Cretan Spirit:

Snapshots

Origin

Soul seared by Cretan birth lamentations and exultations a bisection

Baptism

We do not swim in a sea of waves waves are for the storms of life. These waves pound us to dust; we allow that, maybe too much

To swim, that is to baptize oneself, the sea must be glass, a reflection of the heavens; invincible, undivided In such a sea, you are reborn.

Perdition

Black and White Skin hardened, cracked, haunted The necessity of beans and lentils The dryness of halva’s penance A duty to toil with resolve. And to sacrifice. Yes, a martyr on the cross of familial obligation A tsunami of responsibility

Deliverance

Colour beckoning Eyes twinkle, soft with humour The aroma of roasted lamb scents of oregano, rosemary the jubilation of wine, a dance some ouzo and tsikoudia, a gift Stories that surprise, music In these reflections, even the gods see(k) God.

Now

both stories and skin dried figs, weathered some sour, mostly sweet. No greater honour then to be here. You see, the Cretan soul is a crucifixion it dies and rises daily We do not feel halfway. This gift a knife; use it well.