Somber mornings, built in longings, and the sea awaits. Crossings, passages, journeys of time, sublime aromas of a land that is my sacred place. Intoxicating smells of the past coming back to me at last. Long lost destiny starts with just one step, but I’ve been walking for miles and miles and I’m growing tired.
What do you do for yourself they ask. I have a task, herculean at best. There is no rest for my body tonight.
Frightful faces look at me as I smile, they must not have seen joy in a while. Staring in disbelief that someone can break the spell of misery, it’s not a mystery. Listen to my liturgy. Amen
Strange men pause their eyes one me.
Breaking the sanctity of my solidarity.
What the fuck are you looking at…My tongue gets caught in a reaction but I bite it hard.
I close my joy in a box to share with those who give it back.
It’s a rarity in these strange times. To find the sublime in the ordinary and mundane.
The rain keeps falling on the streets of familiarity, my old haunts. They fault me, chase me away.
Yet I return changed.
Memories streaming like the rivers formed by the first fall rain.
Athena is washed clean after a summer of debauchery and tourist delights.
They will soon go as they always do, to leave our land for us to clean up.
Fast forward to a quiet space. Against the race of time. It’s all mine now, this moment. Atonement for my sins. Quietly knocking down my resignation to this abomination this greed. I plant the seed to a new life, walking away from the past like a lion roaming the earth in search for a place to call home.
Have you ever looked at something through your left eye and then through your right? Playing a proverbial game of hide and seek with our point of view often reveals what images we choose to see over others. Our vision is as reliable as our brain allows it to be. In most cases our minds have already shaped the reality we see ourselves in and being able to see differently, let alone change our perspective is as hard as changing how our brains are wired.
Perspective is an illusion.
Never trust people who say they are open minded. There is no such thing as a mind that is fully open to a new experience or point of view. Most of us are stuck in patterns of behaviour minted in our subconscious mind from our early childhood. As adults we reinforce behavior, point of view and frame of thought in an ever ending cycle of erase and repeat; thinking we’re growing or experiencing our world in a different way, but our minds have to work twice as hard to really, REALLY see the world and our place in it, in a different light.
We see what we want to see.
To see things as they are is different for each and every one of us. I will always gaze at a blue sky with the mind of someone who grew up near the Mediterranean sea. That shade of blue is unique only to that part of the world and no matter what; blue skies everywhere else will be compared to that, even though we’re all under the same sky as some neo-hippies would like to repeat, we aren’t.
Bringing Awareness into Seeing
Having perspective and being aware of your place in this earth is as primal as knowing how to kill our food before we eat it. Our instinct is for survival but our logical brain and our analytical brain is built to see beyond that. When people say “Use your Brain”, it’s literally making us look within, to control, discover and understand your patterns of behavior in order to alter what we see.
One Step at a Time
It’s not easy, no one ever said that perspective changes over night but if we don’t use these muscles, they will atrophy and then make us more stiff, physically and mentally.
Today make a committed effort to take time to observe further, stretch your brain as well as your body.
There is nothing more worrisome than predictability or more damning than fitting in.
If I were to start an advice column that would be its title. It would advise against prudence, predictability and letting things slide. Although anyone taking advice from me should probably check with their therapist first. I have never, ever fit in, and I have never had the desire to try. There was a very brief time in my early puberty when I convinced my mum to buy me a pair of Timberland boots and a puffy down filled jacket, because for whatever stupid reason, that was in fashion with the IN kids at the school I attended in Athens.
A year later I left the school to move to Western Massachusetts. To a fault, and deliberately I clash with the status quo, in ways that simply aren’t very forgiving at this stage of my life, and yet (there is always a yet); I am deeply in awe of people who are good at conforming, making due, and getting along. Sometimes I wish I could do that, but then I slap myself like Cher does and snap out of it.
I come from and was raised by a long legacy of women who world sacrifice everything instead of accepting their circumstance for the sake of convenience. Even though fitting in, going with the flow and just getting along would have been happily accepted by those around them; they broke the stereotype, every, single, time.
And here I am in my empty living room, boxes all around me; with the sound of a fan humming in the background; knowing full well, that living the life of a simpleton is not my cup of iced tea.
It took generations of women, ( and some men) before me; some still going against the grain, to instill in me the strongest desire to do better than what’s expected of me, differently, and often. Be something, and someone bloody different. The times of the what if’s and how comes are a waste of breath.
At the end of the day, our defining moments as humans are paved when we dare to transcend expectations. What saddens me the most about people and the choices they make, is not when they act differently than expected; because defying ones expectations of us, should be our greatest motivator; but when they react, respond and end up exactly as you thought. I’m more inclined to like someone when they defy society’s narrow view of them.
Men and women who have broken the stereotypes and moulds handed to them since the beginning of time, are the people I aspire to be like and learn from. What pushes you to move beyond the norm?
It’s been a while , since my last blog post, but I’ll defy expectations and get right back to that keyboard. If you care to see what I’ve published in the past feel free to pass by the posts section of the menu.
I’d love to hear your stories of defiance, small or large.
I always saw myself and often describe my life as somewhat rootless. A friend recently described me as somewhat bohemian, (a term I don’t particularly care for). Despite the romantic idea of moving around from place to place as being appealing, the logistics are often cause for reflection. I’ve moved house over 30 times; worked, loved and lived in three different countries. I’ve set up and taken down so many homes, it’s become a distorted hobby, and with every move I’ve made, and through my staunch defense of impermanence, I deeply long for a place to call home. The feeling of moving my life, my memories and my base once more is becoming a more daunting experience than I thought in the past. Every move, every packing of glasses, and books, and precious personal items, becomes more and more difficult.
With every move to another home, another apartment, and another space, I pick up new memories, new stories and new pieces of the puzzle. This idea that my childhood home would always be my home really was never a concept I subscribe to, and neither does my family. We are nomads, travelers, explorers of sorts; each a part of the never ending puzzle. Athens to Massachusetts to New York to London to Athens to New York to…. It’s a circle of connections one more interesting than the next.
2001 Leaving South London
I arrived in London from New York in September 2000, and while I had a soft spot for this great metropolis since my early childhood, living and studying there was an eye opening experience I would recommend to anyone. London is a city deeply rooted in history, art, music, theater, and cultural revolutions; it oozes tradition, yet the same stuffy London is host to the most progressive dance parties and groundbreaking art scene in all of Europe. Going toe to toe with Berlin, and Amsterdam; London is a pretty crazy diverse, interesting, experimental city, with some rad royals. Some of my closest, truest friendships were born there, my passion for the arts and culture was cultivated there, and my 20 years ( plus) yoga practice was minted there. Some 20 years on, I still connect with people I love and cherish in London. Their lives woven with mine, creating a tapestry and a life spanning more than 25 years.
Athens wasn’t and didn’t feel like home at the time. I had been away from Greece for over 10 years; moving as a family the first time in 1991 to live near my American Grandmother. A crazy experiment my family thought prudent at the time. I would stay a year, and go to an American School and then come back in a couple years for high school.
Returning to Athens 10 years later as a 23 year old was a like a punch in the face for this starry eyed idealistic Greek kid with an American upbringing. London served as a happy medium for “freaks” like myself. There are many (too many to count) Greeks living in London and like the countless Greeks who live abroad for many years, we think, maneuver and live differently. As a Greek American I felt more normal there than I did in Western Massachusetts, New York or Athens.
After living and studying in London for nearly two years, I packed my boxes for what seemed like the millionth time, while preparing to leave a friend’s apartment in North London. (My third move in almost 2 years.)
I moved from North London, to South London (Oval), back to North London (Angel) and even further North east; while frantically trying to finish my dissertation for my Masters Degree. I worked odd jobs to make ends meet, practiced Ashtanga Yoga at an amazing school and was living my life London Style. Which means flat broke but loving it, getting experimental hair cuts and dye jobs at the Vidal Sassoon School and hanging out at some of the best dance clubs in Europe.
One of my many homes at the time was the home of a still dear friend in North London near Angel. I spent the bulk of my year there, writing my dissertation, falling in love with a hot guy, who liked me so much, I thought he was crazy, and going to seedy underground clubs in Shoreditch and Hoxton (before it became popular).
When my studies were complete I packed up my life, with not the faintest idea of what I was going to do upon returning to Athens. Going back to New York seemed like a bad idea after September 11th, so in October 2001 I was on a plane back to Greece for what seemed like a permanent stay. I was leaving everything I had focused on in London to return to Athens; with no better excuse other than this deep need to be back near my family and my birthplace. After 10 years away in America and London, I was deeply changed, but eager to embrace my roots anew, and figure out the next step. Truthfully, I had no idea what I was getting into; but I was open to pure adventure, chaos, disappointment, new beginnings, and of course many many more apartments, houses and more houses where bits and pieces of my life’s puzzle were created. I don’t regret moving from place to place. I find that each place has something to teach us, but sometimes the lessons are harsher and harsher.
A House is Not a Home
The picture will be complete when it is ready, each piece so significant and unique in its own way. A home is where you can be complete, a home is not only where your heart is but where you are. The journey of discovering where is your home takes time. For some it is exactly where they started, and for others a journey to a whole new place. What remains true through every move and every journey is the mantra ” όπου γη και πατρίς.
The idea behind this Greek nugget of wisdom is that wherever you may find yourself on this earth/land, that is your home. And you carry your home wherever you may be. I take my home in my heart in my memories in my family. The ones I love who are closest to me are my home. Greece is my home, America is my home, New York is my home, Brooklyn is my home and this apartment I will soon leave from; was my home.
The next home awaits and the chapter begins. Boxes, memories, stories are packed carefully, so as to not break and the journey continues.
Please feel free to share your story:
Where do you feel most at home, and have you left your home to find another?
My mother thinks I’m strange and a little weird and that’s alright with me. She’s a woman who raised me to be independent and to think for myself. She often makes fun of me since apparently I remind her of her mother. ( in a good way). Her mother before her raised two children on her own and didn’t bat an eyelid she was uncompromising and completely determined to do well by her children despite the fact that she barely had a high school education.
My mother is a woman who left her very poor little town in western Mass and whole heartedly with incredible courage embraced another culture defying her circumstance and upbringing. Despite her seemingly limited resources she showed me that she’s capable of anything. A woman of sharp wit and immense beauty, she faced her demons head on and became much more than just another white poor American. She grew through her connection with not only another culture but a language absolutely foreign to her.
My mother is my hero and I have often made it my duty to protect her. She’s been an inspiration and also a voice of reason. She’s baffled by my obsession with cleaning and over the top tidiness ( a little OCD anyone??) but also accepts my very quirky not normal side with the love that only a mother can give. She’s my most honest critic and my biggest fan and that is what made me what I am today.
I’m a strange breed and she still allows me to be who I am without restriction or malice, she lets people unfold and has mentored and lifted many others who found their path with her guidance. Above all Christine Jackson Counelis is a badass, a woman of cunning intellect and superb humor.
A woman of incredible courage and deep knowing. She constantly reinvents herself and as she gets older she explores avenues that other women her age would shy away from. Intrepid traveler and ever curious soul.
Small ones, big lies, white lies, sweet little lies, big huge pile of shit lies. I’ve done it on occasion, I’ve been the recipient of all these; half truths, full on no connection to reality fabrications, and little ones that mask reality with just a tiny film of deception. Over the years, I’ve realized how much damage harsh truths can cause, but how much lasting damage lies create.
The truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth.
I have long held the conviction that; telling the truth about who I am, my life, my struggles, and my pain is the only way to be true to myself. Giving it straight to others despite the sting it might cause or initial discomfort it might bring is far more valuable than letting stuff slide, mucking about with the truth or strait up lying to someone; especially someone I love and care about. I’ve often heard others follow the mantra that it’s better to tell someone a little lie to save them momentary pain, disappointment or long term disillusionment, rather than telling it as it is. After many attempts at sugar coating, bending the truth or full on lying; I have found time and again that formula is not effective, or helpful. Even the smallest lie is incredibly damaging in the end. Honesty and vulnerability go hand in hand, whereas insecurity and dishonesty are strange bedfellows and often bicker behind each other’s backs. Someone will eventually sleep on the couch.
The Blue Pill conundrum
Telling the difference between the truth, half truth and a full on stinking lie requires a diligent mind. Calling out a lie at our day an age; is almost an act of bravery. Making the conscious choice to speak the truth no matter what, is about letting go of a lot of false comfort. I’ve never been comfortable with lies. I’ve never wanted to accept them as truths and dealing with people who readily dip into the pool of deception no matter how shallow unnerve me. Dishonesty is easy scapegoat. Choosing to see the truth, speak the truth and live the truth is a sacrifice, and a way of life; on the other hand ( as the Matrix so aptly shows) choosing to live (in) a lie, tell lies, accept lies as truth, and ignore lies when they are spoken is a very lonely existence. Knowing that the reality you see is false and still accepting it takes an enormous amount of self deprivation. Lies starve us, whereas truth no matter how harsh leads us to freedom.
The Lies we tell ourselves
We’ve seen the scenario, we’ve played the part often enough to know that lies to others, are lies to ourselves. The truth we conceal from others is the truth we don’t want to face. The repetition of self deception and deception of others is a cycle marred in self doubt. We lie because we don’t want to face reality, we conceal from ourselves because we can’t bear to see; and by creating deceptive images of ourselves to others often creates a far uglier picture than we’re willing to admit. Self knowledge requires self honesty, brutal, raw and unfiltered. Lying to ourselves creates distance, false comfort and ultimately a departure from reality in general. Facing our limitations, fears, shortcomings, problems and discomfort requires honesty, truth and transparency. Without that, who are we really but a story we create?
Fact, Fiction and Freedom
Well woven stories are all fine and good, but the truth is far more interesting in the end; because unlike a perfect tale; we don’t have to work hard to remember what’s true and what’s a fact. The line is all too often blurred by desire, insecurity, megalomania and greed. Every story however doesn’t have a happy ending, and reality is a testament to that. Be real, be truthful, be honest and the riches of those aspirations far outnumber the lies we create in the sacrificial altar of ourselves.
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Want to read past articles and poems? Look no further 🙂 Check out past stories below
breathe in breathe out be thankful be sweet be concrete discreet unique dance to another beat don’t let people step on your feet. Don’t give in yet. I confess I’m lost in my emotions I have notions about you and me Nothing concrete just a feeling Unique complete maybe it’s just me do you see? This thing I’m in, this swinging in my hips my lips part I start. Step to the rhythm then I get lost in you again I stopped my pen and thought not again... but then I felt your breath on my neck sweetness completeness uniqueness a pleasure listen to
Timing is everything. We conjure up timing for our lives, loves, career choices and major life decisions. Timing is also important when choosing to let go of patterns, and self imposed identities, that no longer fit our narrative. Yes it is a matter of choice. Keeping things around that don’t fit, don’t represent who we are, and don’t add to our lives; is clutter, and we have the power to either allow them to exist without checking them or removing them from our sphere of influence. Knowing how to sift through what we need and what we don’t is a very personal and sometimes painful process.
What to keep what to let go
We all have a tendency to hold on to ideas, people, things, clothing, habits, and relationships; a little passed their due date. We get rid of food that can possibly poison us if we consume it, why not everything else? I will include myself in the Emotional Pack-rats, Memory Hoarders Anonymous (EPMHA) group. The notion that we are connected, or defined; by our stuff, our memories and our habits has been a constant source of curiosity for me in the last few years. I have held on to beliefs that no longer serve me, defined myself in a way that no longer holds true, and stuck to habits just because that’s the way I learned. In recent months I’ve shed a very harsh light on those stale stories of me and it has not been a pretty sight. (think uncooked chicken that’s been left out in the sun for a day)
Stop the Insanity
When we stop collecting and keeping up with worn out, and overused possessions, and reflections of ourselves; we make room for the ones we underestimate or undervalue. Undervaluing is also something that requires assessment when releasing old narratives that we cannot sustain or make room for any longer. Cleaning the closet, throwing out, putting away and airing out our lives is a difficult undertaking, but it’s far better than keeping shit around that no longer works. That being said; old doesn’t mean bad, and new doesn’t always mean good, but doing the same thing expecting a different result is… INSANITY.
Get a Grip/ Helping hand
Loosening our grip on our self imposed ideas, pain, and played out narrative, requires a little (a lot) of patience. Getting a strong hold on that which serves us and takes our lives to the next level; requires focus. We are the only ones who can let go of our old script, but this is not a monologue. We co-exist with others, and allowing others to lift us up, direct us towards the light and help find our inner guide; is the only true way to let go and become a better version of ourselves. One that we can be proud of, one that we can stand by, one that can thrive. Holding on to old, long debunked beliefs is often traumatizing and knowing that we can hold on when we lose our balance is absolutely imperative to finding that balance again. The beam doesn’t get any easier but deep knowing, and self knowledge comes with a community of like minded people who can give us a nudge when we need it the most.
I for one am thankful for that net (work) of hands available to hold me when I fall. Letting go isn’t about giving up; it’s about landing solidly on our feet when we fall and knowing that we can walk gallantly towards out best self.
Eleana Kouneli 