LIGHT SOURCE

I had lunch today at a little Greek taverna where a few years ago on a warm summer evening Lucy and I dined on the patio under the stars. It was a great night. Today I took a table just inside the door, directly under a speaker in the ceiling playing preposterously tragic Hellenic ballads. It was late for having lunch so the place was empty except for a swarthy-looking guy behind the bar and a short, friendly, plump woman who brought my menu and waited on me. She was obviously enjoying the music as she turned it up after seating me, smiling from across the room to get my approval of the increased volume. I didn’t mind, though given the tone and drama of the music I half expected the chef to come stumbling out of the kitchen covered in tzatziki sauce, a rotisserie spike sticking out of his chest and a note from his lover clutched in his hand telling him she was running away with the busboy and a plate of spanakopita.

With rotisserie on my mind, I ordered gyros.

I hadn’t eaten Greek since the five hours I spent in Greece in August. That was the trip that found me, between Kuwait and Albania, unexpectedly hiking up the Acropolis. I had dined in Dubai after my “escape” from Afghanistan, caught a two a.m. flight that took me to Athens via Kuwait, and found I had just enough time before my Olympic Air flight to Tirana to do some sightseeing. So I grabbed a taxi, hiked up to the Parthenon, took a bunch of pictures and grabbed an espresso and a plate of dolmathes in the city before heading back to the airport.

After all I had been through the ten days before, upon landing in Athens I almost convinced myself I was too tired to do anything but find a place to lie down in the airport and sleep. Imagine. I could have missed the Parthenon and the dolmathes.


I think it was about halfway up the steep, rocky hillside of the Acropolis that my heart nearly burst open, all the emotion, all the gratitude nearly spilling out and flowing like a river back down the hill. I stopped my ascent long enough to snap some photos of the whitewashed neighborhoods and the city spread out below, stretching all the way to the Mediterranean sea on the horizon. I could just make out a cruise ship floating on that distant blue. The beauty was so brilliant I couldn’t take it all in. After the dust and desolation of the Afghan countryside, the light and warmth of Greece was nearly too much. I had been just 24 hours before in the middle of a war-scarred land. The contrast between dark and light was arresting.

Isn’t it always?

I remember one time years ago flying out of a blizzard in Chicago on a non-stop to Hawaii. I began the day in a dark, cold storm and ended it on a beach watching a golden sun sink into the ocean, leaving the horizon painted with deep orange and red hues.



Climatic redemption in less than 12 hours, the light and warmth pouring down on everything. If only I could carry that with me back home...




Of course, spend enough time face turned toward the sun and you will carry it with you even in the darker places; like the light of the full moon rising into a night sky, its brilliance really only a reflection of the source of light.



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