Swimming in stars
When Alex and I were making our way through Crete, on our way to Pseira, the locals were surprised that we had heard of the little island, floating above the northern tip.
Each helpful finger pointing us towards the destination came with a positive verbal affirmation.
“Pseira is a very special place” we were told.
We ventured from Heraklion to Chania, a whole day on the bus, to meet some of Alex’s friends who were arriving from Greece’s mainland. A slice of her dance troupe, who she had recently been with in Italy.
Sofia, Rose, Rus, Lav and Lav’s mother Leni.
It was Sofia who told us about the secret island which we were on our way to discover.
The plan was to meet the troupe in Chania, bus to Mochlos, and catch the ferry to Pseira.
One of the charms of Pseira, was that it is free to camp there, so naturally a bunch of dusty nomads were ready to get there as soon as possible.
We were supposed to meet in Chania, but somehow the troupe slipped through our fingers and caught the only bus to Mochlos for that day.
Alex and I checked out the other bus routes and found one that went about halfway.
We took it.
The bus ride was nothing of particular significance, but I remember much of what we talked about that day.
Once we reached the mid point, we got off the bus and prepared ourselves for the next leg of the journey.
Hitch hiking.
I had a 15mm Montana flow-pen, and a piece of pre-prepared cardboard ready to go.
With an appropriate amount of style, keeping the text legible, I wrote MOCHLOS and adorned it with little hearts and stars.
I have a belief that if there are little hearts and stars on the sign, people are more likely to stop.
I haven’t been able to prove my theory so far.
We were literally in the middle of nowhere.
We had gotten off the bus on a highway, in a spot which seemed cars were unlikely to stop for us.
We tried for a little while, and then decided to walk.
I found a little path which led us away from the highway towards a little town.
A small strip of shops with greek signage.
A cafe had a bus timetable for Mochlos, but once again, we had missed the last one for that day.
At least from here it would be easier to find a ride.
Alex started walking ahead of me, and as I followed from a distance, I noticed a BMW put its break lights on just after it passed her.
A man got out, and after their brief conversation she turned around with a huge smile on her face, waving me over.
I picked up my pace.
When I got to the car, I shook the mans hand, and stuffed all my bags in boot.
I was instantly stoked with the ride we scored.
BMW X5, my first girlfriends mum used to drive one.
Leather interior, lots of leg room, air con…
We’d hit the lotto.
But really, the value of the ride all weighs on the company of the hosts.
Fortunately the guys in the front who had picked us up were offering a flavour of conversation we were happy to partake in.
Once again, they were surprised that two kids from Australia were on their way to Pseira.
By this stage, each surprised expression just added to the building mystery, intrigue and excitement.
We learned a lot about Pseira from these guys.
It was their favourite place .
They told us about the types of people we will find there.
The kinds of things that happen.
The beautiful land.
Where they like to camp.
Apparently we had come at the perfect time.
The “on season” had just finished, the weather was still great, but the masses of people who come during the summer had already left to go back to their normal lives.
Only the cast-away island wash ups remain throughout the year, and they are quite “interesting folk” they said.
They told us of the mini-marts that stocked a good variation of vegetables and food.
The small taverns.
The many beaches.
Mountains.
Forests.
More and more, an excitement built in my belly.
It felt like Alex and I had embarked on a story-book adventure.
When the men dropped us in Pseira, we gave them our thanks, and said goodbye.
It was late in the day, and there was no more ferries running.
We had sent a message to the troupe, and while we waited to hear back, we searched for a cheap place to sleep for the night.
Mochlos is a gorgeous little coastal town, boasting the classic Greek style that you can imagine.
Lots of white and blue, music playing and catholic symbolism threaded throughout.
After checking a few places, and having our bargaining tactics aggressively rejected, we found a sweet little place at the top of the hill over looking Mochlos.
Eleni’s.
Eleni was an old greek woman, very friendly, extremely welcoming.
She took us in, showed us the room, and accepted our offer.
The troupe were going to rough it for the night, but Alex and I agreed that it would be nice to have a last night in luxury before delving into the sleeping bag and tent life.
We settled our things at Eleni’s and headed back down the hill in search of Alex’s troupe.
We were passing by a restaurant, when a crazed-with-excitement Sofia jumped out from the cracks.
“Alex!!!” She screamed
One of Alex’s signature giggles innocently emerged from her belly. I’ve grown to understand Alex’s giggles. The tone and pronunciation of this one meant that she was excited and pleased to see Sofia.
They shared large hugs and exchanged fast paced story telling, as is common when two people have had a wild ride towards the meeting point.
I watched and awaited my introduction.
“Hey Paddy”, a tanned and smiling Sofia said.
“Hey Sofia”, we hugged.
We didn’t need introducing, Alex had told us many stories about each other.
The rest of the troupe appeared, one by one.
A cunning and beautiful Rose.
A tall and wise-looking Lav.
A mysterious and quiet Rus.
And an observational elder Leni.
I met each of them, before the group split into little micro-conversations and chit chat.
I sat back and observed.
It’s a lot to take in when you are the only new face in a circle.
When I was younger I would penetrate with big gestures and loudness, attempting to win approval.
I’ve grown to understand that acceptance cannot be demanded, and instead is patiently earned.
I’ve also learned to listen to my feelings instead of smother them in performance.
My feelings told me I felt quiet, so I honoured that, sat back and enjoyed watching excited friends reunite.
Information on the mission was exchanged.
Apparently, the ferry had not run that day, as it had been too windy.
We all agreed, perhaps unrealistically optimistic, that it would not be windy the next day.
The plan was to meet at the ferry in the morning.
Alex and I got some groceries, went to our room, cooked dinner and chilled.
In the morning, we got up early to pack the room and make it down to the ferry.
When we got down there, the troupe were all at the same restaurant we saw them at the night before.
Sofia offered the news.
The wind had not passed, and there were no ferries yet again.
Lav had been searching on google maps, trying to locate a close-by beach we could camp on for the night.
There was a little cove about 40 minutes walk from Mochlos.
Alex and I left some of our belongings at Eleni’s place, telling her we would return to pick them up in a few days, grabbed some groceries from the shop and walked back down to the troupe.
We all hiked out to the cove.
It was up and over some hills, along a stretch of highway, past a petrol station and off into a dry rocky landscape.
Slowly the earth opened, and the little path we followed went down into a wide empty crevice full of sheep.
Alex and I were the last to arrive at the cove, and by the time we got there, the others had already began settling in.
It was a completely private little beach, about 100 metres wide, in-between two cliffs which jutted out into the water and closed in the space.
The beach was not sand, it was smooth pebbles and rocks of all shapes, colours and sizes.
About 50m back from the waters edge, in the side of the cliff, there was a cave that was wide, tall and deep enough for us to spread out our things and gather.
I couldn’t believe how perfect it was.
All our bags piled up against the back corner.
Everybody got into their own groove.
Lav went exploring the surrounding area.
Alex found a spot on the beach and had a long stretch.
Rose went snorkelling.
Leni read her book.
Rus collected firewood.
Sofia and I sprawled across the warm rocks and sun bathed silently.
A satisfying swim here and there peppered amongst it all.
Eventually, one by one, we each reached our limit of sun exposure, and retreated to the soothing shade of our cavern living room.
Here we snacked.
Eventually I decided it was time to find a spot to set up Alex and my tents. I considered the cave but decided it was more of a shared space and I preferred to have my own spot to assure a good rest.
So far, outside of the cave, I hadn’t seen any tent options that had me thrilled. The ground was made up of uneven pebbles and rocks. There were no trees, no decent shade and it was windy.
After I exhausted all options in the immediate area, I remembered Lav had adventured around the cliffs edge earlier.
He told us there was a little walking path, which eventually led to an old church and another beach.
I tried it out.
The path was a narrow rocky one, it ran along the base of the cliff along the waters edge.
The waves crashed up against the rocks and the wind covered me in its spray.
From out on the cliff I had a clear and unobstructed view of the ocean.
She looked bothered, and seemed to be having a tantrum.
I continued to follow the path, which took me up and down, around and over…
I reached a fork in the road.
To my left, the path led up towards a road that lead to the next beach.
To my right, it went down and around a bend.
I took the latter, and when I came around that bend, I saw it.
A deep cave, facing perfectly towards the ocean.
The rock floor led towards a concrete ledge with some rough steps walked into it.
On that ledge was an open space, protected by the caves walls and roof with a bunch of bench seats laid out.
At the back end of the open space, inside the cave, was a church.
It was very old, and had been built into the cave.
A white wall, a window latch, and an old wooden door with peeling blue paint and rusty hinges.
A cross was painted onto the front.
When I first spotted it, it stilled me.
When Lav mentioned there was a church, he said it with a real air of nonchalance. So much so, that I felt he must of found a different church to this one. I couldn’t imagine speaking of this church with nonchalance, it was one of the most beautiful things I’ve seen.
This little old church, built into a cave on the side of a cliff, overlooking the ocean.
The wonder of how long it had been used.
The thought of people following the same little rock path, gathering by the ocean to be with God.
The sound of waves breaking on the rock edge as many sat silently in prayer.
Perhaps I’m romantic, but to me, the sight of this church was poetry, and it moved me.
I opened the door and walked inside.
The poetry continued.
It possessed the same calm as I’ve experienced in other religious monuments.
A stillness.
A cool drop in temperature.
Quiet.
The sound of waves and feeling of wind did not penetrate the church.
It had a tiled floor, a stack of seats, a big candle holder and portraits of saints mounted in golden frames on the wall.
In the back corner, there was a little room with a red curtain draped across its entrance.
This seemed to be the priests area.
Once I felt into this special church, one thing was clear to me.
I had found the perfect place to sleep.
—
When I returned, Alex asked if I’d found a good spot.
I told her about the church.
She wanted to see, so we grabbed our stuff and I led her back to the church.
Granted, the thought of sleeping in a church is a bit eerie, so I understand why Alex felt a bit scared, however she pushed up against her reservations and started to blow up her mattress.
We both did.
After we made our beds and set up the space, we found a box of candles, and set them up to be lit later.
Rose and Sofia joined us, and we stayed out there to watch the sun go down from the rocks.
I come across people from time to time who have a beautiful relationship with marijuanna. It’s a rare thing.
Many people love weed, and smoke it often, but the type of compatible relationship I am talking about is one where there is a deep appreciation, a mindfulness, discernment, and no dependance.
Rose was one of these people.
While we sat, curled into rock pockets, Rose sparked a joint and we passed it around as the sun dissolved into the horizon.
I asked her where she got the weed.
She told me a wild story about searching for it in Athens, coming across many characters on her way, until eventually meeting a woman named Aphrodite.
It was Aphrodite, who gave her the marijuanna.
It was quite a psychedelic high, and I can’t exactly explain how, but after only a few light tokes - I felt like I was tripping.
The sunset was spectacular.
Collectively, after some comfortable building silence, and when the colour had drained from the sky, we felt the time to head back to the group-cave was upon us.
We walked back and ate a shared dinner, our cave-gathering illuminated by the same fire that our meal had been cooked on.
—
That night, Alex and I returned to our Church, lit the candles and climbed into our beds.
We spoke for a while, as the flickering candle flame sang lullabies to our heavy eye lids, and eventually we slept.
Alex is a light sleeper, so she wears ear plugs and an eye mask to bed.
For these reasons, she did not wake to the noises that I heard in the middle of the night.
There was some scraping noises which stirred me from my sleep, followed by a loud thump, which woke me right up!
Hearing mysterious sounds in the night is an interesting experience. Our brain tries to create an image of what the sounds are, using archive references of sounds heard in the past.
The scraping sounded like metal being dragged across more metal…
And the thump, it had the weight and force of a dropped yellow-pages phone book, but was also a metallic sound.
The scraping, I was able to imagine, could have been done by a rat.
But the thump, whatever had fallen was too big to be moved by a rat…
I couldn’t figure it out, and for this reason, my heart rate rose.
I haven’t come across ghosts much in my life, not memorably at least, but I do believe in them.
Laying there, in the middle of the night, I imagined that in all the places I’d slept, an old greek church inside a cave would likely be a top candidate for ghost activity.
It got me thinking…
This cave has been here long before this church.
Natural caves such as these are always of significant use for original peoples.
The cave probably has a busy history, predating even christianity.
I wondered what kinds of things may have taken place in that cave.
Whether there were human bones buried below the tiled floor.
Perhaps human sacrifices, on the rocks edge by thunder and lightning…
My imagination worked it’s magic, making me feel even more scared than I had been.
It’s funny the way our imagination can work against us - however at the same time as being scared, I was kind of enjoying myself.
In a subtle way… Like choosing to watch a horror movie.
We are basically choosing to feel anxious, I guess just to feel something more exciting than the repetitive regular.
Eventually, I grew bored of my mental movie and felt ready to sleep, so I came to a silent agreement with whatever was or wasn’t with us in the church.
I agreed to trust it.
—
I didn’t tell Alex about the sounds in the morning, in case we had to sleep in there again that night.
The plan was to catch the ferry that morning, but the wind hadn’t died down yet, and so the ferry was not running once again.
And so the day was instead filled with all manors of things, which I will not bore you with.
Just imagine what a group of people might do on an isolated beach for a day.
Slow moving, minimalistic, existing.
At one point, I walked back into town with Alex to get more groceries for our cave family.
It was one of those days that needed filling. When you’ve got an expectation of what you may have been doing, and that is pulled out from under you, suddenly there is more space than one knows what to do with.
I eventually decided to explore a bit more of our surroundings.
Our little cove was in between two cliffs.
The left side had the little path that led to the church.
I had not looked much on the other side of the cove.
I noticed there was a little cave at the waters edge, where the water met the pebble beach.
Years of wind had carved out a little nook in the side of this cliff. The sandstone walls and roof were made up of little sculpted pockets and grooves, intricately decorating every face of the cave. In one section, it went a little wider and deeper, creating a small space, perfectly sized for a human to sit in lotus position.
A little earthly cocoon, serenaded by the lightly echoed lapping of the oceans tide.
I decided to decorate the space.
Something I find great pleasure in, when without anything else to do, is to decorate in one way or another. A creative outlet.
If I am sitting at a cafe, I might open up a serviette and refold it in an artistic way, over and over.
Or if I am sitting in a park, I might place leaves and sticks to form a pattern.
Even the day before at this beach, I made a colour wheel out of the stones I found on the shore.
Something to get lost in.
I noticed a stone perfectly placed in one of the cave walls wind-created grooves. It inspired me.
I picked the best stones from the beach and found their matching pockets in the cave.
The sandstone canvas slowly grew bejewelled as stone after stone was carefully selected and matched to its new home in the cave.
In some spots there were protruding ledges which I would place larger monument pieces, balanced in a sandy base and decorated with little stones.
In the little sitting space I put a nice flat bum sized rock for sitting.
During my creative splurge, I realised that the water that came into the cave didn’t stop there, it continued deeper, under a crevice in the wall.
Initially I just thought it was a little pocket, but when I leaned down for closer inspection, I could see it continued deep into the cliff.
There was even flickers of light bouncing on the water beyond.
I got on my hands and knees and crawled through water into the little tunnel.
My ears were filled with the perpetual sound pattern of water flowing in, and flowing out, as well as the echoed splashing my hands and knees were making.
The tunnel widened and then completely opened up to a mermaid beach hidden deep inside the cliff.
As I entered the space, to my right was a rock cove, similar to the one I had come from outside, except much smaller.
Infront of me was the waters edge, lapping up against the pebbly cove.
And to my left, a channel of water lead through darkness towards light at the end of the tunnel.
The light came from the front of the cliff, a cave mouth kissing the ocean, only accessible by water.
In a spot where waves would crash to a stop against the cliffs edge, a little slice continued into the secret cave and travelled down the channel, slowly losing momentum, until it softly landed exactly where I was sitting - in awe inspired amazement.
Once again, I was lost in the poetry.
I decided that my decorative project absolutely needed to extend into here.
For a larger space, I needed larger rocks.
I picked out some good pieces and stood them up in suitable positions, holding space for the cave.
I decided then and there that I would return in the night with candles.
—
There was a great synergy amongst the group.
The people I was in limbo with on this isolated little beach had a lot of experience in communal living. I learned a lot from witnessing the way everybody contributed to the collective cause.
There was always somebody collecting fire wood, whilst somebody kept the fire going. Multiple people preparing veggies, while a couple people worked on cooking.
When a machine is operating well, there can come a sense that nothing more needs doing.
I learned in my time with these people that there is always something that can be done, contributed, added.
That night we made a delicious meal, I wish I could remember what it was, but it was 5 star.
Every meal we ate in that cave was top-notch.
Never a simple one-dish-meal.
It was a spread of variety, flavour and decadence - made all the more tasty for the work that went into it.
After we had eaten and were reclined into comfortable positions of satisfaction, a tea pot was placed on the fire and we engaged in story telling and chit chat.
Eventually, my mind trailed away, wandered down from our dining hall, along the rocky beach, and into the secret mermaid cave.
I stood up, grabbed the candles I had taken from the church, and quietly began to exit the family cave.
“Where you going?” Alex asked me.
“I’m going to light candles in the cave” I said.
I walked down to my previously decorated art piece, and lit it up with candles in all the right spots.
It was gorgeous.
I crawled into the deeper cavern which was in total darkness now.
The empty abyss kept alive with the perpetual sound of lapping water against the hidden pebble beach.
I lit a candle, waking the space, and placed it infront of one of the monument rocks I had placed there earlier.
I continued, marrying 3 more candles with 3 more rocks, creating a little perimeter of light which crawled the walls and warmed the cave.
On hands and knees, I went back out to the entrance cave, and sat for a while.
Eventually I heard some sounds, followed by the appearance of some faces, as the group came around the corner and joined the majesty of the candle-lit moment.
In a line, we crawled through the small tunnel into the cliffs stomach, each person offering their own sort of sigh to honour the beauty they had entered.
Amazing how something can be beautiful, but once shared and appreciated with other humans, it becomes magic.
And the magic surely begun to conjure once we came together.
Without spoken direction, we naturally entered flow.
We sat in circle on the pebble beach.
I placed a candle in-between us.
Rose sparked a joint.
It cycled.
Something ushered us into quiet in the cave.
Similar to that of a church, it felt holy - and sacred.
A place and moment where words are not needed, the experience is felt - rather than intellectualised.
I stared into the candle, watching the flame dance as its light licked the curves and shadows on the pebble floor.
I started organising the stones that surrounded that centre point, decorating again.
Lav grew inspired and began to join in, and add to the art piece.
We became entranced with it, individually picking the right stones, collaborating and yet creating completely different designs.
Whilst we did this, the women stood, de-clothed, and entered the dark water.
The candles lightly illuminated their skin, giving a faint glow to their bodies as they stood in a pool of blackness.
The cave became an interactive silent theatre, accompanied by a natural orchestra of earthly sounds.
Lapping water, shifting pebbles, echoing splashes…
One of the girls moved along the edge of the pebble beach, releasing an avalanche of stones, bringing sounds to life like a rain stick.
She did this over and over, the sounds satisfying something deep inside of me.
The acoustics were incredible.
It is hard to word exactly how magical this moment was, and perhaps I can’t.
All the magic amplified in that particular special way that marijuanna can offer.
Aphrodite.
That good shit.
Potentially my favourite thing about weed, is when it can sharpen focus and heighten the sense of artistic appreciation.
If I am in this state, and I listen to a song, for the first time I will truly understand it. Listening deeper into each perfectly placed lyric, hearing the genius in the melody, recognising the beauty in each empty space.
I entered this state, in the cave.
No matter where I looked, there was something to deeply appreciate, almost in awe.
It felt as if I was woken into a dream, each element and contribution unpredictable and perfect.
—
The pebble art peace that Lav and I had been working on possessed him. He was fully engaged, growing in enthusiasm, almost manic in his creative state.
I had become bored of it, and felt pulled towards the water.
I left the candle, de-clothed and sat in a squat by the waters edge.
The women were moving, and sounding, exploring their bodies and playing with the caves echoes.
I observed the beauty of the moment.
The child like abandonment.
The divinity.
The high pitched tones that they sung were broken into pieces by giggles.
They were sirens, mermaids...
I wanted to enter the water, but it felt like it was their domain, and I did not want to intrude.
Rose and Sofia disappeared into the dark tunnel that led out to the ocean.
Alex stayed on the edge of candle light.
I watched, listened, appreciated.
Alex turned to me, “Paddy” she said.
“Do you want to come in the water”?
I did.
I entered the water and joined in the game, mirroring the sounds that echoed down the tunnel towards us.
“Do you want to go down the tunnel” I asked her.
“It’s scary” she said.
I turned to look back at the candle-lit land of which I came, and then back towards the dark tunnel which opened to some sparkling light in the distance.
“Get on my back” I told her.
She did.
I swam us into the tunnel, toning with the hidden mermaids that were splashing in the darkness.
The acoustics were impeccable.
The water in the tunnel was deep, and completely void of light.
We swam around in the echoing darkness for a while.
All that was visible was the flickering light and characters of the distant cave beach behind, and the dancing droplets of light bouncing off the ocean beyond the cliffs edge ahead.
“There is sparkles everywhere” Sofia was calling to us,
“I am swimming in stars”!
I thought at the time she was talking about the reflection in the water from the sky, but later learned that there was translucent phosphorus in the water.
I’d love to say that I saw it too, for it makes for an even more magical story, but I did not.
However, they were there, so add them to the picture in your mind.
The 3 mermaids and I swam out of the cave into the wide open ocean.
It was incredibly exciting.
The moon was full and bright.
The sky was clear and full of stars.
The flickering that was mirrored in the water sparkled like diamonds.
We sung, and giggled, and swam in the water together, fully alive and completely engaged in presence.
It was surreal.
Special.
My heart was wide open.
Some of the names in this story have been changed for preservation and privacy.
-
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