Home

In twenty-four hours, I will ride a big ol' jet airliner back across the globe to what I've always called home. Except that what I've always called home doesn't exist anymore.

I will probably live in my house until it sells, but with most of my stuff packed away, with a lockbox on the door, and with people coming to view the place, it won't feel like mine anymore. It won't feel like home.

In the weeks before I left for Greece, while packing my stuff and feeling such deep sorrow for having to leave my house, I decided to practice Qigong against/with/through the walls of my house, particularly load-bearing walls, for within those walls are wooden beams that have held up the house since 1947. Lots of energy in those beams. (Thanks to Sifu Dan Ferrera for this teaching.)

I have barely a beginner's understanding of Qigong, but I have an open heart and an open mind. So, standing a few feet from a load-bearing wall in my house, not really sure what I was doing, I inhaled and exhaled, leaned toward and away, cried and didn't cry, felt angry at my circumstances and then accepted them.

Then, slowly, quietly, I let go of the the anger and not-anger, the crying and not-crying, and I simply felt, noticed, listened.

And the house said, I'm still standing.

And I said, so am I.

---------------------------------

P.S.
The house sold. I got the news today,  just two hours after posting the above. Still standing...

Meandering

 

Once upon a time on Mount Pelion, somewhere between Katichori and Makrinitsa, I came upon an entrance to a wood. I entered and walked along the path. I wandered, diverted, stopped, sat, bent, climbed, looped, and circled. I had no other goal but to be there, to explore, and to enjoy.

Scattered beams of sunshine breaking through a tangled web of tall tree branches, chirping birds, a brook rushing over rocks, a wooden bridge, fallen leaves, melting snow. Who would have thought Mount Pelion could look so much like Michigan?

I'm leaving Greece in two days. Two days! Where have I been and why haven't I been blogging? I've been wandering, sifting, sorting, circling, taking it all in, and taking notes.

What difference does it make whether I tell my stories in chronological order, from Europe, as they happen (too late!), or if I tell them to you from Michigan after the fact? Come, join me on a nonlinear walk like the one I took on Pelion, riding tangents without apology, daydreaming with abandon, melting into the past, sneaking into the future, and barely recognizing where we are.

Rock

On my last day at Akrimios, I took a walk down the mountain road to the sea. There, I noticed a rock with several markings. Among the markings, I saw the initial of a certain beloved. I liked the rock. I wanted to keep it, put it in my pocket, treasure it.

So, I cupped both hands around the rock, held it to my lips, breathed his name into the rock, and hurled it into the sea.

 

I watched the rock disappear with a tiny splash and barely a ripple. The gesture was symbolic of surrendering my hopes and desires to something greater than myself, trusting them to the stillness of the bottom of the sea. Isn't that what my journey has been about, surrender? Letting go, not clinging?

Dear Universe: I like holding. I would like to do that again. Amen.

Over the Rainbow

Last week, because I felt a little homesick, I had in mind to post this message to my friends and family on Facebook: Click, click, click. There's no place like home, there's no place like home. And then this happened:

And I realized that I was over the rainbow. 

Click on the photo for a larger view. It's a double rainbow. It felt as if I could reach out and touch it. I think I did.

First Morning at Akrimios

Last night, Ingrid gave me half a loaf of fresh baked bread, butter, and fruit. She told me to help myself to tea and coffee in her workspace downstairs. I found a jar of honey here in my kitchenette. What a delightful breakfast I had, sitting at the window looking out at the sea and mountains. A former me might have felt sad for having no one with whom to share this lovely morning. I do not feel sad at all. I am filled with quiet bliss. And I am not alone. I am sharing it with you.

I am a voice from your future, bidding you come. Let go of those things that weigh you down. Keep to those roots that nourish you, and pull up those that hold you back. Take the risk, spread your wings, and fly.

The Gold

You don’t always have to spin disappointment into gold. Sometimes, all you have to do is change your perspective. Stand in a different place, take another look, and you find that the very thing that disappointed you was a nugget of gold all along.

*  *  *

How did I get here? I know the facts, I remember arriving, and still I wonder, how on earth did I get here?

I am sitting in my own little apartment. An entry hall, private bath with shower, a kitchenette, two twin beds, a wardrobe in which to hang my clothes (maybe that’s how I got here, through the wardrobe), and a huge balcony overlooking the bay. When I first stepped out onto the balcony, the mountains, sea, and sky stole my breath away, and I wept.

Marianna, my previous host, made some phone calls and hooked me up with Ingrid, my current host. Ingrid is originally from Austria and has lived on Crete for nearly thirty years. She and her husband Petros, a native of Crete, have four adult children. They own a retreat center and banquet facility not far from Chania. Above the retreat center are several apartments that they rent out, often to retreat guests. I live in one of the apartments in exchange for cleaning and gardening, getting the apartments and the grounds ready for spring.

There is so much more I want to tell you -- about going with Ingrid to her house this evening, having dinner together by the fire, sharing amazing local wine, fresh baked bread, and enlightened conversation. Then back here to the apartment. I unpacked, took a shower, and here I am, all clean and comfy in my jammies and thick warm socks.

Off to bed. I can hardly wait for sunrise.

The Disappointment

I've been told that there isn't enough work to support two helpers. The other helper will stay, I will leave.

Not much to say about that at the moment. That's just the way it is.

I have a few entries on my hard drive that I wrote while the internet was down. I will add them another time. Right now, I'm going to bed. I need my energy for all the gold-spinning I'm about to do.

Unplugged

No Internet connection in the village for days. Have just a few minutes here at the internet cafe in Rethymnon, just enough time to ask for your patience. Need to post this before I get booted. See you soon.

Crete: Sensory Overload

My Midwestern senses need time to adjust to the endless beauty of this land. For now, I can offer no more than scattered pieces: a peek at the land, a taste of her fruit, a whiff of her fragrance, a brush of her hand, a whisper of her wind. If my camera and my words weave the parts together just so, then you might also perceive that which lies beyond the senses: the mystery of Greece, the magic of Crete, and the power of stepping out of your known world and into the unknown.

Welcome to my fairy tale.

My room in Marianna's house

This is the sun that my sister gave to me 

that I brought with me that I hung over the door to my room:

This is my bed. When I lie here, I feel like a fairy tale character, 

like Goldilocks, but invited and satisfied:

This is the back wall of my room. The house is 12th century Venetian. 12th century! 

At night, before I fall asleep, I listen for stories that the stones might tell.

Just outside my room is an open area used to dry herbs.
Everyday, I breathe sage, cypress, laurel.

Piraeus

My stay in Athens did not work out as I had hoped, but that's okay. I have a way of spinning disappointments into gold. Today has been an absolute delight. My day started with breakfast at my hotel:

Strolling and shopping in Piraeus...

Koulouras! This is the first koulouras I've seen since 1977. Golly, when I was a child, the koulouras did not sit down. He walked up and down the streets with the koulouria on a stick. Well, it's been thirty five years, I guess he's tired. ;)

 

Beggars abound in Piraeus. I felt compelled to photograph this woman. Whereas most beggars stood or sat along walls and curbs, this woman plopped herself in the middle of the sidewalk with her legs crumpled beneath her, as if to say, "Notice me, dammit!" And so I did.

 

Clearly, this driver took lessons from Mr. Bean.

Interesting juxtaposition.

Inheritance

Kneeling at my father's grave. Alone. I wipe dirt off his gravestone, trace my finger over his name.

Merry Christmas, Daddy. A tear falls onto the grave marker. I rub it in. A tiny smear of mud. Time has blurred. 

I’m going to Greece, Daddy. I know, crazy, right? I think you left something back there. I'm going to find it.

Daddy. You worked so hard, and you did so well, and then you gave up. Why? There could have been an inheritance by now, but there isn't. All that work, and for what? I'm whispering into my fist, wet with spit and tears. My god, you had so much potential, so much inside you -- wisdom, courage, strength, passion, love. That's it. That's my inheritance. You planted that in me, goddammit, and I'm claiming it.

And your stories. You gave me stories. There, too, is my inheritance.

Spirits stir. A yes rises from the ground all around me. Stories. Yes! A thousand times, yes.

Unfortunately, I also inherited whatever fool thing made you undermine your own success, so I have that to contend with. I'm not sure what I'll accomplish or find in Greece, but I'm going. And I came to ask your blessing.

I wait. I listen. Silence. Daddy? Nothing.

The ground is cold. My knees are cold. My father is cold.

It’s Christmas Day. The living are gathered a few miles from here, waiting for me. I get up, brush off my knees, and I leave the cemetery, my inheritance and me.  

And I go to join the feast.

Destination: Greece

I will arrive in Athens early in January where I will spend about six days visiting three generations of relatives, some of whom I’ve not seen in thirty-four years, some of whom I’ve never met. I am very excited to spend time with my family, and I’m sure six days will pass far too quickly.  

Around mid-January, I will embark on a nine-hour ferry trip to Crete, and I will make my way to the village of Maroulas, near Rethymno. There, I will live and work for about six weeks with Marianna, collector and preserver of the age-old skills and practice of herbal medicine.  

Marianna grows and gathers herbs on the unpolluted mountain. Using traditional methods and the Mediterranean Sun, she produces essential oils and herbal teas, which she sells at her quaint shop, Marianna's Workshop, in Maroulas. Marianna works closely with physicians, exchanging ideas and working together for the sake of natural health and well being.

I found Marianna on HelpX.net, an online cultural exchange where hosts invite volunteer helpers to work with them in exchange for food and accommodation. I first visited HelpX last July, simply curious to see what types of work situations were available in Greece. When I read Marianna’s listing, I immediately paid the HelpX fee (a modest $29 for two years) so that I could contact her. Since I didn’t know yet whether or when I could come to Greece, I wrote to Marianna simply to introduce myself and to express my interest in her work. Marianna responded with a warm greeting and an open invitation. I began making arrangements as soon as I was able.

I sought blessings for my trip from my daughters, my mother, my sister, and my brother. My daughters and siblings offered enthusiastic support of my plans. My mother offered these words: “You crazy! What’s a’ matter with you?”

Mom's right. I am crazy. And happy. And free. And... packing my suitcase!

Why Go?

Contrary to what some have suggested, I am not going to Greece to find myself. I am not going to Greece to define myself, redefine myself, and for heaven's sake, I am not going to Greece to find a man. I mean, you know, should I frolic on the sea with a fine fisherman, that’s my business, but given that there’s plenty of frolicking to be had in the USA, no, finding a man is not my motive for going to Greece.

Why am I going to Greece? Because I’ve spent more than thirty years wanting to go back and believing I could not. Because the time is right. Because I’m more free now than I’ve ever been in my life. Because I have family there. Because my father’s and my mother’s stories began there. Because I want to connect and reconnect. Because I’m overcome with wanderlust. 

Because I had an idea, and the idea became a desire, and the desire became a calling, and I am answering the call.

Sometimes, when you answer a call, there isn't much logic behind it, and you don't have a whole lot of planning to do. You just... go. And you find your way along the way.

I hope.

Letting Go, Part I

What was that I wrote in my profile about letting go? Did I say I'd let go "graciously?" Right. You should see me sifting through 25-30 years of memories (i.e., things), trying to decide what to keep and what to let go. My spirit is content to let it all go, but my hands are clinging like a stubborn child. Gracious, my eye.

I need my books, I can't get rid of my books. And my DVDs and CDs, my stereo, my rocking chair and footstool, my fountain pens of course, and all my paper journals, my desk, and golly I worked so hard refinishing my bedroom furniture twenty years ago...

This is me, beginning at 0:43, except that I can't carry everything I want to keep. And I'm not yelling. And my pants are pulled up. Other than that, this is me:

Fortunately, whether I keep or let go of my things, my departure date will come all the same. And I will take nothing but one suitcase. And a carry-on. And my purse. And that's all.