Category Archives: Greece

Strange Vibrations

On my first morning in Delphi, I woke up just as the sun was rising. Stepping out onto my little terrace, I saw a ghostly moon hanging above the valley and rays of sunlight touching the hills and olive groves below. Everywhere birds were calling out and singing their morning songs.

After breakfast at the hotel, I headed straight for the Sanctuary. I met few people along the way, but as I neared the site, I saw at least a half dozen tour buses and I knew it would be challenging to keep my focus in the midst of the crowds. I kept hearing ‘OMPHALOS, OMPHALOS’ in my head as I walked past the tour groups that had stopped along the Sacred Way to listen to lectures. Quickening my pace, I hoped they would be distracted long enough for me to have a few moments alone with the ancient stone.

Standing with my back to the crowds, I held my hands about eight inches away from the stone’s surface, one on each side. Starting at the center, I felt an unmistakable throbbing sensation in both hands. Moving my hands up to the top, I felt nothing. Back toward the center, the pulsations began again. Then, squatting down, I held my hands near the bottom. Nothing.

I wanted to find a place nearby to sit and absorb these strange vibrations, but the crowds were advancing so I moved off and sat down on a rock where I could gaze at the pillars that once formed the entrance to the Temple of Apollo.

A group of seniors with an English-speaking tour guide stopped directly in front of me. Talking about the Temple as the place where the Oracle delivered her prophesies, she claimed that the Pythia, sequestered behind a curtain, did nothing more than moan and rant while the priests who had taken questions from the supplicants, would ‘interpret’ her hysterical incantations. According to the guide, the priests continually gathered knowledge of politics and worldly affairs from the pilgrims who passed through Delphi; she gave little, if any credit to the Oracle.

The Oracle at Delphi

I wondered where she had found her information. From my research, I understood that the priests at Delphi did, in fact, play a pivotal role in deciphering the Oracle’s prognostications. But from studying illustrations of the Oracle while in trance delivering her prophecies and from reading about these sessions, I hadn’t come across any indication of a screen or curtain separating her and her audience. And with Socrates, Plato, and Aristotle among the Pythia’s fans, it was hard to imagine that such a fraud could have been perpetuated successfully over the course of 1,200 years.

As the group moved on, my attention was drawn back to the Omphalos. I thought how strange it was to feel such a connection with this other-worldly object. But maybe it wasn’t so strange. In her book Messages from Spirit: The Extraordinary Power of Oracles, Omens, and Signs, spiritual intuitive Colette Baron-Reid talks about rocks as sacred sign-bearers. According to Reid, rocks and stones have life-force energy even though they’re inanimate. And as part of the metaphorical language of Spirit, they represent looking into the past for knowledge.

Well, that pretty much summed up my goal for this journey. The problem was that as hard as I looked, I didn’t seem to be any closer to finding my past. Maybe trying harder wasn’t going to elicit a response from Source after all.

The Oracle is In

1 Reply

Or is she? As I approached the sanctuary later that first afternoon, dark clouds framed the mountains as the sun cast the last rays of daylight over the ruins. Feeling a familiar clutching in my heart and my gut as I gazed at that mountain, I knew I’d been here before.

There were scores of people at the site from all over the world. I wondered if the news about the site’s closure had been as disappointing to them as it had to me, but I thought it unlikely that more than a handful had made the trip expressly to commune with the Oracle.

As I walked along the Sacred Way, I focused intently on every stone, every pedestal, and every column hoping to find some connections with the past. I continued to feel overwhelmed by the mountains that towered over the site; I knew they had something to tell me, but I had no idea what it might be nor how to find out.

Below the Treasury of the Athenians, I got my first glimpse of the Omphalos. Tears welled up and my heart ached with an unidentifiable sadness. I couldn’t ‘see’ anything, and I didn’t ‘know’ anything that I didn’t already know, but I was certain that this large, egg-shaped stone and I had a history.

Created to symbolize the center, or navel of the earth, the original Omphalos was kept in the Adyton, the inner sanctum in the Temple of Apollo where the Oracle made her prophesies. Delphic authorities had placed several replicas around the sanctuary to remind pilgrims of the site’s holiness. Judging from the appearance of this stone, it was very, very old, and assuming it hadn’t been moved, a multitude of supplicants had passed it as they made their way to the Temple with their queries.

Because I wouldn’t have the opportunity to get close to the Adyton, I vowed to spend time with this strange artifact during the next few days and ‘feel’ its energy. Maybe it, too, had something to tell me.

Source Throws a Curve

Chocolate Cake for Breakfast

3 Replies

Looking back, I think the first seeds for this trip were planted when I read The Camino, Shirley MacLaine’s account of her pilgrimage along the Santiago de Compostela Camino in northern Spain. I was inspired by her encounters with entities from past lives, her visions and revelations. I told myself that I’d like to take a similar journey someday, but one with better food and more comfortable accommodations. And here I was, nine years later looking over the breakfast buffet at my hotel in Athens thinking about Shirley and the meagre meals she was offered at the refugios along her 500-mile trek.

Socrates, my seat mate on the plane from Heathrow, told me that Greeks don’t do breakfast, and it was all too apparent from the offerings before me that this was the case. The cold hard-boiled eggs, dry bread, deli-sliced processed cheese and what I assumed was ham, canned fruit cocktail, and overly-thick Greek yogurt represented a veritable feast compared to the meals Shirley encountered on her pilgrimage, yet I longed for something more.

I headed for a cafe I’d discovered the day before that claimed to have the best coffee in the city. After seating myself outside beneath the awning, a waiter approached. I remembered Socrates telling me I must try bougatsa, a phyllo pastry with a creamy custard filling sprinkled with powdered sugar and cinnamon. I ordered a latte and asked if they had this classic Greek confection, but alas, no. From our brief interchange, I knew the waiter’s understanding of English was limited, and my ability to speak Greek was nonexistent. As he waited patiently, I heard myself say, “Pain au chocolat?” Now, I was totally aware that I wasn’t in France, but I thought – well, to be honest, I wasn’t thinking – it had just poppped out of my mouth. The waiter nodded and minutes later was back at my table with a large piece of chocolate layer cake. Deciding I may as well make the best of a botched communication, I dug in. And I have to tell you, it was one of the best pieces of chocolate cake I’d ever eaten.

After devouring every last crumb, I set off for the new Acropolis Museum. When I arrived, there was a long line and when I got through security, I learned that my ticket to the Acropolis did not, in fact, grant me entrance to the museum as had been advertised. The line for tickets was equally long, and I knew that the museum was closing early that day because of the national elections, so I decided to give it up and come back at the end of my trip.

Before taking off, I examined what was visible of the ruins of an ancient city beneath the museum discovered when construction began ten years ago. The neighborhood, inhabited from the fifth century B.C to the 12th century, included private villas, bathhouses, workshops and cisterns, and the dig uncovered a treasure trove of busts, coins, children’s toys and cooking utensils. The site which had been filled with truckloads of sand to protect it during construction won’t be totally uncovered and open to visitors until next year, but I was fascinated by what I could see through the glass walkways leading up to the museum.

Herod Atticus Odean ©2009 Charlene Nevill

It was now late morning and I had no other plans for the day, so I joined the tourists and Athenians on the walkway on the south slope of the Acropolis. I wasn’t on the lookout for more monuments, but I had to stop to admire the Odeon of Herod Atticus, a stone theatre built in 161 AD. Still in use, the Odeon is one of the main venues of the annual Athens Festival.

As I continued meandering along some of the same streets and alleys I’d walked the day before, I was thinking how strange it was for me to be moving through the city with no map and no predetermined plan. Walking more slowly, stopping to observe whatever caught my attention, listening to my instincts – it had all worked surprisingly well on my first day in Athens. But a half hour into my after-dinner walk, I realized I had wandered into unfamiliar territory and I had no idea how to find my way back to my hotel. With the crowds, the lights and the souvenir shops, I was beginning to feel like I was trapped in a Twilight-Zone carnival where all the vendors looked exactly alike. But instead of giving in to fear of being irretrievably lost, I remained calm and just kept going. And after walking in what seemed like a maze for at least an hour, I found myself back in front of the restaurant where I’d had my dinner.

The labyrinth, a maze-like structure from Greek mythology, is often thought of as a symbolic form of pilgrimage, and in modern times it’s used to quiet the mind and to promote a contemplative state. The streets of the Plaka with my hotel, The Central, at the center of the maze, had served that purpose for me with the added bonus of helping me let go of a deeply-imbedded fear. I hoped that after this journey as I made my way back out into the world, I would have a broader understanding of myself and my place in it.

Afternoon at the Acropolis

1 Reply

Athens Central Market ©2009 Charlene Nevill

By the time I’d finished my lunch, the sun had come out and it was even hotter and more humid. As I continued my meandering, I passed a dilapidated building with crowds streaming in and out. I had read about Athens’ Central Market and I had a feeling this was it. Slabs of meat hung on both sides of a long arcade. I’m not squeamish about raw meat, but there was something disturbing about this display. Maybe it was the slippery wetness underfoot or maybe it was the butchers’ bloodstained aprons. Whatever the case, I told myself that if I lived in Athens and this was the only place to procure meat, I would quickly become a vegetarian.

Tower of the Winds ©2009 Charlene Nevill

Moving toward the Acropolis, I found myself in the “Archeological Park” – the walkway built for the 2004 Olympics that connects the city’s most important monuments and leads up to the Parthenon. I hadn’t intended to visit the ruins until the next day, but I felt the urge to press on.

Temple of the Wind Whirling Dervishes

Passing the Roman Agora built by Roman leaders as an extension of the Ancient Agora – Athen’s commercial and civic center where Socrates and Plato strolled and St. Paul spoke – I’m drawn to The Tower of the Winds, the only monument there that’s still standing. Built as a combination sundial and water-powered clock, the octagonal structure served as a home for whirling dervishes in the 18th century.

Along the way, a Greek Orthodox church caught my eye, and although there was nothing remarkable about its exterior, I felt compelled to go inside. As I entered the chapel, I was overwhelmed with sadness. Fighting back tears, I sat down on one of the little carved wooden chairs hoping information would come to shed light on my feelings. Gazing at the Byzantine icons and mosaics and watching supplicants walk up to and kiss portraits of saints I didn’t recognize, I had no idea where this emotion was coming from, but it was very strong. I wondered if there might be a connection between my lifetime in Delphi and another here in Athens. Or maybe this sadness wasn’t even mine.

Theater of Dionysos ©2009 Charlene Nevill

Before climbing the final stretch to the top of the Acropolis, I stopped to admire the Theater of Dionysos. Dedicated to the god of wine and fertility and patron of the arts, it was built in the 4th century B.C. and restored early in the 19th century. With 64 rows of seats, the original theater accommodated up to 17,000 and hosted Athens’ City Dionysia Festival where dramatists Sophocles, Euripides and Aristophanes competed.

When I reached the top of the Acropolis, I found that the Propylaia, the 5th century entrance, and the Temple of Athena Nike had been almost entirely dismantled for restoration. The only two structures currently standing are the Parthenon and the Erechthion, the tomb of the legendary King of Athens famous for its Caryatids.

Despite its compromised condition with scaffolding encasing three sides, my first glimpse of the Parthenon took my breath away. I never imagined I’d be standing in front of this famous temple, yet there I was. The intense sun and the unrelenting wind told me I wasn’t dreaming. I walked all the way around the monument trying to grasp its enormity imagining its grandeur before its sculptures and friezes were carted away.

Feeling that I’d seen enough historical monuments for one day, I headed back down towards the Plaka. I wanted to rest and it was too early for dinner, so I stopped at a small taverna for a drink. I ordered ouzo, the famous Greek anise-flavored spirit similar to pastis and absinthe. Sitting beneath a canopy of grape vines, sipping my drink, I was hoping for a bit of an altered state, but it didn’t happen. A young couple across the steps finished their drinks and moved away pausing for a deep, passionate kiss. This, too, made me sad. I understood and appreciated the need to make this journey alone, but there were times when I longed for a companion to share the day’s experiences and this was one of them.

Breathing in the Moon

in search of enlightenment