Journey to the Western Light

This time we decided to cross the island through the center – slowly, knowing that every road here is not just a path, but an unfolding feeling. We drove towards the western coast, where the impregnable fortress of Angelokastro stands on the mountain, and a little further south – the monastery of Paleokastritsa with the icon of the “Inexhaustible Cup”.

The road was narrow, winding, as if it didn’t want to hurry. And I was grateful for this slowness. We passed villages with pink houses, entwined with bougainvillea and grapes. The courtyards were open like palms. Palm trees, lemon trees with bright fruits, and huge cacti covered with orange fruits were everywhere. We stopped at one of them – wild, belonging to no one. The fruits were amazing: the taste was like a cross between a fig and a kiwi. A small miracle on the roadside.

There was a light joy on the island. Not fuss, not routine, but joy . The Greeks sat in the shade of taverns, drank wine, shared news, without hurrying. Someone rode past on a bicycle, someone carried bread out of the house. All this looked not like "life", but like a presence in it . It was hot, but not heavy. The sky was high. September breathed fullness.

We reached Paleokastritsa in the evening. The monastery was closed, as it should be on weekdays - monks live here, fifteen of them, and the space maintains its rhythm. We waited for it to open. While we stood in the shade, we looked down at the sea from above - shining like opal.

When the doors opened, we entered into silence. Everything inside was stone, flowers in pots, benches, wax, the smell of incense. I approached the icon. "The Inexhaustible Chalice" - the face of the Virgin Mary, surrounded by silver plates. Here they gave thanks for healing, for the birth of children, for help, for hope. It was not something loud - but the whole space breathed reciprocity .

I didn't ask. I was just there. Sometimes that's what prayer is.