“On a top of a hill was where that small chapel was built. Abandoned by the faithful, lonely, with the view of the mountain Pelion ricing on the right and smaller hills laying underneath it, on the left, reaching the Pagasitikós gulf. Built there, exposed to the sunlight from the beginning of the day until the end, overflowed by all these lights and having the north wind coming from the mountain rubbing its cracked walls, it was the chapel of Agios-Athonas.
Standing there, with a timeless world of light and life around me, colourful and rich in smells and sounds, that didn’t even notice my existence, made me feel powerless, invisible, facing a big world with its dominant, natural flow of life and death. A small glimpse of fear would appear, crawling slowly from each corner of my body to my heart, telling me that I’m nothing more than a part of that flow, nothing more than life and death. I would look up, search for Him in the endless blue sky but I could never meet His figure with my eyes because He was nowhere, yet, He was everywhere. Sometimes, I would open the door of the chapel and get inside the small, dark space closing the door behind me. It was very quiet there, I could feel the quietness. The only noise was the wind trying to get inside from a small hole on the roof, like a whistle, a dimmed song of an invisible force that for some reason would make the quietness more notable. Then, I would light a candle in front of the icon of the holy, of Agios-Athonas and sit on a chair looking at that small source of light dancing with its own death. Being as powerful and vivid as the light of the sun outside, it felt like I brought a drop of this light inside, creating this flame, giving birth to the holy spirit inside the chapel.”