeus the Thunderer with his thunderbolt. And now I come as a suppliant to most pure Phersephone, that she may graciously send me to the abode of the holy. I have this gift of memory, sung of among men."

**"The Golden Canon". Pythagoras**