Sam and Sally: Leaving Patmos

Today Sam and Sally leave Patmos for a trip through Europe -- Italy, Spain, France . . . here are excerpts from the last week . . .

Sally wrote:

It's early Sat morning; roosters are still crowing away. Got a few more sunrise shots to add to the hundreds we need to weed through and keep our favorites. Sam's back up on the upper patio with notebook, pen, and coffee. I'll go up later when the sun has heated up the cozy little nook with a bench (mostly protected from the wind which seems a constant here) where I can let the sun soak in to store up to take with me. . .  As Sam keeps plastering pics of me in his emails, here's some of him . . .   

Sam wrote:    

There's a rock in the bay of Petra, where we hiked on Wednesday, that is  rumored to have been the abode of hermits in the 4th century. There are  steps carved into the rock, and you can see where they enhanced the  scooped out "caves" to live in, cut water gathering channels, etc. That  eremitic life has had an appeal to me for a long time. Reminds me of  some of the more remote island hermitages in Ireland, though this is  much older. . . 

Melanie: The Thunderer

Melanie says: 

Wrote in my car during a thunderstorm.

Came from the sky, I guess.

------------------------------------------------------------

The Thunderer

In the lightning storm of my heart, you have carved place of passion, a home of wavering turbulence lit up with light, igniting and uniting electric fire within torrential tears. You have burned me, scorched me, marked me, branded me and made me your own. With tears I have washed the fire of this love, this loss, this burning desire. I lie awake at night praying for stillness, for the calm center of the storm to pass over me and offer me release.

You hold yourself in, but I see you for what you are. The power to create and destroy. The explosive giver of life. The source of fertile conception, the semen source of life. The destroyer. The beginner. The stormy one who tosses the seas upon the shore, who leaves the maidens widowed and with child. Who returns on cresting white caps, to the maelstrom of the sea. You light this fire and it consumes me as you dance away on waves of my tears.

You are the thunderer, the one we were taught to fear. And I, alone in the cliffs, watch the bruised clouds crest over the mountains that announce your arrival with pooling hail.

Hail.

Hail.

Hail.

Washing over me until I am brought to my knees in despair. You light the sky around me, but I am small and the brilliance blinds me, cripples me and breaks me. And I drown in your arms, engulfed by flames, licked by the flames of desire, defeated by the forces that separate the day from night, man from woman, water from fire, and tears from rain.

 

Today: May 24, 2011

Finally made it to market.  Some mixed emotions but happy, happy!  Just a little more work to do . . .
More info and links soon . . .

Excerpt from Sam's Description of Easter Week on Patmos

"On the Tuesday after Easter,  you’d have heard firecrackers going off much of the day. Sometimes, it was just children playing (driving away demons), but mostly it was associated with the rite we witnessed in the morning in Plateia Levias (which means Lesbos Square). Today was the day when holy relics and icons were brought down in procession from the monastery by the abbot and monks (some came from a few of the churches, as well) and church members, and arranged around the square. Believers moved around the square and kissed the icons while the monks and abbot were chanting. Then they went over to an altar and did some more ceremony, and then returned to the square, where the holiest relics in the cathedral were held by monks, and believers lined up for a baptism by the abbot (he sprinkled holy water on their heads with bound branches—we don’t know what—and carnations, after which each believer kissed both the relic and (often) the hand of the holder. One of the most prized relics of the monastery is the skull of St. Thomas (that Thomas, the “doubting” Thomas), which is in a sort of silver bucket. There was another skull, and what we think is a hand, and a particular bound book, and a few other things. It took a long while for people to accomplish this (we were inches behind the abbot and the monks). After this ceremony, groups of icon holders and supporters began moving through the streets of Chora, taking icons into local houses to “bless” them for the coming year. Fireworks are part of this as they stop at each house. . ."

Upon Reflection

Sunday May 8^th, 2011

 

Upon reflection of the death of Osama Bin Laden Gabrielle Macalister writes:

 

 

You live bang bang

By the sword bang bang

You die bang bang

By the sword bang bang bang

This note was found swirling in the wind outside of a Russian torture chamber where

our hero is being held by a consortium of American, British and Russian energy czars

who are all thieving conniving rouges and tightly enmeshed in their cabal to destroy 

the truth.

Slavko: Spring Travels

We went to Bosnia (Busovaca region) for a few days, my godchild had a Communion, so we were invited to it. Just plain beautiful . . .  As we sat under the cherry tree full of blossom, and white petals pouring down in our Turkish coffee, and our hair, I realized the inspiration of the Japanese with it... 

Chaz Has: More Recurring Dream

Saturday Night 4/30/11

While on the mission to the Arctic Macalister discovered a secret code that the energy companies were using to transfer money to political operatives.  The energy companies had found a way to open a pocket in their emails and dump digital lump sums of money, cover over the pocket and then send them to the murderous operatives silently and without a trace.

Friday Night 5/6/11

A very scary Russian oil czar has Macalister locked in an interrogation room in Minsk

and as the Russian circles around his prey and says, in a delightful voice, this is my most favorite part of the chase.  This is the part where we kill you Macalister.

--Charles