Apollo’s Portal

În Oraşul de Sus

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.

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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.

IMG_0739We 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.paznicii 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. 

în stratul următor

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.

peşterile străvechi, cu urme de locuire 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.

Parnasul, capul-compas al călătoriei noastre. 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.

sus, Portalul.

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.

pe malul mării CorintuluiThe 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.

ale felinelorStill 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. în întâmpinarea Luminii de la Delphi

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

vedere de pe terasăAfter 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. . Templul Aphaiei poartă energie solară
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 :).
în vraja Sfântului NectarieBack 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 thede dincolo de timp 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. . IMG_0689 
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. la vie en rose
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.

Angels in Monastiraki

departe, Olimpul.Early morning after the first day of driving into Greece. Sparkling sunny air, infused with the smell of the sea. We decided to postpone the drive to Athens until after a serious swim in the sea, so we perform a cat-like stretch and bump into our Romanian neighbor, tormented by serious back pain. 

So our morning actually starts with a four handed therapy session that leaves the lady more than happy :) . Nothing happens by chance, it seems that landing here in the middle of the night, groping through the Greek darkness to reach a random hotel, led us to doing whatever there was to be done. It seems that this trip is more of a business trip than a vacation. Little did we know…. 

Wearing our swim suits, we effectively float down to the neat breakfast, prepared by the Greek guy that works all day. Giving in to the local yogurt, creamy like no other, and THOSE olives…. Yes. Olives, yogurt and oil, nothing else needed.  
 Korinos, vegetaţie sudică

Heading to the beach on the well groomed boardwalk belonging to the tiny clean and neat hotel, we manage to avoid drowning into the fine sand before reaching the lounge chairs offered for free and another. So nice we do not have to breathe anyone’s cigarette smoke, not to mention that almost no one smokes here. Most of the guests are French and German :) .  Everything is sparkling clean, the small pool is impeccable, the Greek sweeps, scrubs, sets everything in order after finishing the breakfast buffet preparations.

departe, Olimpul.The Aegean Sea is blue and clear, smooth and salty, warm, in spite of the early hours. So we float and swim for a long time, with our eyes on the Olympus, visible for the first time in weeks, as our colleague tells us, chatting with the newly revitalized neigbor.  The Germans and Dutch must have landed in Thessaloniki, for this little airport is full of charter flights during the summer. Typically quiet families, with or without children, and if there are children one cannot notice the typical yelling, screaming and repremending the families perform at our seaside. We enjoy that Time-NoTime for another dive, sleepy and slow, into the majestic energy of this place that brings you back into Harmony, dominated by the great mountain and soothed by the sea. And this continues until the first nasty jellyfish shows up. I suddenly understand the meaning of the hundreds of colored nets, magnified versions of the aquarium nets, one can see in every tiny beachware kiosk. There must be some serious fishing here :). So we grab our stuff, nicely pay the same Greek who takes care of the reception desk, as well, stay a bit longer to enjoy the terrace wi-fi, solve the work stuff and after that it is time to get back in our car, lady-like. The license plate, Romanian, translates as DREAM. And we head straight into the hottest day of the month in Athens. 39 Celsius, almost september….

fortăreţe medievale

The Opel  4 x 4, bearing proudly the nickname of The Little One, shows obvious signs of no air conditioning. What a coincidence. Last evening it was working perfectly, so losing freon is the first hypothesis we exclude. That is unless the Aegean SEa sharks come to the shore after midnight to bite cooling agent tanks. We hae to live with the idea we will drive having the windows down… should be nice on the highway… music would be redundant…. and hair blown by the wind, like fairies.

The road to Athens, almost entirely highway, is incredible. We wind through spectacular mountains, admire the Greeks, working like ants to finish a missing segment of the highway… and pay a ton of road taxes. Summing up to more than 30 euro.  Passing by huge rocks in delicate balance, old forts, no time to stop, the heart races saying quicker, quicker, and by fields impregnated with a slightly suspect smell… is it organic agriculture??

pe spatele unui şevalet de artist

The bright pink lipstick and Cleopatra eyes of the driver produce the first victim. A gentleman driving a nice silver Audi is passing us, then slowing,  getting behind us, and when we stop at a gas station for refueling, he pulls over next to us to report. the rack in the back of the car, the shirts are nicely ironed.  He is obviously on a business trip. But tomorrow evening he is free, and A. gets a phone number and a really polite invite. Should she call, he would be really happy. Two sodas came as a polite offering, as well, and we can but thank him and proceed.  Another stop, in the heat of the day, in one of those beautiful, air-conditioned expensive places on the side of the higway, supplies a little bit of breathing and a Cafe Frappe like no other. Greeks know their business.

Our GPS with a male voice, freshly baptized on the road to Thessaloniki with the glorious name of Gitsa drives us into Athens with only one failure – the maps are not updated and we get into a wrong way. Here we are, into the heart of the city, next to Monastiraki (Thanks, Free Spirit Travel, for inspiration and reservation) and park on the free spot that seems to have been waiting for us, to check in quickly and touch again the old stones of Plaka, the charming old neighborhood of Athens.

painting angelsWaiting for a friend that I seem to meet only during trips, in the country and outside, we get back into the heat, from the chill of the air-conditioned rooms. The schorching afternoon of the end of August lets us drift, with water bottles in our hands through the labyrinth of medieval tiny streets. Athens is heartbreaking after the crisis. The number of deserted stores is overwhelming. My previous memory of the area hits a dismaying present time, but MOnastriraki is as alive as it always was. With singers, acrobats, jugglers and lights, African drums…

Stopping at a Henna  tattoo maker, we teach him the first Angelic symbols of his life and he correctly paints them, then A. falls in love with an intricate opal elbow braceet and the matching necklace, made of twisted silver wire. I used to be magnetically attracted to such things and now I am totally detached. The stores ooze the same melange of scents, sounds and colors, nicely sparkling. Stopping for a real Greek salad – I do not know how or why, but the real Greek salad is to be found only where Greeks make it – we enjoy the Feta cheese… the strong taste olive oil… the organo and the crunchy vegetables. There is this je ene sais quois  that is matched only by Ouzo, and here we are, jumping into a metro that takes much longer than we were originally thinking, and we get to meet I., who lands, coming from the other side of the Earth.

Monastiraki, inima melancolică a Atenei vechiThe metro is packed with old people, giving us odd looks and making us use the ouzo encouragement for showing these guys a lipstick lesson. The chairs next to us suddenly empty 🙂 and we land, about 10 mins late, in the airport, to collect a worried I. who had no roaming service on his Romanian phone. Things float back into normal, like nothing happened and the summer months were just a pause between an outbreath and an inbreath. A short,  insignificant pause.

And the story goes on. Wonders are just starting. On the hotel terrace, in the velvet August night, eyes on the Acropolis – the Higher City – love and joy are flowing. We are back on track.