On my last day in Delphi, I found myself back at the Gymnasium sitting at the foot of the ancient olive tree absorbing every last bit of sun as I gazed at the hills below. Despite the resistance I felt before I left on this journey and all along the way, I knew I would miss this sacred place. My first sight of the steep forboding cliffs rising above the Sanctuary, my visceral interactions with the Omphalos, and my vision of Delphi bathed in golden light will remain with me forever. And I’m feeling boundless gratitude for the luxury of just ‘being’ for that period of time with no distractions or obligations.

Pandora by John William Waterhouse, 1896

This adventure started with a serendipitous discovery of the Pythia and grew into an obsession to experience firsthand the world of ancient Delphi. I realized that my desire to ‘feel’ any kind of connection or to garner information about my past here might require some sort of a transformative experience. And while I found the idea of a flash of insight exciting, I didn’t really think I was ready for a total paradigm shift.

Since my return, I’ve wondered if my beliefs limited what I was able to experience. In my deep soul writing, Source has indicated repeatedly that information would be revealed when I’m ready for it. I left home with one question and came back with dozens more. And like Pandora, having opened the proverbial box (which I have learned was actually a jar), all I’m left with is hope – hope that some day I will come to know if it’s possible to connect with aspects of ourselves from previous lifetimes and whether knowing our past serves us in the present.

Galaxidi Town Square ©2009 Charlene Nevill

When I told Socrates, my seatmate on the flight from London to Athens, that I was spending FIVE days in Delphi he was aghast. I explained that it was really only 4-1/2, but he refused to hear me. Having grown up in Livadeia, a small town between Delphi and Greece, Socrates had spent a lot of time in Delphi over the years, but never five days in a row. He assured me that I would be bored out of my mind after two days and suggested I take a day trip to Galaxidi, a village on the Gulf of Corinth below Delphi.

I was beginning to think a ‘day off’ might be a good idea. I’d visited the Sanctuary several times, I’d toured the museum, and I’d walked up, down and around every street in Delphi. Still reeling from my latest conversation with Source, I thought a day away might offer some perspective. And even though I had no great desire to see Galaxidi, visions of a stroll along the waterfront and lunch at a seaside cafe were playing around in my mind. But I wasn’t ‘feeling’ it. And instead of listening to my instincts, I listened to Socrates and made the trip anyway.

Nothing really horrible happened that day. But from the moment I arrived at the bus station that morning, I had a nagging feeling that this trip was not a good idea. And there were signs all along the way telling me it was a mistake. I needed to purchase a ticket but the bus station was closed. It finally opened just before the bus was due to arrive, but then the bus was 20 minutes late. A trip that would take 20 minutes by car took an hour and a half by bus, because we had to transfer in another town and wait another 30 minutes for the next bus. When I finally arrived in Galaxidi, I was famished. I found several restaurants along a small cove that vaguely matched the visions I’d been entertaining, but none were serving lunch. In desperation and after much gesticulating, I finally found one that agreed to serve something other than coffee.

As I sat alone waiting for my lunch, I thought of my college friend Patty. After graduating with a double major in French and German, Patty moved to Germany to teach English. I never really understood what happened, but one day after she’d been gone for a few months, I got a call from her mother telling me that Patty was back; she’d had a nervous breakdown and was in the hospital. I was in shock. Patty was not only beautiful and intelligent, but she was the happiest, most joyful person I knew. At the time I thought, if this could happen to Patty, it could happen to me. Now all these years later, I understood what had happened. She was away from home living in a foreign country for the first time. She was alone and she felt totally isolated. And that’s exactly how I felt as I sat there alone eating my Greek salad and drinking my white wine.

After I finished my lunch, I had another hour before the bus was due for Delphi. Sitting in the town square listening to the leaves fluttering in the breeze, I realized that there really was no reason for me to be here. I’d come to Greece for one reason only: to connect with my past. And I knew with certainty that I had no past in Galaxidi.

When I finally arrived back in my little room in Delphi that afternoon, I felt like I’d come home. And then as if on cue, I heard bells. I ran to my balcony and there right below me was a parade of GOATS! It was almost too much to be believed. There were black goats and brown goats, white goats with brown spots, baby goats, billy goats, goats with great curled horns, goats with beards, goats of all kinds and sizes, and they kept coming – walking, running, leaping and bleating with bells clanging. My wish had been granted. Perhaps there was a lesson here. Or maybe two. Number one: don’t be afraid to ask for what you want. And number two: listen to THE VOICE and follow it.

Goats in Delphi ©2009 Charlene Nevill

]]> http://www.breathinginthemoon.com/2009/12/10/the-longest-day/feed/ 1 http://www.breathinginthemoon.com/2009/11/23/putting-the-question/ http://www.breathinginthemoon.com/2009/11/23/putting-the-question/#comments Mon, 23 Nov 2009 22:17:01 +0000 Charlene Nevill http://www.breathinginthemoon.com/?p=1844

The Pythia Themis and King Aigeus of Athens at Delphi by the Codrus Painter, circa 440 BC

By now I had become attached to the idea that I was one of the hundreds of women who had served as an Oracle in Delphi. But I was anxious to find out what Source had to say . . .

C: Dear Spirit, PLEASE let me know if I was here and what role I played.

S: You were the wife of one of the great priests in Delphi. As such you assisted him in his work with the Oracle by offering insight into political and religious events of the day.

C: Does this mean that I was not an Oracle?

S: That is correct – you were not. But one of your daughters was chosen to be one of the first Pythias when she was but 18 years old.

C: Are my husband and my daughter from that lifetime incarnated with me in this lifetime? If they are, will you tell me who they are?

S: The priest and your husband in that lifetime is your current husband in this one, and your daughter is your friend Laurel (not her real name).

C: That would explain my connection with her, being with her when we both recognized her husband-to-be and my husband’s connection to her which I have seen and felt.

S: That is correct. And you are correct in imagining the identity of your other daughter in that lifetime as that of your husband’s friend for whom you have had such a profound dislike.

C: What was the cause of my negative feelings toward her?

S: She was extremely jealous of your close relationship with your husband and her sister. Because her sister had been chosen to be the Oracle, she felt totally out of the loop of this ‘holy trinity’ – the ‘odd man out’ if you will.

C: That would explain my husband’s feelings toward her in this lifetime  - his wanting to help her.

S: That is so.

My pen had stopped moving. I was stunned. And incredulous. And not just a little disappointed to learn that I had not been an Oracle after all. Then I remembered the lecture I’d overhead at the Sanctuary about the priests being responsible for delivering the prophesies with little or no help from the Oracles. Could I have just pieced all of this together? It seemed a little too neat and tidy. But at the same time, as much as I didn’t want to believe the words in front of me, it explained a lot.

For one thing, Laurel and I became instant friends when we met, and we’d been mistaken for mother and daughter even though both of us would agree that we look nothing alike. When I found John Collier’s painting, ‘Priestess of Delphi’ I sent her a copy of the image. At first, she felt it was ominous because of the dark background and the fumes coming up through the crack beneath the Pythia’s feet. But as she looked at it again, she experienced a feeling of comfort. At the time I thought this was an odd reaction.

And I had never understood my nearly pathological dislike of my husband’s friend, Jeanine (not her real name, either). We met her at a business function, and while the two of them connected immediately, my reaction to her was so negative that I wanted to leave.

When Jeanine surfaced in this session with Source, I sensed that one of us in that lifetime had experienced a tragic and untimely death. And I feared that it had been my other daughter because according to Source, she had been 18 when she was chosen to be an Oracle. Initially, young chaste girls were chosen to be Apollo’s mistresses. But these innocent virgins did not fare well. Diodorus, an ancient historian tells the story of Echecrates the Thessalian who became enchanted with the Oracle and violated her. This was probably not an isolated incident because the custom was soon abandoned and the Oracles from that time forward were selected from women over fifty.

So what had happened here? I couldn’t begin to guess what, if anything, Jeanine may have done to contribute to such a tragedy. It was all too much. Still suffering from jet lag, I wanted nothing more than a quick lunch and a nap. Back in my room, the sun was spilling in from my terrace. I lay down and as soon as I closed my eyes, I ’saw’ the temples, treasuries and statues at the Sanctuary, all in their original pristine condition bathed in an intense golden light. In my dream state, I felt the power of these structures touching the core of my being. Then the vision vanished and I descended into a deep dreamless sleep.

Sanctuary of Apollo at Delphi by A. Tournaire

Siphnian Treasury Frieze ©2009 Charlene Nevill

I had passed the Delphi Archeological Museum several times on my way to and from the Sanctuary, but I hadn’t stopped. I knew that all the treasures that had been saved from the fires, earthquakes, mudslides, avalanches, rockfalls and plunderings of what had been one of the wealthiest places on Earth were cloistered inside those walls. And having explored as much of the Sanctuary as possible, I was ready to see if the architectural fragments and remnants of statues and gifts sent to the Oracles might reveal something about my past in Delphi.

The Twins of Argos ©2009 Charlene Nevill

The museum was extremely crowded that morning with wave after wave of tour groups. Slipping around the throngs in the first gallery, I entered the next room and came face to face with Cleobis and Biton, a pair of gargantuan marble statues. According to legend, the brothers pulled their mother in a wagon five miles to a festival because their oxen hadn’t returned from the fields. After feasting, they lay down to sleep in the Temple of Hera and never woke up. Whether mythical or historical figures, they represent the ideal of masculine strength and piety in the early 6th century BC. I didn’t know if it was their massiveness or if there was something more, but I gasped when I saw them and felt a twinge of recognition.

Moving ahead of the crowds, I came to a large gallery with statues lined up along each wall. One of the most impressive monuments from the Sanctuary, the 42-foot-tall Column of the Dancers, stood in the center of the room with an ornate Omphalos next to it. Even though I knew this Omphalos had once sat at the top of the column and was but another reproduction of the one that sat in the Oracle’s chamber, I wanted to ‘test’ it. I surreptitiously held my hands a few inches from its surface at the center, top and bottom as I had done with the Omphalos at the site, but there were no vibrations at all. As beautiful as this artifact was with its relief of roped netting, it felt cold and dead.

Statue of a Philosopher, circa 280 BC ©2009 Charlene Nevill

I had been avoiding one wall of statues, and when I finally turned my attention in their direction, I understood why. In the center of a multi-figure group stood a well-preserved statue of an aged man presumed to be a philosopher or a priest. I knew instantly from the depths of my being that I did not like this man. Typical of early Hellenistic art, the facial features were not idealized but instead revealed the actual characteristics of the individual. The more I looked at this statue, the more I saw ‘father’. I didn’t know if what I was sensing was coming from this lifetime or from another, but my feelings for this man were very strong and they were not good.

After walking through the remaining galleries, I decided to leave thinking I’d return when it might not be so crowded. It was another hot, sunny day and there were as many people at the site as in the museum. But I was intent on one thing only, and that was to visit the Omphalos again. Approaching the stone, I saw that I would have to wait for the crowds to pass so I could get close enough to give it my test. As before, I felt vibrations in both hands at its midpoint, not as strong as the first time, but intense enough to tell me it wasn’t just my imagination.

Strange vibrations, feelings of melancholy and fear generated by mountains, statues, and the wind . . . What did it all mean? I hadn’t had a conversation with Source since I’d left home, and I felt the time had come. I set off for a sheltered spot at the far edge of the site and found a stone bench beneath a grove of pine trees. Enveloped in the intoxicating fragrance from the trees, I thought of the Pythia sitting on her tripod inhaling the vapors that induced her prophetic state. So how about it, Source? Is there any information for me in this sacred place?

Temple of Apollo at Delphi ©2009 Charlene Nevill

It wasn’t yet noon, but the sun was beating down on the Sanctuary with an unbearable intensity. As I squinted up at the Temple of Apollo, I tried to imagine the three hundred statues that once stood in the open air on bases, columns, pillars and under colonnades, brilliant light reflecting off white marble and gilded bronze.

Castalia Spring ©2009 Charlene Nevill

Longing for relief from the heat, I set off for the lower part of the site, home of The Sanctuary of Athena Pronaia and the Tholos. Along the way, I hoped to find the Castalia Spring where the Oracle bathed before each of her sessions with Apollo. This purification ritual was such an integral part of her preparations that I was convinced that if anything might trigger my ‘remembering’, it would be this sacred spring.

By the side of the road, I came across a small fountain with a steady trickle of water. Just a few feet away, I found the actual site of the spring, but sadly it was closed off. Neither this derelict reservoir nor the miniscule fountain I’d just passed bore any resemblance to the spring in my imagination. But I was determined to test the water, so I retraced my steps and placed my hands in the tiny stream. I felt a refreshing coolness, pleasant and most welcome in the mid-day heat, but nothing more.

The Gymnasium at Delphi ©2009 Charlene Nevill

Moving on, I saw that the only hope for shade was an ancient olive tree in the middle of the parched earth and piles of rubble that had once been The Gymnasium. It was here that the youth of Delphi were educated and the athletes trained for the Pythian Games. There were rooms for teaching and for conferences, dressing rooms for the athletes and stone basins for bathing. And at the far end of the site was what remained of the Tholos – three reconstructed columns. Once an impressive circular structure with an outer ring of 20 Doric columns and ten interior Corinthian columns, the Tholos was believed to be connected with cthonian or underworld cults.

Olive Tree at the Gynasium ©2009 Charlene Nevill

After walking the entire length of the site in the scorching heat inspecting hundreds of giant stones, I returned to the olive tree to rest. As I sat next to its gnarled trunk relishing the shade and the slight breeze touching my skin, I felt something. A presence. A stirring of deeply-buried emotions, sadness tinged with longing for something or someone I’d known long ago.

And then somewhere in the hills above me, I heard the bleating of a baby goat. From the sound, I knew it was lost and wanted its mother. I had been yearning to see goats – an entire herd of goats with their bells clanging – but aside from the goat-crossing sign I’d seen on my way into Delphi, this was the first indication that such a sighting might be possible. I stood and scanned the cliffs above me and the hills below, but I couldn’t see the goat. Then I heard a lower-pitched bleating – perhaps that of an older, male goat and I heard a bell. I was relieved – and hopeful that I might get to see a herd of goats after all.

The Sacred Way ©2009 Charlene Nevill

After breakfast at the hotel, I headed straight for the Sanctuary. I met few people along the way, but as I neared the site, I saw at least a half dozen tour buses and I knew it would be challenging to keep my focus in the midst of the crowds. I kept hearing ‘OMPHALOS, OMPHALOS’ in my head as I walked past the tour groups that had stopped along the Sacred Way to listen to lectures. Quickening my pace, I hoped they would be distracted long enough for me to have a few moments alone with the ancient stone.

Omphalos ©2009 Charlene Nevill

Standing with my back to the crowds, I held my hands about eight inches away from the stone’s surface, one on each side. Starting at the center, I felt an unmistakable throbbing sensation in both hands. Moving my hands up to the top, I felt nothing. Back toward the center, the pulsations began again. Then, squatting down, I held my hands near the bottom. Nothing.

I wanted to find a place nearby to sit and absorb these strange vibrations, but the crowds were advancing so I moved off and sat down on a rock where I could gaze at the pillars that once formed the entrance to the Temple of Apollo.

A group of seniors with an English-speaking tour guide stopped directly in front of me. Talking about the Temple as the place where the Oracle delivered her prophesies, she claimed that the Pythia, sequestered behind a curtain, did nothing more than moan and rant while the priests who had taken questions from the supplicants, would ‘interpret’ her hysterical incantations. According to the guide, the priests continually gathered knowledge of politics and worldly affairs from the pilgrims who passed through Delphi; she gave little, if any credit to the Oracle.

The Oracle at Delphi

I wondered where she had found her information. From my research, I understood that the priests at Delphi did, in fact, play a pivotal role in deciphering the Oracle’s prognostications. But from studying illustrations of the Oracle while in trance delivering her prophecies and from reading about these sessions, I hadn’t come across any indication of a screen or curtain separating her and her audience. And with Socrates, Plato, and Aristotle among the Pythia’s fans, it was hard to imagine that such a fraud could have been perpetuated successfully over the course of 1,200 years.

As the group moved on, my attention was drawn back to the Omphalos. I thought how strange it was to feel such a connection with this other-worldly object. But maybe it wasn’t so strange. In her book Messages from Spirit: The Extraordinary Power of Oracles, Omens, and Signs, spiritual intuitive Colette Baron-Reid talks about rocks as sacred sign-bearers. According to Reid, rocks and stones have life-force energy even though they’re inanimate. And as part of the metaphorical language of Spirit, they represent looking into the past for knowledge.

Well, that pretty much summed up my goal for this journey. The problem was that as hard as I looked, I didn’t seem to be any closer to finding my past. Maybe trying harder wasn’t going to elicit a response from Source after all.

Mount Parnassus ©2009 Charlene Nevill

Or is she? As I approached the sanctuary later that first afternoon, dark clouds framed the mountains as the sun cast the last rays of daylight over the ruins. Feeling a familiar clutching in my heart and my gut as I gazed at that mountain, I knew I’d been here before.

There were scores of people at the site from all over the world. I wondered if the news about the site’s closure had been as disappointing to them as it had to me, but I thought it unlikely that more than a handful had made the trip expressly to commune with the Oracle.

The Roman Agora ©2009 Charlene Nevill

As I walked along the Sacred Way, I focused intently on every stone, every pedestal, and every column hoping to find some connections with the past. I continued to feel overwhelmed by the mountains that towered over the site; I knew they had something to tell me, but I had no idea what it might be nor how to find out.

Below the Treasury of the Athenians, I got my first glimpse of the Omphalos. Tears welled up and my heart ached with an unidentifiable sadness. I couldn’t ’see’ anything, and I didn’t ‘know’ anything that I didn’t already know, but I was certain that this large, egg-shaped stone and I had a history.

Omphalos ©2009 Charlene Nevill

Created to symbolize the center, or navel of the earth, the original Omphalos was kept in the Adyton, the inner sanctum in the Temple of Apollo where the Oracle made her prophesies. Delphic authorities had placed several replicas around the sanctuary to remind pilgrims of the site’s holiness. Judging from the appearance of this stone, it was very, very old, and assuming it hadn’t been moved, a multitude of supplicants had passed it as they made their way to the Temple with their queries.

Because I wouldn’t have the opportunity to get close to the Adyton, I vowed to spend time with this strange artifact during the next few days and ‘feel’ its energy. Maybe it, too, had something to tell me.

View toward Bay of Corinth ©2009 Charlene Nevill

I am off to Delphi at last! Even though I hadn’t studied up for my brief stay in Athens, I had read so much about Delphi and watched so many video clips about the sanctuary, not to mention two History Channel videos on the Oracle, that I felt like I’d been there already. But wait! Maybe I had . . .

During the three-hour bus ride, I stared out the window watching for anything that might be familiar. After an hour, we were in the countryside passing fields of cotton, sorghum and olive trees. So far, nothing. But when we started climbing Mount Parnassus and I saw clumps of flowering herbs and a goat-crossing sign, I felt tears well up – a sure sign that I had bumped into something from another lifetime.

Steps to Filellinon Street ©2009 Charlene Nevill

When we arrived in the tiny village of Delphi, it was apparent that there were no taxis. Having studied a map, I knew that my hotel was on the lowest of the tangle of streets that criss-crossed the mountain; I just didn’t know how to get there. So I set off on foot pulling my suitcase behind me. After asking three shopkeepers, I finally found one who was able to tell me that my hotel was at the opposite end of town and the only way to get there was down a series of stone steps. Another test. At least I was in better shape than when I’d arrived in Athens.

Checking in at my hotel, I was hoping for a room facing the Bay of Corinth. The woman at the desk assured me that because I was staying for five days, there was no question that I could have a room with a view.

©2009 Charlene Nevill

When I entered my little room, sun was streaming in through French doors that led to a tiny patio with a marble-top table and a small chair. Looking down I saw a garden with a flock of chickens on one side and another garden with giant melons on the other. I took a deep breath and thanked the gods for this little piece of heaven.

Speaking of gods, I was anxious to get to the sanctuary. I wanted to walk the Sacred Way through the Agora, and past the ruins of the treasuries that once held offerings made by Greek city states to Apollo. But most of all, I wanted to visit the Temple of Apollo where a succession of Oracles in rapturous union with Apollo advised a steady stream of kings, philosophers, and ordinary citizens on everything from wars and affairs of state to personal matters over a period of 1,200 years.

On my way out, I stopped to chat with the proprietor. “You know, the site is closed,” she said. “WHAT?” I squealed. “I’ve traveled half way around the world to visit the Oracle.” “You and everyone else,” she said.

There was a map of the site on a bulletin board showing that only half the site had been closed. But of course, it was the top half where the Temple of Apollo was located. It seems there had been a rock slide ten days earlier and there were no plans to re-open that part of the site any time soon.

I hadn’t forgotten Angelika’s advice about the possible disruption of plans, and here it was – the ‘unexpected development’. Incredulous yet undaunted, I told myself, like Avis, I would just have to try harder.

Socrates, my seat mate on the plane from Heathrow, told me that Greeks don’t do breakfast, and it was all too apparent from the offerings before me that this was the case. The cold hard-boiled eggs, dry bread, deli-sliced processed cheese and what I assumed was ham, canned fruit cocktail, and overly-thick Greek yogurt represented a veritable feast compared to the meals Shirley encountered on her pilgrimage, yet I longed for something more.

I headed for a cafe I’d discovered the day before that claimed to have the best coffee in the city. After seating myself outside beneath the awning, a waiter approached. I remembered Socrates telling me I must try bougatsa, a phyllo pastry with a creamy custard filling sprinkled with powdered sugar and cinnamon. I ordered a latte and asked if they had this classic Greek confection, but alas, no. From our brief interchange, I knew the waiter’s understanding of English was limited, and my ability to speak Greek was nonexistent. As he waited patiently, I heard myself say, “Pain au chocolat?” Now, I was totally aware that I wasn’t in France, but I thought – well, to be honest, I wasn’t thinking – it had just poppped out of my mouth. The waiter nodded and minutes later was back at my table with a large piece of chocolate layer cake. Deciding I may as well make the best of a botched communication, I dug in. And I have to tell you, it was one of the best pieces of chocolate cake I’d ever eaten.

Acropolis Museum ©2009 Charlene Nevill

After devouring every last crumb, I set off for the new Acropolis Museum. When I arrived, there was a long line and when I got through security, I learned that my ticket to the Acropolis did not, in fact, grant me entrance to the museum as had been advertised. The line for tickets was equally long, and I knew that the museum was closing early that day because of the national  elections, so I decided to give it up and come back at the end of my trip.

Before taking off, I examined what was visible of the ruins of an ancient  city beneath the museum discovered when construction began ten years ago. The neighborhood, inhabited from the fifth century B.C to the 12th century, included private villas, bathhouses, workshops and cisterns, and the dig uncovered a treasure trove of busts, coins, children’s toys and cooking utensils. The site which had been filled with truckloads of sand to protect it during construction won’t be totally uncovered and open to visitors until next year, but I was fascinated by what I could see through the glass walkways leading up to the museum.

Herod Atticus Odean ©2009 Charlene Nevill

It was now late morning and I had no other plans for the day, so I joined the tourists and Athenians on the walkway on the south slope of the Acropolis. I wasn’t on the lookout for more monuments, but I had to stop to admire the Odeon of Herod Atticus, a stone theatre built in 161 AD. Still in use, the Odeon is one of the main venues of the annual Athens Festival.

As I continued meandering along some of the same streets and alleys I’d walked the day before, I was thinking how strange it was for me to be moving through the city with no map and no predetermined plan. Walking more slowly, stopping to observe whatever caught my attention, listening to my instincts – it had all worked surprisingly well on my first day in Athens. But a half hour into my after-dinner walk, I realized I had wandered into unfamiliar territory and I had no idea how to find my way back to my hotel. With the crowds, the lights and the souvenir shops, I was beginning to feel like I was trapped in a Twilight-Zone carnival where all the vendors looked exactly alike. But instead of giving in to fear of being irretrievably lost, I remained calm and just kept going. And after walking in what seemed like a maze for at least an hour, I found myself back in front of the restaurant where I’d had my dinner.

The labyrinth, a maze-like structure from Greek mythology, is often thought of as a symbolic form of pilgrimage, and in modern times it’s used to quiet the mind and to promote a contemplative state. The streets of the Plaka with my hotel, The Central, at the center of the maze, had served that purpose for me with the added bonus of helping me let go of a deeply-imbedded fear. I hoped that after this journey as I made my way back out into the world, I would have a broader understanding of myself and my place in it.

Athens Central Market ©2009 Charlene Nevill

By the time I’d finished my lunch, the sun had come out and it was even hotter and more humid. As I continued my meandering, I passed a dilapidated building with crowds streaming in and out. I had read about Athens’ Central Market and I had a feeling this was it. Slabs of meat hung on both sides of a long arcade. I’m not squeamish about raw meat, but there was something disturbing about this display. Maybe it was the slippery wetness underfoot or maybe it was the butchers’ bloodstained aprons. Whatever the case, I told myself that if I lived in Athens and this was the only place to procure meat, I would quickly become a vegetarian.

Tower of the Winds ©2009 Charlene Nevill

Moving toward the Acropolis, I found myself in the “Archeological Park” – the walkway built for the 2004 Olympics that connects the city’s most important monuments and leads up to the Parthenon. I hadn’t intended to visit the ruins until the next day, but I felt the urge to press on.

Temple of the Wind Whirling Dervishes

Passing the Roman Agora built by Roman leaders as an extension of the Ancient Agora – Athen’s commercial and civic center where Socrates and Plato strolled and St. Paul spoke – I’m drawn to The Tower of the Winds, the only monument there that’s still standing. Built as a combination sundial and water-powered clock, the octagonal structure served as a home for whirling dervishes in the 18th century.

Along the way, a Greek Orthodox church caught my eye, and although there was nothing remarkable about its exterior, I felt compelled to go inside. As I entered the chapel, I was overwhelmed with sadness. Fighting back tears, I sat down on one of the little carved wooden chairs hoping information would come to shed light on my feelings. Gazing at the Byzantine icons and mosaics and watching supplicants walk up to and kiss portraits of saints I didn’t recognize, I had no idea where this emotion was coming from, but it was very strong. I wondered if there might be a connection between my lifetime in Delphi and another here in Athens. Or maybe this sadness wasn’t even mine.

Theater of Dionysos ©2009 Charlene Nevill

Before climbing the final stretch to the top of the Acropolis, I stopped to admire the Theater of Dionysos. Dedicated to the god of wine and fertility and patron of the arts, it was built in the 4th century B.C. and restored early in the 19th century. With 64 rows of seats, the original theater accommodated up to 17,000 and hosted Athens’ City Dionysia Festival where dramatists Sophocles, Euripides and Aristophanes competed.

The Erectheion ©2009 Charlene Nevill

When I reached the top of the Acropolis, I found that the Propylaia, the 5th century entrance, and the Temple of Athena Nike had been almost entirely dismantled for restoration. The only two structures currently standing are the Parthenon and the Erechthion, the tomb of the legendary King of Athens famous for its Caryatids.

The Parthenon ©2009 Charlene Nevill

Despite its compromised condition with scaffolding encasing three sides, my first glimpse of the Parthenon took my breath away. I never imagined I’d be standing in front of this famous temple, yet there I was. The intense sun and the unrelenting wind told me I wasn’t dreaming. I walked all the way around the monument trying to grasp its enormity imagining its grandeur before its sculptures and friezes were carted away.

Feeling that I’d seen enough historical monuments for one day, I headed back down towards the Plaka. I wanted to rest and it was too early for dinner, so I stopped at a small taverna for a drink. I ordered ouzo, the famous Greek anise-flavored spirit similar to pastis and absinthe. Sitting beneath a canopy of grape vines, sipping my drink, I was hoping for a bit of an altered state, but it didn’t happen. A young couple across the steps finished their drinks and moved away pausing for a deep, passionate kiss. This, too, made me sad. I understood and appreciated the need to make this journey alone, but there were times when I longed for a companion to share the day’s experiences and this was one of them.

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