Crete Continued
The days which follow require no commentary, since the routine has become static in nature. The weather has been odd. The strange mist which descended upon us the first night we ate in the Koots has remained, and brought partially cloudy skies, chilly nights, and howling winds in the north and east. In some ways the cooler weather is welcome, but it's something that one simply does not experience here in July. It makes me feel like something's wrong; like we're not really in Crete. The wind made it impossible for me to go to the beach. I get cold far too easily. I've been tired and irritable and I don't know why.
Tonight we went up into the mountain village. We visited the cemetery where my grandfather is buried. It's peaceful to sit up there among the stone boxes (the deceased are entombed in these here). My mood is slightly tainted by my grandmothers irritating behavior, and that of the little kids. Close living takes its toll. I long to be alone for a day; a night; a breakfast. Hearing people speak non-stop in a language I don't understand makes me dizzy. I still have to get ot visit the ocean alone at sunrise.
*(I never got out to the ocean at dawn as I had planned, but I walked down alone once before I went to bed. It was around midnight. Recording the walk was my last writing in my trip journal)*
Before this memory fades completely to a hazy, veiled photo-image, I will make a point to record it as best as possible. This has been among my greatest moments of peace and awe:
You get the kind of feeling like you're walking in a dream. The combination of increasing languor and strange forward compulsion creates the sensation of floating forward through a medium. I walked until I found myself in the half-light of a distant street lamp on the rocky beach. I came to hear the waves, mostly. I'm facing the shadows of the moving waters. The soft crashing noise makes me want to lay down. The wind's at my back; my shirt is open and it's almost uncomfortably cold. The stars are bright and I can see the milky way again tonight. I let myself down onto my back and let my body sink into the rocks. When every grain of dust is a distant glowing star (with myriad worlds), some are disheartened by having to feeling incomprehensibly lower than dust. How I felt then was "cozy." For once, strangely, I was pleased to be incorporated in all of This. The sky became distorted and reverted, and I felt dissociation set in. After two weeks of close living I can't describe how great it felt to be alone. My outing was cut short when my focus came back to me rapidly, and the dust seemed to take on an unpleasantly familiar shape. No longer content, I decided to return to the beach house and head off to bed. I said I'd return in two years time. I imagined walking out into the ocean. I asked what was next.
Tonight we went up into the mountain village. We visited the cemetery where my grandfather is buried. It's peaceful to sit up there among the stone boxes (the deceased are entombed in these here). My mood is slightly tainted by my grandmothers irritating behavior, and that of the little kids. Close living takes its toll. I long to be alone for a day; a night; a breakfast. Hearing people speak non-stop in a language I don't understand makes me dizzy. I still have to get ot visit the ocean alone at sunrise.
*(I never got out to the ocean at dawn as I had planned, but I walked down alone once before I went to bed. It was around midnight. Recording the walk was my last writing in my trip journal)*
Before this memory fades completely to a hazy, veiled photo-image, I will make a point to record it as best as possible. This has been among my greatest moments of peace and awe:
You get the kind of feeling like you're walking in a dream. The combination of increasing languor and strange forward compulsion creates the sensation of floating forward through a medium. I walked until I found myself in the half-light of a distant street lamp on the rocky beach. I came to hear the waves, mostly. I'm facing the shadows of the moving waters. The soft crashing noise makes me want to lay down. The wind's at my back; my shirt is open and it's almost uncomfortably cold. The stars are bright and I can see the milky way again tonight. I let myself down onto my back and let my body sink into the rocks. When every grain of dust is a distant glowing star (with myriad worlds), some are disheartened by having to feeling incomprehensibly lower than dust. How I felt then was "cozy." For once, strangely, I was pleased to be incorporated in all of This. The sky became distorted and reverted, and I felt dissociation set in. After two weeks of close living I can't describe how great it felt to be alone. My outing was cut short when my focus came back to me rapidly, and the dust seemed to take on an unpleasantly familiar shape. No longer content, I decided to return to the beach house and head off to bed. I said I'd return in two years time. I imagined walking out into the ocean. I asked what was next.