Author Archives: Charlene Nevill

Farewell to Delphi

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“We learn by going where we have to go; we arrive when we find ourselves on the road walking toward us.” – Phil Cousineau, The Art of Pilgrimage

On my last day in Delphi, I found myself back at the Gymnasium sitting at the foot of the ancient olive tree absorbing every last bit of sun as I gazed at the hills below. Despite the resistance I felt before I left on this journey and all along the way, I knew I would miss this sacred place. My first sight of the steep forboding cliffs rising above the Sanctuary, my visceral interactions with the Omphalos, and my vision of Delphi bathed in golden light will remain with me forever. And I’m feeling boundless gratitude for the luxury of just ‘being’ for that period of time with no distractions or obligations.

Pandora by John William Waterhouse, 1896

Pandora by John William Waterhouse, 1896

This adventure started with a serendipitous discovery of the Pythia and grew into an obsession to experience firsthand the world of ancient Delphi. I realized that my desire to ‘feel’ any kind of connection or to garner information about my past here might require some sort of a transformative experience. And while I found the idea of a flash of insight exciting, I didn’t really think I was ready for a total paradigm shift.

Since my return, I’ve wondered if my beliefs limited what I was able to experience. In my deep soul writing, Source has indicated repeatedly that information would be revealed when I’m ready for it. I left home with one question and came back with dozens more. And like Pandora, having opened the proverbial box (which I have learned was actually a jar), all I’m left with is hope – hope that some day I will come to know if it’s possible to connect with aspects of ourselves from previous lifetimes and whether knowing our past serves us in the present.

 


The Longest Day

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Galaxidi Town Square ©2009 Charlene Nevill

Galaxidi Town Square ©2009 Charlene Nevill

When I told Socrates, my seatmate on the flight from London to Athens, that I was spending FIVE days in Delphi he was aghast. I explained that it was really only 4-1/2, but he refused to hear me. Having grown up in Livadeia, a small town between Delphi and Greece, Socrates had spent a lot of time in Delphi over the years, but never five days in a row. He assured me that I would be bored out of my mind after two days and suggested I take a day trip to Galaxidi, a village on the Gulf of Corinth below Delphi.

I was beginning to think a ‘day off’ might be a good idea. I’d visited the Sanctuary several times, I’d toured the museum, and I’d walked up, down and around every street in Delphi. Still reeling from my latest conversation with Source, I thought a day away might offer some perspective. And even though I had no great desire to see Galaxidi, visions of a stroll along the waterfront and lunch at a seaside cafe were playing around in my mind. But I wasn’t ‘feeling’ it. And instead of listening to my instincts, I listened to Socrates and made the trip anyway.

Nothing really horrible happened that day. But from the moment I arrived at the bus station that morning, I had a nagging feeling that this trip was not a good idea. And there were signs all along the way telling me it was a mistake. I needed to purchase a ticket but the bus station was closed. It finally opened just before the bus was due to arrive, but then the bus was 20 minutes late. A trip that would take 20 minutes by car took an hour and a half by bus, because we had to transfer in another town and wait another 30 minutes for the next bus. When I finally arrived in Galaxidi, I was famished. I found several restaurants along a small cove that vaguely matched the visions I’d been entertaining, but none were serving lunch. In desperation and after much gesticulating, I finally found one that agreed to serve something other than coffee.

As I sat alone waiting for my lunch, I thought of my college friend Patty. After graduating with a double major in French and German, Patty moved to Germany to teach English. I never really understood what happened, but one day after she’d been gone for a few months, I got a call from her mother telling me that Patty was back; she’d had a nervous breakdown and was in the hospital. I was in shock. Patty was not only beautiful and intelligent, but she was the happiest, most joyful person I knew. At the time I thought, if this could happen to Patty, it could happen to me. Now all these years later, I understood what had happened. She was away from home living in a foreign country for the first time. She was alone and she felt totally isolated. And that’s exactly how I felt as I sat there alone eating my Greek salad and drinking my white wine.

After I finished my lunch, I had another hour before the bus was due for Delphi. Sitting in the town square listening to the leaves fluttering in the breeze, I realized that there really was no reason for me to be here. I’d come to Greece for one reason only: to connect with my past. And I knew with certainty that I had no past in Galaxidi.

When I finally arrived back in my little room in Delphi that afternoon, I felt like I’d come home. And then as if on cue, I heard bells. I ran to my balcony and there right below me was a parade of GOATS! It was almost too much to be believed. There were black goats and brown goats, white goats with brown spots, baby goats, billy goats, goats with great curled horns, goats with beards, goats of all kinds and sizes, and they kept coming – walking, running, leaping and bleating with bells clanging. My wish had been granted. Perhaps there was a lesson here. Or maybe two. Number one: don’t be afraid to ask for what you want. And number two: listen to THE VOICE and follow it.

Goats in Delphi ©2009 Charlene Nevill

Goats in Delphi ©2009 Charlene Nevill

 

Putting the Question

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The Pythia with a Supplicant

The Pythia Themis and King Aigeus of Athens at Delphi by the Codrus Painter, circa 440 BC

By now I had become attached to the idea that I was one of the hundreds of women who had served as an Oracle in Delphi. But I was anxious to find out what Source had to say . . .

C: Dear Spirit, PLEASE let me know if I was here and what role I played.

S: You were the wife of one of the great priests in Delphi. As such you assisted him in his work with the Oracle by offering insight into political and religious events of the day.

C: Does this mean that I was not an Oracle?

S: That is correct – you were not. But one of your daughters was chosen to be one of the first Pythias when she was but 18 years old.

C: Are my husband and my daughter from that lifetime incarnated with me in this lifetime? If they are, will you tell me who they are?

S: The priest and your husband in that lifetime is your current husband in this one, and your daughter is your friend Laurel (not her real name).

C: That would explain my connection with her, being with her when we both recognized her husband-to-be and my husband’s connection to her which I have seen and felt.

S: That is correct. And you are correct in imagining the identity of your other daughter in that lifetime as that of your husband’s friend for whom you have had such a profound dislike.

C: What was the cause of my negative feelings toward her?

S: She was extremely jealous of your close relationship with your husband and her sister. Because her sister had been chosen to be the Oracle, she felt totally out of the loop of this ‘holy trinity’ – the ‘odd man out’ if you will.

C: That would explain my husband’s feelings toward her in this lifetime  – his wanting to help her.

S: That is so.

My pen had stopped moving. I was stunned. And incredulous. And not just a little disappointed to learn that I had not been an Oracle after all. Then I remembered the lecture I’d overhead at the Sanctuary about the priests being responsible for delivering the prophesies with little or no help from the Oracles. Could I have just pieced all of this together? It seemed a little too neat and tidy. But at the same time, as much as I didn’t want to believe the words in front of me, it explained a lot.

For one thing, Laurel and I became instant friends when we met, and we’d been mistaken for mother and daughter even though both of us would agree that we look nothing alike. When I found John Collier’s painting, ‘Priestess of Delphi’ I sent her a copy of the image. At first, she felt it was ominous because of the dark background and the fumes coming up through the crack beneath the Pythia’s feet. But as she looked at it again, she experienced a feeling of comfort. At the time I thought this was an odd reaction.

And I had never understood my nearly pathological dislike of my husband’s friend, Jeanine (not her real name, either). We met her at a business function, and while the two of them connected immediately, my reaction to her was so negative that I wanted to leave.

When Jeanine surfaced in this session with Source, I sensed that one of us in that lifetime had experienced a tragic and untimely death. And I feared that it had been my other daughter because according to Source, she had been 18 when she was chosen to be an Oracle. Initially, young chaste girls were chosen to be Apollo’s mistresses. But these innocent virgins did not fare well. Diodorus, an ancient historian tells the story of Echecrates the Thessalian who became enchanted with the Oracle and violated her. This was probably not an isolated incident because the custom was soon abandoned and the Oracles from that time forward were selected from women over fifty.

So what had happened here? I couldn’t begin to guess what, if anything, Jeanine may have done to contribute to such a tragedy. It was all too much. Still suffering from jet lag, I wanted nothing more than a quick lunch and a nap. Back in my room, the sun was spilling in from my terrace. I lay down and as soon as I closed my eyes, I ‘saw’ the temples, treasuries and statues at the Sanctuary, all in their original pristine condition bathed in an intense golden light. In my dream state, I felt the power of these structures touching the core of my being. Then the vision vanished and I descended into a deep dreamless sleep.

Sanctuary of Apollo at Delphi by A. Tournaire

Sanctuary of Apollo at Delphi by A. Tournaire

 

A Day at the Museum

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Siphnian Treasury Frieze ©2009 Charlene Nevill

Siphnian Treasury Frieze ©2009 Charlene Nevill

I had passed the Delphi Archeological Museum several times on my way to and from the Sanctuary, but I hadn’t stopped. I knew that all the treasures that had been saved from the fires, earthquakes, mudslides, avalanches, rockfalls and plunderings of what had been one of the wealthiest places on Earth were cloistered inside those walls. And having explored as much of the Sanctuary as possible, I was ready to see if the architectural fragments and remnants of statues and gifts sent to the Oracles might reveal something about my past in Delphi.

The Twins of Argos ©2009 Charlene Nevill

The Twins of Argos ©2009 Charlene Nevill

The museum was extremely crowded that morning with wave after wave of tour groups. Slipping around the throngs in the first gallery, I entered the next room and came face to face with Cleobis and Biton, a pair of gargantuan marble statues. According to legend, the brothers pulled their mother in a wagon five miles to a festival because their oxen hadn’t returned from the fields. After feasting, they lay down to sleep in the Temple of Hera and never woke up. Whether mythical or historical figures, they represent the ideal of masculine strength and piety in the early 6th century BC. I didn’t know if it was their massiveness or if there was something more, but I gasped when I saw them and felt a twinge of recognition.

Moving ahead of the crowds, I came to a large gallery with statues lined up along each wall. One of the most impressive monuments from the Sanctuary, the 42-foot-tall Column of the Dancers, stood in the center of the room with an ornate Omphalos next to it. Even though I knew this Omphalos had once sat at the top of the column and was but another reproduction of the one that sat in the Oracle’s chamber, I wanted to ‘test’ it. I surreptitiously held my hands a few inches from its surface at the center, top and bottom as I had done with the Omphalos at the site, but there were no vibrations at all. As beautiful as this artifact was with its relief of roped netting, it felt cold and dead.

Statue of a Philosopher, circa 280 BC ©2009 Charlene Nevill

Statue of a Philosopher, circa 280 BC ©2009 Charlene Nevill

I had been avoiding one wall of statues, and when I finally turned my attention in their direction, I understood why. In the center of a multi-figure group stood a well-preserved statue of an aged man presumed to be a philosopher or a priest. I knew instantly from the depths of my being that I did not like this man. Typical of early Hellenistic art, the facial features were not idealized but instead revealed the actual characteristics of the individual. The more I looked at this statue, the more I saw ‘father’. I didn’t know if what I was sensing was coming from this lifetime or from another, but my feelings for this man were very strong and they were not good.

After walking through the remaining galleries, I decided to leave thinking I’d return when it might not be so crowded. It was another hot, sunny day and there were as many people at the site as in the museum. But I was intent on one thing only, and that was to visit the Omphalos again. Approaching the stone, I saw that I would have to wait for the crowds to pass so I could get close enough to give it my test. As before, I felt vibrations in both hands at its midpoint, not as strong as the first time, but intense enough to tell me it wasn’t just my imagination.

Strange vibrations, feelings of melancholy and fear generated by mountains, statues, and the wind . . . What did it all mean? I hadn’t had a conversation with Source since I’d left home, and I felt the time had come. I set off for a sheltered spot at the far edge of the site and found a stone bench beneath a grove of pine trees. Enveloped in the intoxicating fragrance from the trees, I thought of the Pythia sitting on her tripod inhaling the vapors that induced her prophetic state. So how about it, Source? Is there any information for me in this sacred place?

 

Testing the Waters

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Temple of Apollo at Delphi ©2009 Charlene Nevill

Temple of Apollo at Delphi ©2009 Charlene Nevill

It wasn’t yet noon, but the sun was beating down on the Sanctuary with an unbearable intensity. As I squinted up at the Temple of Apollo, I tried to imagine the three hundred statues that once stood in the open air on bases, columns, pillars and under colonnades, brilliant light reflecting off white marble and gilded bronze.

Castalia Spring ©2009 Charlene Nevill

Castalia Spring ©2009 Charlene Nevill

Longing for relief from the heat, I set off for the lower part of the site, home of The Sanctuary of Athena Pronaia and the Tholos. Along the way, I hoped to find the Castalia Spring where the Oracle bathed before each of her sessions with Apollo. This purification ritual was such an integral part of her preparations that I was convinced that if anything might trigger my ‘remembering’, it would be this sacred spring.

By the side of the road, I came across a small fountain with a steady trickle of water. Just a few feet away, I found the actual site of the spring, but sadly it was closed off. Neither this derelict reservoir nor the miniscule fountain I’d just passed bore any resemblance to the spring in my imagination. But I was determined to test the water, so I retraced my steps and placed my hands in the tiny stream. I felt a refreshing coolness, pleasant and most welcome in the mid-day heat, but nothing more.

The Gymnasium at Delphi ©2009 Charlene Nevill

The Gymnasium at Delphi ©2009 Charlene Nevill

Moving on, I saw that the only hope for shade was an ancient olive tree in the middle of the parched earth and piles of rubble that had once been The Gymnasium. It was here that the youth of Delphi were educated and the athletes trained for the Pythian Games. There were rooms for teaching and for conferences, dressing rooms for the athletes and stone basins for bathing. And at the far end of the site was what remained of the Tholos – three reconstructed columns. Once an impressive circular structure with an outer ring of 20 Doric columns and ten interior Corinthian columns, the Tholos was believed to be connected with cthonian or underworld cults.

Olive Tree at the Gynasium ©2009 Charlene Nevill

Olive Tree at the Gynasium ©2009 Charlene Nevill

After walking the entire length of the site in the scorching heat inspecting hundreds of giant stones, I returned to the olive tree to rest. As I sat next to its gnarled trunk relishing the shade and the slight breeze touching my skin, I felt something. A presence. A stirring of deeply-buried emotions, sadness tinged with longing for something or someone I’d known long ago.

And then somewhere in the hills above me, I heard the bleating of a baby goat. From the sound, I knew it was lost and wanted its mother. I had been yearning to see goats – an entire herd of goats with their bells clanging – but aside from the goat-crossing sign I’d seen on my way into Delphi, this was the first indication that such a sighting might be possible. I stood and scanned the cliffs above me and the hills below, but I couldn’t see the goat. Then I heard a lower-pitched bleating – perhaps that of an older, male goat and I heard a bell. I was relieved – and hopeful that I might get to see a herd of goats after all.