At One with Crete

“The quieter you become, the more you can hear.”

-Rumi

It was finally becoming clear why it was I was led to this island.  And to the less developed south of it no doubt.  This was not the tropical haven I was so customarily used to.  Everything was brown, the mountains, the earth, brown brown brown.  I had ended up in the smallest village imaginable, away from tourists–although faintly existent–stuck in the midst of the local vibe with nothing but nature’s voluptuous, dominating mountains around me and a beach at my door step.  I hardly spoke to anyone for almost two weeks.  I had wanted hermit vibe and that is certainly what I got.  Hermitage heaven I will call it. 

My days revolved around editing Unforgetting, and winning over the affection of the three skinny, timid kittens and their mother that roamed the grove.  These new furry friends were an enormous gift for me; as if they had been included with my Airbnb package.  And what an Airbnb it was.  I was close to the earth, in a tiny cabin bordering an olive grove, 50 meters from the crashing Libyan Sea.  Creatures buzzed, moth friends flitted about, things crawled, and birds reigned.  Every day the peaceful dove cooed her song accompanied by the sea percussion background, blended–and at times overpowered–by the screeching, string instrumentalist cicada.  Everything was more alive and beckoned to be noticed as thy eternal companion.  As thou.  As ONE.  I lived within the breath of the olive trees, plucked the ripe indulgences of the fig tree and marveled at the ripening pomegranates decorating their tree like red, Christmas, ball ornaments.  I was starting to tap into the heartbeat of the land, and gradually, easily, my being was aligning with the current of this place’s frequency.  It was that powerful.  Nature as it was.  Nature as it is.  So alive.  Without separation.  That sighhhh.  That slowing down.

Each morning I would wake in the darkness before sunrise and find my way to my same spot at the beach, beneath the miniature pine tree.  The stars were a wonder at this time, and each morning I could spot the milky way spewing across the sky.  I would do my sadhana breathing and meditation practice, get juiced up, “tuning the instrument,” then tip toe down across the gorgeous crowded stones and swim in the cold water, completely alone.  I would gaze back at the massive mountains and wait reverently as they gradually became glazed in golden light, until eventually the sun lifted its body just above the eastern peak.

The writing ritual begins, and by 9:30 the cicadas had woken up from their nightly slumber.  These damn cicadas, sounding out their incessant screeching, chatting loudly amongst each other throughout the entire day.  After researching them, come to find out, they’re just horny and calling out for their mates!  And Greece has the horniest, let me tell you.  Yet even with their incessant screeching, one must assume, on a subconscious level these critters are reminding us arrogant humans that we are not alone.  At times, their presence overpowering, I had to succumb to those little hidden insects.  They impart that they are nature and just as much a part of all this daily life orchestration in which we so blindly see only the front stage before us.  

For the past hour it has also been morning playtime for the adolescent kittens.  I have become obsessed with the kittens and cannot get enough of them.  With sleepy eyes they meander over to my door step and wait, lounging around, until they see me head to the fridge and then begin excitedly circling around my legs ready for their morning treat from this all-too-eager stranger.  Fast as bullets they crowd in, speedily licking up their plate of dairy delight.  Satisfied, they perch onto their hind legs, and clean themselves, licking their over-sized paws then rubbing their faces.  They have become mine, and it is my goal that by the time I leave here they’ll no longer show ribs, but have fat, little round bellies.  A vision for my eyes, I watch and every day seem to notice something different about their fashionable markings, perfectly appointed in imperfect asymmetry.  A pleasant distraction as they crouch, climb, play, prey, prowl, pounce, plonk, prance, pat, bat, bite, and delight all for the pleasure of simply pleasure.  One puts the other in a head lock, they wrestle, and then scamper away– tails frazzled and pinned erect.  When play time is over, relax time moves in.  They find the perfect shady spot, beneath the bench or inside a pot.  Then, they zone out, or is it zone in?  Synching into some unknown dimension, that yet exists all around us.  I cannot help but see their regality.  I am reminded of something I heard once, how “Cats were once worshipped as gods; they haven’t forgot that.” 

After a full day of writing, and the unbearable heat finally wanes, I would make a point to go off on adventure and see a new part of the southern island.  I would jog a new beach, or a windy mountain path, drive somewhere and hike, then always finish with a cleansing dip in the sea.

Something was happening to me here.  I was coming back to center.  I hadn’t known that this was just what my being needed.  Long days of yacht work take a toll on the body and spirit, and time away from doing the writing career I loved most–my life’s purpose–also dampened me.  I had had a lot of sleep to catch up on, a dormant fitness routine, and my health required some nurturing after multiple summer sicknesses and a period of not the healthiest food and beverage habits.  My equilibrium had been off– big time.  But now my goal was myself, and the hermitage necessary and prosperous.  Not only was I back on my equilibrium, but I had convened with myself like never before.  It was the longest I’d been single in my adult dating life, and here I was, experiencing a different type of courtship with just me.  Deeply healing.  Deeply nourishing.  

Of course, there were difficult days, uncomfortable and happening out of my control.  I learned to accept them as “contrast” days, realize my courage, and move through with whatever grace I had in me.  In fact, most all my experience from the summer would fall under the category of contrast.  And here I was having to live it and most of all appreciate and find beauty in it.  Why couldn’t a challenging emotion like sadness also be pleasurable?  I didn’t need the tropical green, I was falling in love with the many tones of brown latent in a mountain scape.  The copper and gold, dried grass also possessed its own rare beauty, especially sunlit by the golden-hour sun.  I was living the contrast with heart open and arms stretched wide.  I had calibrated to this level and would take it with me moving forward.  A new veil had been lifted around my individual tendency for stress when “things don’t go the way I think they could and should in my head.”  I was more adept to handle contrast.  I had to get quiet, attune to the rhythm of nature, and therein attune to my own inner song.  I had become more at ONE.

Creta

Wild sea
breathe in me
Take your undying love
and spin me within your wave bosom
endlessly weaving your chorus into the night…
Birthed from far off places, 
from who knows where
I revel in your infinity
It is like heaven’s anchor,
devout with animated appeal
come to shore, to greet us each morning
 Curl             Crash           Flatten 
Recycle         Repeat
This is the anchor I speak of
endlessly humming this tune in everlasting frequency
You are the greatest of peaceful warriors