Apollo, beyond Polarity

November 23, 2013 by pisicka

It’s been almost three months since the completion of our Apollo journey. The thing that started like a foggy premonition, yearning and deep desire of reunion with something unknown is completing the circle today. Just before our departure, the astrological configuration showed the Star of David. One of the most powerful portals for fusing the masculine and feminine principles into non-polarity, Oneness, Divine. The Epsilon Portal.

The great Temple of Apollo at Delphi had several inscriptions on its entrance. Most prominent was a large letter E (Epsilon) made of gold. Its meaning was an enigma, even in antiquity.

Over the millennia, many interpretations have been suggested. Some are based on the meaning of E, fifth letter of the Greek alphabet, as the number five. Others say it is not an letter at all, but a religious symbol, or glyph, which predates writing.

Plutarch, the eminent biographer and Middle Platonist philosopher, was, in addition, a priest at Delphi. He suggested that the meaning is found not in the letter itself, but in its pronunciation: “EI”, which in Greek means “Thou art.” Hence he speculated it served as a respectful address to the god, Apollo — as though, when entering the temple, one honors the god by saying “Thou art!”

A still more intriguing possibility is that “EI” is the god’s greeting to visitors. That is, the god of revelation, Apollo, greets the seeker, saying: “Know, O soul, this most profound and mysterious truth, beside which all else fades to insignificance: THOU ART!”

I AM THAT I AM.

I am Masculine, the Power and Wisdom Principle, The Arrow. The triangle pointing up.

I am the Feminine, the Love and Compassion Principle, The Goblet. The triangle pointing down.

I am both of them, the MOuntain and the Cave, the Infinite, the Star of David.

Our journey started by touching two of the equilateral triangle tips. The Triangle is formed by the Temple of Aphaia, in Egina, the Acropolis, and the Temple of Poseidon, at Cape Sounion. The triangles followed us everywhere, and we got into triangle shaped caves.

The two Epsilons on the pendants that attracted us so much: the Masculine and Feminine, in Fusion. This message of bringing together Poles into union started around Solstice and comes today to its fulfillment. Today, November 23, six planets in our Solar system create another portal, a Star of David, that anchors this fusion back into a male principle dominated Earth. People are speaking about the return of the Goddess, or the Feminine principle. It is, more than anything else, the return of Harmony and Creation here, in the 3-D plane.

Looking at the ancient symbol Greeks know so profoundly and love so much, there are a few details worth mentioning:

on the horizontal axis of manifestation, the male and female principles come into union. Wisdom and compassion join into creating a new level of reality, that is drawn by the line that connects the two opposite poles’ centers.
on the vertical axis, the connection between Up and down is restored. We have a cross, that expresses the alchemy of the God/Goddess sacred link, and the restoring of the broken link between upper realms and material world. And so it is.
everything sits on the 12-ray Sun, with the portal/circle in the middle. 12. another sacred number, which, in itself, is worth another article, but to be concise: 2 make 1. One plus two is the Sacred Trinity. What a coincidence. Father, Son and Holy Ghost.

and it does not stop here. The Three-Fold Flame. The Fleur de Lys. Triratna. The three main forces described in the yogic practices, with deep roots in the Vedas:

Everything comes back into the Triangle, and the chase continues. Remember the name of the main feminine character in Matrix?… Maybe it is the right time to watch this movie from the perspective of combined actions of Morpheus and his male/female lieutenants.

No wonder three people, who once were mother, father and daughter, came together.

The fourth pillar of this build: Apollo himself, God of Revelations, who opened the roads into the deep knowledge, marked it with clear signs and initiated the access into the Epsilon Portal. Everything comes together, in the fullest, roundest possible way.

So, dearest Ones, find your inner Yin and Yang. Accept them and bring them into fusion. Find your inner balance and walk back into Life, with the greatest gift you could bring: the Love, the Power and the Wisdom to keep them in balance. And if you would like to take the challenge and ride the same roller coaster, get ready: next year, in May, we are going to do it once again.

Saints, Gods and Elohim

November 20, 2013 by pisicka

Olympus was originally off the “to-do” list on this trip, but seeing it, in the first morning, overwhelming and crystalline, induced a change of plans. So, from the comfy beds of the lady of Stomio, we jump straight into the sea for the morning shower. No one else in the clear, cool water. A thousand times better than a shower, the morning swim and the salt drying on our skin are replacing coffee successfully. Coffee comes from the Greek woman as well, on the house. This coffee, called Turkish in my country, has that creamy texture of the coffees boiling in my mother’s pot. It had a dark cherry color and I can remember every spot, dent, size of this morning flavor item. Until the first coffee filter showed up… and then the magic got broken.

We leave breakfast for later, we have fruit and nuts in the car. water, and juice, as well..

There are several possibilities to reach the top. Most of the information show two – we chose the one recommended by the hotel manager in Delphi. But, as we were about to see, all these paths are made of obstacles, like in fairy tales. We would find out much later that there are four roads to thte top. All, extremely treacherous and difficult. Especially in the final part. On the road atlas in A.’s car, the road seems straight…. because everything is so small on that map. In fact, it is a stubborn winding climb. We go through Kira and we want to descend on the other side, through Agios Dimitrios. It’s just that the plan made home does not ever fit with the one in the field.

IN Kira we are being mislead by the vegetable merchant, roaming the village with his truck full of goodies and a huge ancient scale… then, a Greek woman, just emerged from the Sunday church service, indicates in French where to meet the tarmac road. We wind up, up, on the massive rock. A crossroad with no sign, next to a tiny church: Saint Nektarios again. The door is open, candles at hand, everything prepared, but apparently no none there. We go around, light our candles, and proceed as we thing it would be ok, but, with all crossroads, the direction seems wrong compared with the one we knew we needed. So we turn through the forest :D. The Opel literally goes up a path until we meet another road that goes up, up, up. It is the good one, just that we should have had a real 4 x 4, not a SUV. The car should be tall, with big wheels, able to climb the rocky road. We need to leave the car, nicely parked next to the road portion that became an issue. STarting on foot, now I know there were about another 12 -15 km to go The energy of the place is huge. I realize each of us, not only I., has their owhn quest to perform here. And there is goes. Fitness, choice of path and the terrain itself separate us and each of us goes on a personal discovery way. Mine, beyond meeting the limit of lack of exercise and overcoming the crushed knee, which is the most strained during the climb, a spiral going up to the right side of the mountain, gets me to a level where I have to get over the pain and exhaustion of the three hours of continuous, gruesome climb on constant rocky- gravel ground that does not allow for sizing your step properly, but continuously oscillate depending on the height of the next rock to step on.

The Top is not visible, it remains shrouded in mist, as the physical level is left behind because of all the effort, and I enter a totally different layer of consciousness, where the body mechanically works, but all energy forms and shapes around become visible, totem animals start showing, the stones shift their shapes and whisper. above all, the presence of the Mountain, giant, overwhelming shape of solid energy, the presence of Creators of Form – the Elohim Gods – and the revelation of the personal leap get a much higher importance than anything else. I am climbing a mountain that leads to the M shape peak of Olympus, knowing we are a kind of strange catalyst for a circular wave that is opening here and now. My mission is different from I.’s. He is completely infused with the physical, intense need to reach the top. ,As usual, a step behind, I open and close spaces, activate the grid, I would like to stop and meditate… at a certain point, I realize the difference between our tasks and I decide to sit. I am completely overwhelmed by the power of this place.

Everything seems to loose its relevance, facing the huge fields watching us like silent giants, with arms crossed. Beyond the top of this mountain, the real climb starts. I. knows, it is late, almost 4.30. We will not get to go up today. So he makes the decision and here we go, floating down, on a different road than the one we climbed. The descent is like a dream, in spite of the continuous pressure on hips and the knee. Among junipers bushes, back, to the car that gently waits, in a place worth an Opel commercial, so that we can go back to a beach, at a decent hour. Or not :D.

We drive down the tarmac road, until we see another little church. Everything is closed, nothing locked. We light candles. I. Starts the bell. I hope the village does not come for service . The road that heads down to the village is closed, but the Gate Opener makes way for us to descend. And we go down. and down. Olympus is almost 3,000 meters tall, so the way down seems endless.

There is gas for another 60 km, we are on our way to Agios Dimitrios, to return to Katerini. A road sign says Ski slope, Olympus. I. goes ballistic, he is like a kid in front of the candy store window. So here we are, up again, towards Olympus, on the other side. The Northern one. The beautiful asphalt road ends right in front of a military unit. When we were about to turn back, I. jumps out of the moving car cand tells us to wait a bit. Returning, in triumph, he explains the terms: we only need the passport and a phone number, provided we return before it gets darak and take no photos of military items.

Just a turn around this curve, he says. Then there is another turn. And another one. I understand his quest, it is his path not mine and the attempt to fool me like I was a little kid does not fit my appreciation standards. Turning back, I head straight to the laptop, there is something urgent I need to finish for business. Music on, mind in the marketing plans and budget Excel sheets, the frustration vanishes like dew in the sunshine and I am back to my butterfly serenity when they return. A. is dead tired, she gave up as well at a certain moment. It is not the time yet.

Well. This one, checked as well, although incomplete: time to go to Katerini. We skipped meals, it is time for a dinner, at least… and that is what we are doing. After unnecessary turns, due to successive conflicts between I. and Gitsa, us girls decide to follow the Olympic Beach signs, which is exactly what we do, and we end up in a super conglomerate of hotels, where we get a six bed apartment for the enormous price of 35 euro . The we descend into a restaurant. I. does not like our sharing style, he orders something thinking it would be chicken and ends up with a salty pork gyros, exchange through the kindness of the owner. The chicken is salty, too. By contrast, our eggplants, zucchini and tzatziki, accompanied by other vegetarian mini dishes, looks much more enticing. The impossible food is packed so we do not hurt the owners’ feelings and we compensate with quite a bit of ouzo, naturally leading to the final brandy. We finished the Metaxa bottle, it was time, tomorrow we will be leaving. And the words float further, into the night, between the scent of the nearby sea and the holy rocks that we came from.

Apollo’s Portal

November 19, 2013 by pisicka

Our last night’s unfulfilled task makes us rush towards Acropolis. Smooth paths, a crowd of all nations and languages flows through the profitable filter of the cash desk and ascends through the ancient theatre entrance. The way to the Light of Wisdom is open, the secred, well hidden here, on the Athenian peak at the and of the road used of so many millenia by the sacred processions. Although the carved friezes still lay, stolen, in other European museums, nothing can steal the serenity and unseen force of this place. The power statement made by the great temple, and then the secret center that radiates energy and knowledge.

Erechteion, the Cinderella of the place, with its hidden beauty, and the six, six, six statues. Three and three. Trinity in its feminine aspect, trinity in its masculine aspect. Complete fusion of polarity, with all its sides: potential, creation, destruction. There is so much knowledge, so much wisdom and so much Light stored here, in the old stones that sing for the ones who have ears to listen….

Beyond obvious elements and the explanations pronounced by the guides, in all languages of the Earth, abounding in facts and figures with no final sense lies the Light. In the Upper City, the chose ones get to reach it, and the merit is higher if they know how to absorb what is happening and what is conveyed here.

We descend through the back, after circling all great buildings and fueled ourselves with the power cocktail they administrate. People flocking here in the thousands daily must be sensing something. There is something drawing you, from thousands of miles away, like a compulsory point of passing in one’s path through Life. Seeking the sacred road, the one I remember from another time, when there was no pollution and no noise, and I recall it going up, nopt down, we get to the sign of wise old lions, heritage from our stellar dowry, on a path where we only meet gardeners and archaeologists. Behind it, under the great supporting rock of Erechteion, there are three, again three caves. We are three. After repeatedly getting the message about four, here we are, three, a family over lives, researching and searching whatever is hidden here, under the successive layers of civilization . marked with modest signs, the caves show signs of early buildings – the poles had support sockets in the rock, and one can imagine the inner spaces, from another age, but belonging to the same profound luminous energy that makes the contour of the stone shiver and buzz in the bright morning sun.

No doubt, this is a place worth sitting and meditating. The entire endeavor finds a meaning, the dots connect and become a very clear drawing, starting from I.’s diffuse intuition on Apollo’s portals. Athena was his ally. His sister and ally. IN brotherhoods described in a mundane way by the chronicles carved in stone, but well kept behind the stories lies the mystery of the high energy, layered successively down to the insectarium of the physical dimension. These energies let Creators mold the flesh matrix, conteiner of the Spirit.

A steep descent brings us back, to the sacred road. Lots of new fences appeared since my last visit here and it is much harder to keep with the route of the old processions, but the tickets we bought up on the hill allow us to get down, to the temple of Hephaistos – why him? – and to new memories that have no other connection into now than our continuity of consciousness. Kings of the place, agora, life then, and the fields radiating from the supple buildings, sitting on columns. The road takes us back, to the street that leads to the hotel, in front of Moma: this is an offer that we absolutely cannot decline… so we sit again for a salad re-make, this time crowned with a typical orange cake, sending us to Heaven on a slope of vanilla ice cream. Real vanilla. No artificial coloring, the tiny black aromatic seeds visible in the milky dream. This place is a blessing. And, thus slowly landing into the world, we decide to grab our gear and go to Delphi.

Starting is a nightmare, both the real and digital guys in the car have a controversy and meanwhile we are looking for a place to repair the air conditioning. It is Friday… The Greeks do not work. Well. As we are heading to the mountains, it should be cooler there. After not listening to Gitsa and instead of heading West we went North, entering the highway, arguing about the optimum route, we need to stop for a coffee to ease the tension before driving the driver nuts.

It does sound odd, but although in a honey-like mood, it does not mean we cannot have different opinions, and the energy is high, influent, impacting. So I start working on it a little bit, with focus on containment, so that we would not trouble our driver again. We take a left and enter a fairy tale road, among hills that seem to grow bigger and bigger, until the road becomes really curvy. A., apparently obsessed with caves in this trip, finds a ruined tower, guarding a cave with a crumbled roof. The sensation of heavy, stagnant energy, specific to cursed places, is amplified by the black traces, tar-like, as if the fires of Hell had burned here. A blessing, a candle, then we go. Gitsa and the map provide identical opinions this time, and we float up the winding road, to a magic place.

A small terrace, nested in a curve, by the road, with old trees, fountain and wasp traps made of punched soda bottles, waits, anesthetized, for travellers to stop for a juice, a coffee… anything. We find there an old lady – probably operating the kitchen – and a waiter-receptionists-good-for-all young guy who looks like a monk in civil disguise. The beard, the pigtail, the sensation of balance and peace. Definitely a monk, maybe not in this life. We are resting around a soda, called lemonade, looking like Kinley and tasting like Sprite, containing a ton of sugar, a beer, a tea, and stories. Up there is a road going to the ski slopes, but the cable car does not work. An option for tasting the energy of Parnassus.

The mountain vibrates ample, profound, overwhelming. We jump into the car, we are speding the night in Delphi, and need to find the hotel I reserved via Trip Advisor. Brilliant. Called Fedriades, the manager worked in Ramada and one can notice the large hotel chain type of training. The rooms see to the Gulf of Corinth, a distant promise of a captive sea, and as the night falls, you can feel more and more the magic of the place. Delphi infiltrates into the mind, gets into the body, like a magic potion, working in stages. We are all high in a way beyond description, walking on the narrow streets. My eyes are instantly caught by a medalion with a strange symbol, one that I seem to have known forever. A kind of a cross and a slightly curved shape of an eight- pointed star. Two Epsilon letters, back to back. And when I ask for it, the eyes of the shop owner grow bigger: how do you know about the Epsilon?

It looks like we have just bumped into one of the Ancient Mysteries.

The Syrius connection. I.’s theory about the portal we came through starts getting some substance. The symbol, they say, was carved above the sacred rock of Pythia. Old knowledge flows. I recognize and chood sthe symbol from the whole bunch of silver pendants in the window. The lady asks why have I chosen it. I am on the auto pilot anyway, floating in the thick, liquid energy, that I know it and came for it. The store pulls the blinds down after I make the purchase and I feel like I am in a space/time fault, like a galactic gas station where we came to fill our tanks. Then we find another store, another pendant… and yet another one… and the necklaces we needed to wear the symbol of our imminent meeting with what called us here in the first place.

Still groggy, we stop at one of the too large, too empty restaurants, reflecting the size of tourist hords in the high season. A cat shows up from nowhere, going straight to our Tiger. A batch of tenderness beyond compare and a treat with the only thing she would eat from our vegetarian meal: butter. Then the cat is swallowed by the very night she emerged from, and the darkness weaves magic around us, dense and almost material, so we head back, to the hotel rooms, to prepare something special.

Although used to go to sleep late, tell stories, cuddle in bed, wrapped in teh wings of Night before starting our astral journeys, this time something very strange happens. After opening the space, we are suddenly sucked into the craziest dream parade, mixed with teachings and mysteries that we have ever experienced up to now. A journey beyond compare, in which I feel the fusion of polarity, understanding why the two welded Epsilon and I feel A. in the next room living her own encounter with The Fourth.
The fourth in this expedition. There is four of us in the Light. The altar and portal stay open for us, at least until tomorrow. The pendands vibrate around our necks, picking all useless things from the bodies, getting us rid of old signatures, reprogramming, harmonizing, realigning. The alchemy has started, and we threw ourselves into its magic core, serene, not knowing what will be, but understanding that the only way is ahead.

La Vie en Rose

November 19, 2013 by pisicka

After the sequence of re-uniting and separating, we are getting ready to touch the first point of the sacred triangle that is traced by Acropolis, Egina and Cape Sounion. T The inspiration of this journey seems to be Apollo, for a rather diffuse reason, but I am sure the explanation will reveal itself.

The extremely strong morning sun is bearable at 8 am, but becomes burning at 11. The impeccable terrace of the hotel, with terracotta tiles and twisted iron chairs and tables is surrounded by massive pots with plants, and populated by a tribe of beggar pidgeons. A wonderful vantage point, looking to the Upper City. The morning is clear, smooth and the peace that floats over the Fortress of Wisdom does not predict any of the havoc in the street. The pidgeons are fighting over the bun we offered them, giving us the chance of examining their cruel clan hierarchy. The Alpha, the fattest, does not let anything through

, and the shy and less fortunate little ones wait behind the pots.

After the black tea and the compulsory yogurt, we start towards Piraeus, to take one of the fast ships to Egina. After the Athenian tribulations with the GPS, we have decided that public transportation is a simpler and less risky option. It is autumn,.. the grand modern catamarans, nicely painted in the colors of sponsors – Vodafone, Cosmote, a ton of cash spent on commercials – disappeared.

marile porturi, marile vase, căile de apă

But the old fast boats seem more Greek, and the 40 minutes ride, compared with the 3 hours on the ferryboat, seems a piece of cake. We stop at one of the ticket sales office, and my mind plays memory from a previous cycle, with the clear sensation that one chapter is closing, and another one is starting. On the boat tickets, nicely printed, we all have the same name. So we take seriously the family roles, and little did we suspect….

. Before departure, we have time for an ice tea (delicious, thanks, Mr. Greek, for the fantastic job), a real coffee for Dad and something for our 30 years old little girl

. A. is already having a lot of fun with the family play cast, but as the time goes by we get serious about the roles. Half an hour after departure, the catamaran lines up parallel to the embankment of the Egina port, next to the microscopic church dedicated to St. Nicholas. We are on the island of pistachio and almonds, and we just flow into the improbable summer, down to the center, by the apparently endless row of shops and fish restaurants. We find a cab trver that quotes a bearable amountm less than what the meter would indicate, those Greeks are promoting black money to the max. .

The curvy road goes up, among pines that exude an incredible perfume, until we reach the temple of Aphaia. It is early, off-season, the only ones at the tickes office are the three of us. The sales person aska how old is our girl. He wants to give her an underage free ticket, to her delight and our amusement. The pine trees hang above our heads, soft and scented. A. gets her free ticket, but the feeling of a much deeper connection than the social one is clear. The temples calls to meditation, the energy is light, luminous, so I sit down, open the space, as my astral family gets over the rope barrier, in the inner area of the temple, to physically establish the connection with the wonder that looks to the sea, silently building the sacred light geometry element. Flashes of other times and characters spark like the slides from an old projector, and we inexplicably feel the profound connection with these charactersWe suddenly remember what happened to the last priestess serving here. We see the light of the place beyond the traditional name and conventional stories. It is an Apollo point, Aphaia was just an intermediary. In the same sudden way, we start, at the same time, to look for our stone with the right vibration. Each of us in a different corner. We find them and come back to the cab driver who waits wondering what are we doing there – most of the tourist come back in 20 minutes and we have been here almost an hour. The cool car, cold water in the backpack and the overwhelming smell of southern pines refresh us. We are descending from the Sky, for our next stop, the Saint Nektarios monastery. A soul feeding stop, compulsory because I promised it to the friends back home who sent there their healing prayers. The end of season provides another wonder. We enter the space, it is just us here, light the candles for the ones here and the ones beyond, and then we enter the wing that hosts the relics of the saint. We stop, in wonder. The service started and it is chanted in Romanian! Then it becomes clear: two monks and a priest lead a small group of Romanian pilgrims, The prayer is authentic, comes from no book, it is a transcript of the priest’s soul, and the contact with the energy that is oozing from the relic, plus the sudden leap into into another state of consciousness bring tears to our eyes and there is this mellow feeling of Presence. We silently watch the small ceremony end , then spend a little time on our own, enchanted by the vibration.

We did not know at that point that we were going to meet Saint Nektarios again… It is like wanting to stay here a bit more, but we exceeded again the time indicated by the cab driver. Therefore, the bill equals the meter :).

Back to the port, we ask for more ice, more, more ice in one of those restaurants with e acele restaurante cu feţe de masă cu pătrăţele albastre şi albe, mese sky blue chairs and tablecloths in dark blue and white squares. The dishes are incredible, and we absolutely love Greeks’ habit of welcoming their guests with a big jug of water. Ice, please. Octopus, calamari, a fish soup that does not go well with I.’s taste and gets in front of me, for the required seasoning with salt and lemon. An old Greek sits next to us. He came to get his lunch and his deeply wrinkeld face, mirroring deep thought and contemplation, seems like coming from a time of no time.

Afer getting stuffed with the water melon we got for free as a dessert, we start roaming the designer stores, wondering why in the world we always stop and look at the most expensive things, we take the Light and the memories of our grown-up childhoods, the Romanian prayer in a Greek church and pack everything on board of yet another Yellow Dolphin that will sail back to Piraeus, to return to the

sizzing downtown of Athens. From the metro station, on the way back to the hotel, we stop in a local food store to fish for a bottle of Metaxa. Bedroom manners on vacation. Then another stop in a smoothie place and we leave, triumphantly, with the strawberry concoct, cold and refreshing, to ret a bit. Not too much, the heart yearns for more. We drop the sweaty clothes and go back, following the wrong advice of our friend that left this morning, she said one can get to Acropolis in the evening, it is open. We float up the hill, towards the entrance. A red train cheats on us, taking us against a huge amount for a few hundred yards to the closed ticked office. We will have to come back tomorrow morning, before heading to Delphi… but now we take advantage of the spare time, going down to the Zeus temple. The park is closed. Suprisingly, many more spaces are now locked compared to last time. But we sit, silently watching the huge columns, then the Roman gate in front of the complex. .

Sliding among the stores and restaurants, we wind back to Monastiraki. We play with the light textures of summer clothes still sold at the stores, flirt with the soaps and olive oils…. mesmerizing, Plaka swallows us, rocks us, makes us dizzy with its perfume and light. We stop (what a genius inspiration( at a restaurant, looking for something more sophisticated, and we dig into one of the most amazing salads we have ever eaten.

For the ones going to Athens, do not miss Moma. And if you get there, visit the restrooms, too.

serviciu minunat, bucătar rafinat, mediu experimentat

Under the glass floor, the old columns unearthed by archaeologists, house foundations and old layers tell their silent stories. On each table, a pot with a tiny olive tree match the elegance of the waitress, balancing betweeen humor, familiar style and professionalism. Sharing a moelleux with homemade vanilla ice cream, we get into the gourmet heaven. Tough to leave this place, so we decide we will return, the restaurant is way over the level of anything I have seen here. I would kill for the recipes of the afrodisiac-divine dressings that accompany each combination of scholarly selected ingredients.

A few steps down the street, on the way to the hotel, my eyes are caught by a line of red candles, nicely set on an interior staircase. As drawn by an invisible thread, I enter the long yard, ending in a nice back yard, a few tables, candles, basil and jazz sung by a guttural feminine voice. It is clear we will have here a long stop. I. gets his supreme pleasure, and the well-ripe Greek sings, accompanied by a guy with a keyboard, living in his music, one by one, songs that open the veins of each of us, like taking turns. There is a deep reverb of memories from other times, things and people we loved and who hurt, wings that made us fly and crash. After A. is brought to her knees by two successive songs, I get hit in the heart with La Vie en Rose, and to make the magic complete, I. receives the last song, interpreted in a duet with a much younger damzel with a crystalline and penetrating voice: What a Wonderful Life. Athens took out of her secret pockets all goodies in the world, spoiling us and making us pass through a storm of feelings, states, sensations. The only thing before the late brandy and whispers is to feel how grateful we are for an amazing day. This is La vie en Rose.

There is Here

November 17, 2013 by pisicka

I’d like so much to linger in the charm of the unseen gates of Delphi. But there are other place to mark… Originally we did not know what. A. gets to chat to the all-ointment greased Greek and we find out with great amazement that he has a full bunch of travel options around Delphi. Under the nicely polished desk there is a huge file organized in pockets, with detailed maps for each destination. Still obsessing with caves, A. comes triumphantly with the information. There is a cave of Pan there, we will go, we will go…

And there we go. Crossing the huge, massive mountain, we enter the ski area. The view is incredible, but the entire place looks like someone threw an atomic bomb. I guess during the winter it comes to life, but now it looks like one of those Western ghost towns, where the only moving thing is the tumbleweed. We have pretty clear instructions, what is the bed and breakfast that we need to find to turn left, follow the signs and climb the endless series of tight curves, until there is little space between the gap and the left wheel of the car. I am tightening my grip onto the door handle. As I am thinking it would be better to turn the car in the first place that allows for it, we get to a small widened – or rounded – portion. Sneakers on, and we continue on the rocky path that leads to the much desired cave… not so touristic, but for sure full of potential .

Entering a huge hall, we see a narrowing portion to the back. It is a gigantic exhibition of weird shapes looking like beings crystallized in the calcite mass, and the sensation of Presence is overwhelming. We plant small offerings here and there, approaching the end of the hall – it looks like an enormous altar, and I feel I need to stop there, this is the place we need to light the candles. I set nicely the whole array to be set, including myself, as I. and A., adventurous as usual, want to explore more and head towards the end of this natural temple. They want to climb the slippery ropes and go beyond, of course. Beyond, the cave continues with other treasures. I open the space, take the first photos with my tiny camera and on its small screen I see the first light beings, crystalline, shining, round or oval. They make the camera focus on them and not on what I am trying to take. Orbs of light, halucinating and so diverse.

The daring ones come back quickly from their exploration trip, less muddy than expected. They join me, the triangle seems to mirror the three side entrance of the cave and we plunge into the sense beyond understanding of this place, in that something that called us from thousands of kilometers. Light floods us, loaded with all sort of information. It feels like a zip folder, we will have to decompress them and digest them later. Also, upgrades, to keep the informatics analogy. t One clear fact is that our subsequent photos, after this phase show us all surrounded by light. The auras are captured on my tiny camera. Two Greek women enter the space with their partners, see us meditating, tiptoe and whisper. When they see us packing, they are excusing for the interruption. No, they did not interrupt anything. Something has just opened here, and they are the first ones to take advantage of this new Gate.

The road back to the valley is much more spectacular than the road up. We have completely crossed the Parnassus and and we are descending, descending, descending towards the sea. On the side of the road, ripe cherry plum trees wave at us, so we stop and taste the rather sour fruit, yellow, refreshing, compensating the lack of water. We ran out of water in the cave. MOuntain landscape, with the fierce and massive rocks, continue until we approach the highway that brought us from Katerini to Athens.

A brief recharging brake in Lamia brings us to a city that looks dead. There is an advantage about Sundays: less road tax, we saved a lot of euros, but when it comes to looking for a restaurant…. dificult.

Facem o scurtă oprire în Lamia, pentru redresare. Oraşul pare mort. Duminicile au avantajul că nu plăteşti taxe de autostradă, am scăpat de o grămadă de euro aruncaţi pe asfalt, dar şi când e să cauţi un restaurant…. greu, greu.

Downtown, we park and find a street that is packed with restaurants, but… God… only grill. We manage to find a hidden one and if my little Greek works, the translation of the name would be The Street of Dreams. Good inspiration, we had wonderful vegetarian Greek specials. And, clearly, we are made for good restaurants .

We linger for another break in Thermopile, to please our warrior in the group. Greeks take advantage of everything when it comes to tourism. Not much here, except a monument and a board depicting the sea level at that time – now it is withdrawn -. The nearby hills are resonating the wailing and crying of the dead beneath the apparent silence. Far away, a vertical wall, like a limit of the trap of the butchery Greeks applied to the Persians holds a perfect, absolutely perfect, round hole, like a Window of the Ogres. Beneath it, the hill where the 300 died, bait for the Persian army of one million fighters, that got the worst beat in its history.

In the dusty parking lot, a fruit laden fig tree seems to wink at us. A. ignores the drunk Greek, asleep on the bench, under the generous shadow of the tre that hosts a wealth of violet, sweet fruit. She takes her slippers off and climbs, cat-like, searching for the much desired pray. The Greek kind of wakes up from his drunken meditation and points to her where to step and how to pick . They seem to get along wonderfully.

Driving down, on the road to the sea side, on the right and left side there are two options – two villages. We choose randomly the one on the right, Stomio, and drive into a wonderful seaside slope, crammed with tiny hotels and bed-and-breakfasts. A typical Greek woman sits in the door of one of those, dressed in black, really serious. She waves, we come and there we go: 25 euro per night, a step way from where the waves break.

We need our Metaxa, quick, quick, and then the evening swim. The sea is incredible, soft and silent and silky, and we float like jellyfish until or fingers get crumpled, and the sun slips behind the mountains.

Another sip of brandy stirs the appetite and we descend to the terrace built above the singing waves. We are surrounded by cats and dogs. We choose a humongous fish, two kilos, it will be expensive, and ask for grilled vegetables. The Greek does not know how to do that and we end with plain fisherman’s food, everything grilled, no oil, no salt, nothing. I. gets annoyed by the basic food, but us, girls, have a great time with the wonderful dorada, and dress the plain veggies with an ad hoc potion made of lemon, oil, salt and pepper… it is really tasty.

Tomorrow, big day. Up on Olympus. And our Greek adventure is getting close to its end. For now.

Cat Country

November 17, 2013 by pisicka

Last night in Delphi was so magic that we decided to tell the nice Greek that runs the hotel with the slightly oily grace of the well seasoned tourism workers that we will be staying for another day. It was a night full of strange dreams and happenings, catalized by the formidable energy of this place: one almost wants to sit for hours or sleep, in order to take maximum advantage of the pouring stream of downloads, from intuition and inspiration to information and sensation.

Anyway, we did not take the offer of taking the bikes to the site and we started, valiantly, on foot. After the all you can eat breakfast and checking the 24 hours coffee statement (at 6 am, descending to get a cup for my dream companion, the reception clerk, barely awake, told me that it was too early for 24 hours). The lack was, anyway, compensated by the generous offer – a bottle of cold water for each of us – to accompany us on the way to the Site.

Delphi, off season, is delicious. Fit for a honeymoon, with sleepy stores, containing all sorts of stuff for tourists, that final apathy, melancholic restaurants enjoying every client.

We pass a lot of oleanders in bloom, on the impeccably done road (I have just realized it’s been 15 years since I last came here, and a lot changed) and a fig tree about to yield its ripe fruit. A., of course, is picking whatever she can reach among the darg green leaves, oozing the end of summer feel.

The entrance and the museum are handbook perfect, superb. We get tickets for the site and museum, and enter that Disneyland trip that takes you into the dark, soft night of Pythia’s Earth, then to the Sun of Apollo and to our date with the Gods, in the upper stadium.

There are some groups, but not very many, and that gives us time to dangle our feet by the rock of the priestesses that once foretold the future, meditate by the altar of Apollo’s temple, watch the numerous “banks”, well, well, are we having some treasuries here or what…. But, mostly, smell the nectar that flows from the top. To my disappointment, the stadium is now separated with a thick rope, one cannot sit in the middle anymore, as I did last time, in the middle of the pouring streams of Light. They have banned the acces, and that comes with another set of stupid museum rules, such as ” no taking photos of people with statues”. I don’t get it.

So we cross over the rope line, take a few steps to see the nearby caves. I. is going on his own quest while we open the mini altar to meditate. There is a sense of silent power to this place. When the family gets reunited, going back on the tourist path, I do my usual thing> looking around, I stumble and my left knee takes a good hit. Ripped white pants, blood flowing. The connection opens immediately. Previous such accidents: going up to Ephesus, in the middle of Champs Elyees and near a 14th century Saxon church, in the heart of Romania. Hmmmm.

Yes, it is a special place indeed. Limestone, stromatolites, phosphates, and for the icing, a fault. I leave the conclusions to the experts. Geologists are talking about cryptocrystalline poles. For the untrained ones, there is a great synonym to all this: MAGIC. Strange things happen in Delphi. We are being followed by extremely friendly cats… Of course, all attracted by I.’s “magnet”. What happens next is always the same scenario. Purring and carressing and claws digging into the fine weaving of the handmade shirt bought in Bran, that traveled to Bucharest, Vancouver, the Amazon and here, before it will return to its source.

Another weird thing is the sudden meeting, in the middle of the amphitheater, with a friend that took part in our in Bucharest. An extremely improbable connection: he is on his way back home, we are in the middle of our explorer’s trip. Time for some bear hugs and a lot of wonder around this meeting here.

Stopping for the well chilled rooms of the museum, we enjoy with the winged Sphinx and old, old portraits of the first inhabitants of these miraculous lands. Old symbols are to be found all around us and it seems like those ancient stones, excavated at the beginning of the previous century after relocating the entire community that lived there, are distinctly singing. There is a deep, persistent, harmonious buzz and it is definitely not any kind of high blood pressure sound.

DupSfter all that energy and culture, we deserve a frozen lemonade on the terrace. Poor sick thin cats beg for a bit of food. A little one is barely walking, exhausted and hungry. It will be a miracle if he makes it. The mother is so thin that the spine is visible and she is waiting for a morsel from tourists to convert it into the so needed milk. I do not know why, but the animals’ suffering torments me so much more than the human ones. Because humans can ask for help and they can receive it. Anymals only know how to give you that heart tearing look.

Sensations fade as we take the road back to the hotel, with a compulsory stop in one of the few open restaurants. Greek food, delicious lemonade and desert on the house… what else can you ask for?

Well, you can. Because the show is part of the price you pay here, we enjoy the scene made by a Greek woman, a bit over ripe, guiding three Americans. Her hormones are jumping all around, it is visible from the distance. But the plan is overturned by A., who does what she usually does: her swinging steps, her stunning look and the black abyss that opens under her long lashes makes the Americans twist their necks and follow her. “Dad” enters the protection mode, and the invisible cloak , well armored, surrounds us and gives the Greek cougar the second chance for a crazy foursome afternoon.

Less crazy, we fall in bed for an hour of recoup, but after that the rummaging fever la fethat makes us want to see, feel, absorb more, takes us on a spectacular curvy road, down, to the sea. The Gulf of Corinth is almost isolated from the sea, and the lack of currents is visible. The sea is pale and dirty, our swim suits prove to be useless, and the only thing we can do is to take a walk in the open air market of the village on the shore, resulting in some slippers and Turkish delight, before returning to the base camp for a dinner with a view, stories around a bottle of wine. The sea, seens from miles away, beyond the olive tree orchards at the foothills of Parnassus,looks like a magic promise.

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The Miracle High Way

We create our own reality.

Monthly Archives: November 2013