Picture this:
A small mountain village (in a place where villages not only exist but are revered refuges where you can retreat to your roots with your families…) Look closer: three generations, cousins at just about every stage of life, bustling in and out of the rooms of this humble but beautifully hand-crafted home on the side of the mountain… Lift your gaze: Twinkling lights (but not the stars) are visible across the way, marking the lives of the people who call the string of villages on this mountainous region of Τζουμέρκα (Tzoumerka) home.
And now, you think to yourself that if the porch light were out, you’d be able to see more of the stars; you sip your water. Then, of a sudden, it’s dark. And not just the porch light—but all those lights twinkling on the mountainside just moments ago are dim now, too.
Blackout.
In the same instance you realize all has gone dark, you remember your wish to see the stars, and you look up to see that the whole night sky is now shining with light! More stars than you’ve ever seen in your life. Your neck will start to hurt from holding it back as far as it will go as you seek to fill your eyes, drink in the light night sky like a someone who hasn’t had water in days—but you kind of are: You are someone who has never seen the sky look like this. The glittering dust, brushstrokes of galaxies. Your eyes pick out the Big Dipper and search for Orion’s Belt and you wish you knew more constellations. But you’re content now to just look. And wonder.
Star light, star bright, so many, many stars, I see tonight…
Eventually you settle back down at the table, and someone has broken out the collection of Easter candles from the last decade. They sit dripping magnificently in the center of the table. Pull another chair and pour yourself a glass as one by one we all gather round the table, talking in a melodious mixture of Greek and English, the tenors and sopranos of songs old and young… You’re smiling.
More than an hour has passed in the dark, though you don’t realize it’s so, and the grand dinner the matriarch of the family had planned hasn’t been able to cook this dark/bright hour. So, we improvise. Tear off a hunk of bread to go with slices of tomatoes and cucumbers fresh from the garden. A bit of feta, of course. It is the best meal you have eaten so far on this trip – perhaps the best in your life. Simple but delicious. You can taste the depth and the purity of the flavors. This is how food should taste. And the company is what truly makes the meal worth eating. You’ll give your compliments to the chef who is disappointed she couldn’t serve you her best – you try to make her understand that it was perfect as it was…
This night was perfect. In spite of or maybe even because of the “imperfections” that befell. Because it was real. Because it was filled with light and love. Not the magic that will pull a rabbit out of a hat – but the true magic if you’re lucky you’ll find. The kind that points to joy…
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My life has changed in the last two years. Tremendously. There’s no way I could have ever imagined that I would find myself on the side of that mountain this past summer. But now, how can it be anything but this? There were winding, narrow roads that took us to the village. There are winding, narrow roads that lead you in life. Can you slow down and just be on the journey? Notice who and what is around you. Where you are right now. Look up and see the stars. Taste the earth. Feel the magic…
