Since the last post, I’ve returned to Athens from Mytilene, then travelled to two islands in the Cyclades: Amorgos and Tinos.
When I arrived at the airport in Mytilene a few weeks ago for my departure, I was met with an odd question by the ticketing agent. “Athens,” she began, “why would you go there in August?”
Athens is somewhat of a ghost town these days. Hoping to escape the unrelenting heat, individuals who can afford to take a vacation often do so for most, if not all, of the month. Many go to the islands which are much cooler than the mainland, offer a near constant sea breeze, and demand at least one swim per day. Though I’ve spent my fair share of time on these landmasses in the Aeagan, much to the ticketing agent’s dismay, Athens has been a ‘home-base’ in between stops.
I was aware that the August holiday would make it difficult to schedule interviews with individuals from the medical community, so I filled the month mostly with cultural and social experiences. One such experience was a trip to Tinos for August 15th. August 15th marks Dekapentavgoustos, or the Dormition of the Virgin Mary, one of the most important Greek Orthodox feast days. The Virgin is believed to have ascended to heaven on that day, and pilgrims come to the island to pay homage to a Holy Icon which represents the main source of connection between individuals and the Virgin Mary. On the 15th, the Holy Icon is led down from the church in a grand procession, with individuals lining up many hours before it begins to guarantee a chance to touch the Icon.
Pilgrims pray intensely to the Virgin Mary for compassion, good health, and healing and, in a demonstration of pure devotion, some even crawl from the port of Tinos to the Church about 1 kilometer immediately upon their arrival. I wanted to observe the day to better understand the role that faith plays in the experience of serious illness, particularly in the instances in which individuals believe to have been cured.
I arrived on Tinos August 14th, giving myself a day to explore prior to observing all that was to come. Earlier in the week, I’d finally visited some of the museums in Athens I’d neglected previously, so it felt natural to spend the day at the Cultural Foundation of Tinos Island. While there, I was captivated by a mirror inlaid within a double-panel window frame with the words ‘Touch here’ written in white letters across the bottom of each side.
Obliging the command, I placed my hand over the text, an action which resulted in a loud click and the illumination of the mirror in front of me. Startled by the bright blue, idyllic image that overtook the space where my body stood, it took me a second to register what had just happened. I pulled my hand back and, just as quickly as my imaged disappeared, I was met with it once more.
The motivation behind the piece was political, though I gleaned a very different meaning. A few days prior while exploring the Benaki Museum of Greek Culture, I was taken by a painting entitled St. Nicholas and scenes from his life. As the title suggests, the painting highlights pivotal scenes from St. Nicholas’ life by positioning depictions of them around a rectangular rendition of the saint himself. I don’t know enough of Christianity nor St. Nicholas to unfurl the narrative those imagines undoubtedly wound, though I do know that when I take stock of the pivotal moments in my life, they manifest in a similar way—a series of moments, seemingly disparate yet at once connected, upon which my own likeness rests.
My predisposition to thinking of moments was perhaps a result of the recent research I’ve been conducting into the Greek Orthodox view of death and euthanasia (“Prolonging life or hindering death? An Orthodox perspective on death, dying and euthanasia” is great reading on this subject, if interested). In brief, death is seen as the rapture of the psychosomatic unity of body and soul, though the exact moment at which this occurs is unknown. Despite the mystery of that moment, there is little interest in knowing exactly when it occurs so as to not profane its sacred character. The moments surrounding death are seen as the most important in a person’s life because they are when the soul is judged and can repent for its sins. Thus, efforts which may hasten those moments (such as euthanasia when used to ‘cut the life short’) ultimately impede a person’s ability to engage in those all-important final seconds.
Looking at the artwork in Tinos (whose name I regretfully didn’t write down nor can remember), I couldn’t help but wonder if that was what the final moments according to the Orthodox faith are like. Do they occur in flashes or together like a dream? Is the focus retrospective or prospective? Does life ‘flash before your eyes?’
Once the notion of life flashing before your eyes entered my consciousness, I began to quickly tap the display, wondering if this is what it feels like to have that happen—a sequence of bursts so rapid that it’s hard to distinguish the start of one from the end of another.
Even though I was memorized, a woman who was also viewing the exhibit was less enthused, shooting me an annoyed glance when my tapping bordered on obnoxious. Taking the hint, I removed my hand, allowing my physical life to flash back before my eyes.
I stared at myself for a moment.
Since departing for Watson, I’ve sometimes looked into the mirror and felt like I didn’t recognize the face staring back at me. This may be partly attributed to the drastic haircut I received approximately 24 hours prior to my departure—the first diversion from the one-length, blunt cut since I was seven years old— but I think it is more so emblematic of the struggle I’ve felt in synthesizing the moments that make up my life now into the collection of moments that make up my life as I knew it.
Disjunctive feelings are not uncommon to the experience of illness (or, as I’ve gleaned from my newfound obsession with travel-based literature, when an individual immerses in a new culture), though I’ll omit a thorough discussion. Rather, I believe the first few lines of Susan Sontag’s Illness as Metaphor illustrate the point,
“Illness is the night-side of life, a more onerous citizenship. Everyone who is born holds dual citizenship, in the kingdom of the well and in the kingdom of the sick. Although we all prefer to use only the good passport, sooner or later each of us is obliged, at least for a spell, to identify ourselves as citizens of that other place.”
The understanding provided by our culture, traditions, or religion can help make sense of the moments that we are called to venture into previously unexplored kingdoms. Much of my work throughout the past month has been a whirlwind of witnessing first-hand how individual come to make sense of these forced ‘kingdom crossings.’ In the refugee camps on Lesvos, where so much more than an ocean separates the texture of individuals moments, something such as continuing to work barber may act as the keystone in the arch spanning two seemingly disparate places. A woman that I met in Tinos during the procession of the Holy Icon described her yearly pilgrimage as a way of honoring the good health miraculous granted to her after facing a serious illness thirty years ago—a time full of chaos and disruption in her life render sensical by the grace and compassion of her faith.
To be entirely honest, I’m not always sure what to make of all the moments I’ve collected over these past two months. With about a week left in Greece, I feel pressured to collect my memories and experiences—to name them, organize them, wrangle them into something that even partially conveys the wonder of my time here—yet, I suspect that doing so may only profane their sacred character.
This post hardly scratches the surface of all of my thoughts, feelings, and experiences since the last update. For example, glaringly absent is any mention of the few incredible days I spent camping in Amorgos. I depart for the United Kingdom next Tuesday, and plan on using much of the week to reflect on my time here, though I will make one small trip up to Thessaloniki to attend a writing festival where a piece of my fictional prose is being featured.