My Rose, I am like a moth to your flame. To be burned by you is heaven. How can I leave you now, but fate decrees I must.
The first moment I met you, our eyes danced, we both combusted. Boom. I didn’t think about it much until later you gave me your invitation; and I accepted…
…and deeper I went into your invitation until we both combined, entwined, two hearts pervading, permiating flesh, beating and being as one. Now we can no longer be together in flesh, I don’t know what I will do. It is torture. It is agony. But, is rapture, because I met you.
You said to me it is better than to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all. Oh my Lady, yes, it be true. I thank God I met you. And yes, in spirit we are still one.
My beautiful Lady, this is all I can do, to share this with you and tell you how much I love you…
…take me to a higher Love.
“Dance, when you’re broken open. Dance, if you’ve torn the bandage off. Dance in the middle of the fighting. Dance in your blood. Dance when you’re perfectly free.” Rumi
Image: Gyoshū Hayami
For those dear to me, who have touched my heart.
“But I don’t ‘go to the isles’ for beauty. The isles – the past – the pagan wonder and mystery – come to me! It is what a writer receives that makes him or her. All art is from within. It is from what dies into one, and is reborn.”
~ Fiona Macleod
In memory of the sunken village of Σφεντυλι, a tribute in pictoral form, photographed in Summer 2014.
It was an amazing trip! A hot early summer’s (June I think) day, I was on my break and I had decided to take a scooter ride up to the mountains. I took a detour down the road to the village as it occured to me that I had never been there before and fancied a new experience, also to see the village before it dissapreared “forever” under the water.
The frogs chorus as I approached the lake was deafening! I got off the scooter and just sat there soaking up the atmosphere for a while before heading up the old road towards the village on foot.
It wouldn’t be long before the village would be lost under the resevoir that was being constructed. Just beyond the village of ποταμιες and before the beautiful village of Αβγού on the road to Καστελι lay this little village. It had been evacuated long ago, the local people paid to leave their homes. However it was not willingly they left. The loss of the village, the beloved streets and homes that had nurtured generations of people who had grown up and lived out their lives there. There were still at the time I visited sneaking around with my camera, a couple of people still living there, refusing to leave, their black flags gently fluttering in the breeze, their last stand of defiance against what would only be inevitable.
It was such an eerie feeling walking around the deserted streets and houses. It was like people had left in great haste, leaving their posessions behind. I felt the ghosts and spirits of the older generations and their ancestral dead swirling cooly around me, as if they knew what was about to befall the place. The air was cool but stifling with their presence. There were odd moments of absolute stillness, stifling in the heat, the sweat trickling down my neck and back along with the fingers of the ghosts, contrasted with old whispered memories tumbling down the empty streets, upon a fluttering leaf or a stirring breeze.
Today you see nothing there, just the lake. And that which is reflected back from its surface.
This line below sums up the experience for me perfectly:
“There is no exquisite beauty without some strangeness in the proportion.” ~ Edgar Allan Poe
Rest in peace, Σφεντυλι.
I have so many fond memories bursting and jostling in my mind for attention, demanding to be written down and recorded. So many things that I have wanted to write, before they eventually dissipate, evaporating, either into the air, becoming lost forever, blown as whispers upon the winds, or drowned, merging once again as one in the depths of the ocean.
They beg to be given another life, another form to be. So I create this for them. A little place for each one of them. Little individual stories that make up the whole.
Twelve years on Crete, so many beautiful moments, good times, dear, beloved people, many magical moments, encounters and experiences. Here is where I shall express them, as little droplets as they fall.
I shall begin with a quote of Beauty, apt for my cause…
“A sudden fragrance of violets in an unexpected place, a last fragrance of memory.”
~ Fiona Macleod – The Dominion Of Dreams