Breathing in the Moon

Moon Over Athens ©2009 Charlene Nevill

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.

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

Delphi ©2007 Leonidtsvetkov

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.

“The course of human life is like that of a great river which, by the force of its own swiftness, takes quite new and unforeseen channels where before there was no current – such varied currents and unpremeditated changes are part of God’s purpose for our lives.” – Rabindranath Tagore

When I lived in Nova Scotia and in Maine, I spent my summers planting and mulching and weeding and harvesting and canning every vegetable that had any chance of growing in those climates. It was a tremendous amount of work, but I loved the feel and smell of the soil and I loved nurturing the plants.

So you can imagine my horror when I started having The Neglected Garden Dreams. I would be going about my business and all of a sudden I’d remember that I hadn’t checked on the garden in a very long time. I would rush outdoors to find weeds strangling the plants and overgrown vines heavy with summer squash, beans and peas long past their prime. The garden in my dreams was so huge and the work required to bring it back was so overwhelming that despite profound feelings of loss and despair, I just gave up and walked away. It was too late.

After experiencing this dream over a period of years, it finally occurred to me that I was neglecting something in myself. But what? Looking back, I see now that I had lost my way. I was moving through life unconsciously, going from job to job searching for my true purpose. Since then, I’ve come to understand the value of the lessons inherent in every challenge and every relationship I encountered along the way. And I’ve come to believe that it’s never too late.

Ever since I saw Julie & Julia, I’ve been shouting out random two-syllable words like CUPCAKE and BUSHTIT in a voice that somewhat resembles that of Julia Child. It’s not that I’m trying to mimic her distinctive diction – it just feels good. No, wait – let me be completely honest here – it feels GREAT! The reason behind this uncharacteristic disruptive behaviour is that I am finally finding my voice.

After seeing The September Issue, R. J. Cutler’s documentary that chronicles the production of Vogue’s biggest, fattest issue ever, I think that Anna Wintour may need to look for her voice, too. Judging from the way people around her react when she moves a finger or lifts an eyebrow, it’s clear that she doesn’t really need to speak to convey her thoughts. But watching her in this film, I could almost ’see’ steel hoops encasing her torso and her throat, and I wanted to cry out, “Break free, Anna! Let it go!”

Maybe Anna’s reserve can be attributed to the cameras that followed her around for 8-1/2 months. And for all I know, she’s a veritable chatterbox at home. But somehow I doubt it. Years ago when I worked in the public relations department at Tiffany & Co., I helped Anna pick out jewelry and accessories for her fashion spreads in New York magazine. She didn’t say much back then, either, and from her demeanor, I just assumed she was shy.

I don’t know what’s behind those sunglasses, but I feel Anna’s pain. Until recently, I didn’t talk unless it was absolutely necessary. I know my friends would discount that statement, but that’s how it felt to me. When faced with the opportunity to voice an opinion or to recount a story, I chose to remain silent. The trouble with holding back is that unexpressed thoughts and feelings get stuck in our bodies and they can manifest in illness.

According to John C. Pierrakos, M. D., author of Core Energetics: Developing the Capacity to Love and Heal, “The constrictions of energy are not isolated dysfunctions. They are blocks of stultified energy that trammel the physical body in skeletomuscular rigidities, and also disrupt the higher planes of energy, thus affecting mental attitudes.”

So, as I go about my day loudly repeating nonsensical two-syllable words and phrases, I’m thinking of Julia who was filled with joie de vivre and was so unabashedly herself. And I’m thinking of Anna with her perfectly coiffed blonde bob and her hands in her lap just so, hoping that my perception of her rigid, good-little-girl demeanor is just a reminder of the work I have yet to do.

Dickens' Dream by R. W. Buss

I first encountered the concept of reincarnation during The Winter of My Discontent in rural Nova Scotia. With snow piled up past the window sills, I sat home alone by the wood stove trying to stay warm while my husband went off to work each day. I read every single one of my little leather-bound Charles Dickens books that winter. And as the days crawled by, I experienced a sort of existential crisis that went something like this: I’m not doing anything; I don’t want to do anything; therefore, I must not exist. Maybe it was the solitude, maybe it was my choice of literature, or maybe it was time for me to look more deeply into the crevices of my life.

Then as if in answer to an unsaid prayer, a friend appeared with a book on reincarnation. All I remember about that book is the blue cover and the author’s first name. But it touched me deeply, and I felt a knowing – a certainty that what I was reading was true. I had been intrigued by the paranormal all my life, but I hadn’t bumped into reincarnation until now. I didn’t know then what it was that made me feel better, but my spirits lifted enough to get me up out of my chair.

Since that winter, I’ve looked at the world through different eyes. I find it easier to understand relationships and seemingly random occurrences, misfortunes and illnesses. And I’ve come to understand just recently that spending that winter in Dickens’ London brought me back to that very traumatic lifetime with the man who was my father in this one. What I hadn’t been able to fathom though is why I, as Spirit, would choose to experience such pain and suffering. Another chat with Source would give me the answer.