Category Archives: Greece

Morning in the Plaka

With just five hours of sleep, I hit the streets of the Plaka. I had planned to explore this part of the city on my first day in Athens and then make my way to the Parthenon the next before heading on to Delphi on Monday. Located beneath the northern and eastern slopes of the Acropolis, the Plaka is the oldest part of Athens. I had studied several maps of the area, but finding the labyrinth of streets with names like Lysikratous and Plateia Monastirakiou overwhelming, I decided to wander and let my intuition guide me.

The sky was gray that first morning, it was hot and humid, and the streets were crammed with tourists. Resembling a cross between Canal Street in New York and Fisherman’s Wharf in San Francisco, the Plaka is filled with little shops and cafes, and in the midst of it all are ancient stone chapels and cathedrals. With graffiti covering storefronts, plate glass windows, lampposts, benches – in short, anything and everything with a surface – there’s a feeling of entropy and there’s a forlorn air about the shopkeepers, too, almost as if they’re waiting for the next chapter of Greek history to begin.

And then there are the dogs. I considered starting a list of ‘Things I Wasn’t Expecting to See in Athens and Wish I Hadn’t”, but not wanting to focus on the negative, I quickly put that project aside. I must tell you about the dogs, though, and the cats, too. The dogs are just lying about with their eyes closed. With no homes, they have no sense of purpose and little will to live. The cats seem to be doing a little better – at least they have the challenge of going after mice and rats. Thankfully, animal advocates with help from other countries in Europe and from Canada are working to develop a number of programs to alleviate this deplorable problem.

After wandering up and down dozens of streets, I came upon a modest taverna at the end of an alley. As is typical of such establishments, the menu is only a suggestion of what might be available on any given day. Settling on stuffed cabbage leaves, I’m told there aren’t any today, and I’m invited to walk up to the cafeteria-style display to see what’s being served. I select a stew of lamb, potatoes, onions and sweet peppers in a red wine sauce and return to my table to wait.

Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis once said, “You are about to have your first experience with a Greek lunch. I will kill you if you pretend to like it.” My first Greek lunch was surprisingly good, and I silently thank Matt Barrett and his Athen’s Survival Guide for encouraging his readers to seek out restaurants serving authentic Greek food.

The Tests Begin

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Despite rather ominous predictions, I have returned unscathed from my journey to Delphi. As promised, there were tests. And there was an unexpected development. But I’m grateful to have had the opportunity to make the trip and I’m even more grateful to be home.

My first test was one of patience. After a ten-hour flight, I had an eight-hour layover at Heathrow. Rather than dash into London as two of my friends had suggested, I decided to get into the proper frame of mind for a pilgrimage right in the middle of Terminal 5. Feeling not unlike Tom Hanks in the movie The Terminal, I wandered up, down and around both levels several times. I ate. I read. And instead of obsessively engaging strangers in friendly chatter, I sat and calmly observed the people and the space around me and listened to my own thoughts. As daylight turned to darkness and the lights came up, the interior space that had resembled a giant gymnasium a few hours earlier took on the reverential air of a cathedral and there was a palpable hush as the travelers moved about more slowly.

The second test occurred after I arrived at my hotel in Athens. I’d had a pleasant flight from London and I’d arranged a cab to pick me up at the airport, but it was 4 a.m. and I was very tired. After checking in, I made my way to the elevator which turned out to be the size of a matchbox. I wrangled my small suitcase and my small self into the claustrophobic space and prayed as the doors slid closed barely missing my nose. So far, so good.

When I got to my room wanting nothing more than to climb out of the clothes I’d had on for what seemed like days and climb into bed, I couldn’t figure out how to turn the lights on. Just inside the door, there were the usual switches, but pressing and pushing them up and down did nothing. I parked my suitcase inside the room and headed back to the front desk. I was told to insert the room key into the slot at the top of the first switch. Back upstairs, I found the slot, slid my key in and there was light. Hallelujah! But two minutes later, the lights went out. Fumbling about in total darkness, I located the key I’d set down on the beside table and reinserted it into the slot. Lights! Two minutes later, darkness descended once again. Back at the front desk, I learned that the key needed to remain in the slot. Oh. I wondered if I might have been able to figure this out if I hadn’t been awake for over 24 hours. But no matter–I could see at last. And I had arrived at my destination without incident.

Before collapsing, I grabbed my camera and headed for the roof hoping to see the moon above the Acropolis. And there it was shining down on the Parthenon. It wasn’t a harvest moon, but it was full and it was beautiful.

Great Expectations

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“Man cannot discover new oceans until he has courage to lose sight of the shore.” – unknown

In anticipation of my departure, I’ve been experiencing a myriad of emotions, mostly fear and sadness. The fear no doubt is related to that chat I had with Source a while ago about being tested on this journey. And my clairvoyant friend Angelika warned me when this trip was just a fantasy that I could make all the plans all I wanted, but Spirit would have final say in the way things would unfold. And the sadness? Well, I have a premonition that nothing will be the same when I return.

But according to writer, teacher, travel leader, and documentary filmmaker Phil Cousineau who has been on the road all his life, this is exactly what can be expected when one sets out on a soulful journey. In his book, The Art of Pilgrimage, he recounts innumerable stories about pilgrims, sojourners and explorers who have traversed the globe throughout the millennia.

Siting Muriel Rukeyser’s essay, The Life of Poetry, Cousineau compares the fear of soulful travel to resistance to modern poetry. “A poem invites you to feel. More than that: it invites you to respond. And better than that: a poem invites a total response. So too with powerful and soulful travel. It seizes your imagination, but the way through to the sacred moment can also be through deep anxiety about the unknown. The possibility produces fear in many travelers, even at the threshold of their own door before leaving home.”

What am I expecting to find at Delphi? If given the choice, I would wish for a transformative experience analogous to that of Henry Miller, who was so moved by his travels through Greece that the account of his journey, The Colossus of Maroussi, “streamed from the heavens” straight into his soul. I couldn’t ask for anything more than that.

So, I am off at last. I leave today unfettered and untethered, so you won’t see anything from me until I return mid-October. In the meantime, don’t forget to look for the Harvest Moon this weekend. God willing, I will be viewing it rising above the Acropolis.

Chipmunks and Cow Pies

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The chipmunks are driving me crazy. They won’t let me sleep and when I sit down to write, there’s so much chatter I can’t think straight. Each and every one of the furry little beasts is jumping up and down in a fit of frenzy trying to get my attention. These aren’t real chipmunks, mind you, and they’re not spirit guides either. They are, instead, physical manifestations of my overactive mind. Let me explain.

For several weeks, I’ve been going to The Aesclepion Healing Center in San Rafael for a ‘healing hands’ class. Before getting to the chipmunks, though, let me point out that Aesclepius, the Greek god of medicine and healing, was the son of Apollo. And it was Apollo that the Oracles at Delphi channeled in their trances. Yet another Greek connection!

In the first healing hands class, we were introduced to the basic principals of meditation. I’ve been avoiding meditation all my life. It’s not that I hadn’t tried, but every time I sat down and attempted to relax and empty my mind, my body rebelled and I’d be up and moving within five minutes. So I was interested to see if I was ready to quiet my mind and find a way to access a higher state of consciousness.

We learned to set grounding cords to anchor us to the earth, to make our thoughts vanish by putting them in a rose and blowing it up, and to bring in the energy of the sun by imagining golden light coming in through our crown chakras. So far so good. If given a task of imagining something, I could keep my thoughts at bay. Maybe I could do this after all.

Before each class, the students at the Center gather to give and to receive healings and energy checks. After three classes, I had my energy checked by a perky blonde who looks like Julia Duffy in the ’80’s series ‘Newhart’. First she saw the color green around me. Every time I have a reading, I’m surrounded by green and I have yet to find out what this means. Then she said that she saw cow pies on top of my head (I don’t know what this means either), and a bunch of chipmunks scurrying around inside my head. According to ‘Julia’, the chipmunks are uninvited spirit guides, and they’re not happy because I’m not paying as much attention to them as I did in the past.

And she saw my father who’s been dead for over 20 years. He, too, was trying to get my attention, waving his arms saying, “I can help. Let me help.” At the time I understood this to mean that he wanted to help me with my healing hands class. Later I realized that his intention was to inform me that I could call upon him to help heal from the trauma of our past lives together.

So, I have a lot of work to do. I need to get the chipmunks under control, and I have to find a way to forgive my father. I would guess that those past lifetimes with him are the very reason I’ve been avoiding meditation in the first place.

Breathing in the Moon

in search of enlightenment