Chapter 10. Revelation

  Lying in bed longer than usual, I looked out the half-open window: soft light penetrated the room through the morning silence, still carrying the breath of night. But my thoughts were far from this tranquility—they returned to the previous evening, to Leonidas. There was something contradictory about him. Or maybe it just seemed that way to me. I felt my heart drawn to him, like a hand to fire — craving warmth but afraid of getting burned. And yet, it was precisely in this fine line between desire and doubt that I felt alive.

  I was going to explore the coast. On the day I set out to paint a study with roses and was riding my bike towards the village of Leonidas, my gaze caught on several secret tiny paths.
There were one or two places I desperately wanted to explore: these barely discernible paths, almost hidden by thick thorny bushes and pine trees, seemed to mysteriously hint that below, behind the descent, there were real corners of paradise hidden from prying eyes — spots known to far from every local, let alone visitors. 

  Less than half an hour later, I was already riding my bike in the direction I had planned.
The weather had been calm and windless for several days. The air was getting warmer every day. Even the breeze had lost all memory of the past winter and was warm and gentle. 

  The sea, still slumbering from its night's sleep, was frozen in the morning bliss, lazy and motionless. Along the entire horizon, small clouds stretched out like snow-white curly sheep, following the invisible sky shepherd in an unbroken chain.  
Along the way, I kept encountering land turtles slowly crossing the road. When I rode past them, they flinched, hid their heads in their shells, and watched the movement of the bicycle from their little world. And then, a minute later, they continued on their leisurely way, as if nothing in the world could disturb their measured pace.

  When I reached the slope near the shore, I couldn't find one of these paths right away. But as I looked around, my attention was drawn to a turtle rustling in the bushes. It was eagerly chewing on prickly thistles and smacking its lips so loudly that it didn't sound like a small, quiet creature at all. It was there, near it, that I saw the barely discernible descent to the sea. 

  I left my bike on the slope, confident that it would remain intact in these deserted places.
The descent was not easy. To keep my balance, I grabbed the tall grass with my hands. The soles of my sneakers kept slipping on the protruding rocks in the soil.
  As I made my way through the prickly juniper bushes, I felt a sharp pain and stopped for a moment. Thin white scratches appeared on my calves. But as soon as I looked up, the pain disappeared. The sight before me made me forget everything: behind the green wall of bushes was a picturesque tiny beach, shaped like a semicircle, resembling a seashell. The first thing that delighted me was the color of the sea. Its shades changed smoothly from shallow to deep water: from warm golden-pink where the waves caressed the shore to delicate aquamarine dissolving into cold turquoise. The bay seemed to be hidden in a stone bag: it was surrounded by sloping boulders of light sandstone sticking out of the sand, in places covered with mustard lichen. The boulders protected the paradise beach like ancient guards.  This created a feeling of safety, as if this place existed separately from the rest of the world.

  I stood on the shore, mesmerized by the beauty, running my toes through the powder-soft sand: it sparkled in the sunlight, and lacy shadows fell across its surface. I turned to look at the trees, through whose foliage the sunlight was shining, and saw an old pine tree growing out of the boulders on the slope, spreading her branches over the bay. Her trunk curved in a bizarre arc. Its unnatural bend conveyed a sense of live tension, as if she were reaching out, striving to touch the sea. It was something on the verge of risk: a little more and the roots would be visible, bursting out of the ground, and she would fall from the mountain and crash down. Rebellious against fate, she seemed to be reaching with all her might for her seemingly unattainable love - the sea. But she did it! The pine tree barely touched the surface of the sea with the tips of her needles, leaving tiny circles on the water. A light breeze made her branches sway, sometimes dipping the needles a little deeper into the sea, sometimes lifting them again, separating them from the water for a moment. Crystal salt drops trembled at the very tips of the needles, like tears of separation, the separation of the pine tree and the sea. I thought: isn't that how people are in their pursuit of love? They take risks, they break down, they suffer, but they still reach out, even if that touch lasts only a moment.

  In the distance, along the coastline, I could see a structure, something like an old hut, one of those that locals sometimes put up in deserted places for fun, to feel like Robinson Crusoe. From there, light tapping sounds could be heard in the bay: the entrance to the hut was decorated with hundreds of seashells strung on long threads, creating a kind of curtain. The hut was old and seemed abandoned.
Everything was quiet in this bay. It seemed that even the wind died down here at the edge of the pine trees, not daring to disturb the seclusion of this place. Only the hut, modestly nestled against the slope, hinted that humans had once set foot in these parts. 

  I looked around. Making sure I was alone on the beach, I took off all my clothes and, running with childlike excitement, jumped naked into the sea. The coolness of the sea instantly pierced my body, blood rushed to my heart, sharpening all my senses. I swam and frolicked, diving into the water for a moment, then surfacing to take a breath. Turning to face the bay, I swam on my back. From the sea, the bay looked even more beautiful, and the spreading pine tree cast watercolor reflections on the sea, which spread across the surface of the water in light viridon lakes. 

  The air was so fresh and reminded me of the smell of watermelon. Ah, the sea! The sea was especially gentle with me that morning. It caressed me, not leaving a single centimeter of my body untouched, and there was something primal, indivisible about it, as if the element itself was embracing me. The merging with nature was exciting: a rush of warmth in my lower abdomen made my head spin as the sea currents slid between my legs.

   I held my breath and dove deeper to see the shades of the sea from below: the water shimmered with refracted light, reflecting bright rainbow-colored snakes of light crawling across the sandy bottom. The schools of fish swimming beneath me glistened with silver scales, like knife blades in the sun. The sea was so clear that I felt as if I were floating in zero gravity. I admired this game and caught the sunbeams penetrating through the thickness of the water with my palms. There was no past, no future, only this moment, and it was mine! It gave me an almost narcotic pleasure. I forgot about everything! Carried away, I lost track of time underwater, but the lack of air in my lungs brought me back to reality. I surfaced and opened my mouth, greedily gulping air. And that breath of oxygen was a little painful and at the same time sweet, like a infant's first breath.

I stepped onto the shore. My body was shaking, either from the coolness of the sea or from excitement. Diamond droplets of water shone on the skin. But the hot rays of the sun instantly warmed my skin, and swimming had made my body strong, emphasizing my muscles.
On the sand, a sea star lay clinging to a rock with its belly facing up. Its body was coral-colored, and its underside, with its multitude of tiny tube feet, was milky white. 
I found a piece of dry pine branch on the shore and gently poked it into the very center. Feeling my touch, hundreds of its feet began to move and it slowly wriggled in place, leaving wave-like lines on the wet sand. I didn't know if it could be dangerous to humans: it had something like a beak in the middle and I thought it might spray poison through it. But despite my fears, my desire to save the poor thing washed up on the shore was stronger. With my fingertips, I gently lifted it by one of its rays and threw it into the sea. It splashed onto the water's surface and sank to the bottom.

  To take a break from swimming in the sea (I swam for about an hour), I climbed onto one of the semicircular boulders hidden in the shade of a pine tree. Its surface glistened with golden flecks and was rough, but not sharp at all.  
From this slight height, a wide panorama opened up: not only the bay itself was clearly visible from there, but also the first finger of the Halkidiki Peninsula - Kassandra. I sat down on a rock. 

  Kassandra, whose shores lay spread out before my eyes, stretched along the entire horizon. Small villages were barely visible as bright spots on them: Nea Potidea, the narrowest isthmus connecting Sithonia and Kassandra; Fokia, with the hazy silhouette of the observation tower on the cape; Afitos (where just yesterday we sat in a bar with Nicole and Leonidas); Kalithea, the center of youth parties; and many other tourist villages.
The first finger of Chalkidiki could be reached by a roundabout route, driving along the arc of the coast by car or... “Or directly, by swimming,” I thought. This thought, which suddenly came into my mind, startled me.

“Cross the Toroneos Gulf?” I asked aloud. The words seemed to slip unexpectedly from my salty lips. “The waters here are almost always calm: the bay is located between two long peninsulas, which themselves act as giant breakwaters.” I gazed into the distance and tried to estimate how many kilometers of sea there were from one shore to the other. “And besides, as far as I know, there are no sharks here, at least none that are dangerous to humans. What's more, I'm in good physical shape,” I thought to myself, licking the sea salt from my lips.
"There was a time when I could swim 4-5 km without much effort. True, it was mostly along the shore. Well, never mind, I'm not afraid of the deep."
I looked out at the sea, trying to imagine it.  
“Hmm, if you don't think about the fact that there's the ocean beneath you, there's nothing scary about it — you just swim, swim without rushing, you can even rest, lie on the surface of the sea. The salt water holds you up well, the main thing is to relax and, so to speak, trust the nature.” 

 The Aegean spring stirred thoughts, raised hopes, excited and inspired. The smell of blooming sage came down from the slopes and stupefied my head. 
I sat on a rock stroking my body with my hands. My skin was a little tight from the salty sea water, but it was still smooth. I ran my fingers over my shoulders, finding a large mole on my right arm. It had become more prominent over the years, and in the sun it had turned an alarming red colour and increased in size. It worried me and I thought about seeing a doctor one day. My palms slid lower, down to my calves: the scratches left by the juniper were showing and turning red. I just sat on the rock and looked at myself, the way little children do: everything seems amazing to them, even their own reflection in the mirror can be mesmerising.

  Caressing my feet I came across a small bulge between my big and second toe. It was a small spot, barely replaceable, a little lighter than my skin, like a crescent moon. I'd had it since birth. A little raised to the touch, it was always sensitive. Every time the sea water touched it, I felt a slight tingling sensation. When I was very young, my mother used to bathe me and say: "This is your moon mark. It was left by the Moon herself when you were born. She touched you with her light and gave you protection. And the Sea will always recognise you and accept you, even if one day the whole world turns away."                        I thought of my mum and I felt sad.  I rarely met her, because we were separated by thousands of kilometres. But I felt her presence tirelessly with every part of my soul.  

  With my arms crossed in front of me and my head resting on my palms, I rested my belly on the cool stone. The midday breeze glided across my bended legs, tickling my feet.
In the distance, two fishing boats sailed by like ghosts. In response to their movements, the sea stirred, splashed, lapping the shore with waves, trembled, and then fell silent.  At that moment, nothing but those boats reminded me of the existence of man on the earth. And I wondered, "What would the world be like without people...?
Well, I suppose it would be just like here, right now. Just sea and sky, pine trees and rocks, silence, and only the wind to witness this miracle." I pondered.
Everything around seemed perfect and self-sufficient. Nature lived according to its ancient laws, it did not need praise and applause.  It was in harmony with itself and existed for its own sake. "It was we humans who invented to write poems, paintings, songs, to become a part of this creation, not to feel like strangers here. But does the earth need it? No! We are only guests here and we are given only a moment to live it in gratitude - a moment we call life."                                                                                                                                          I imagined the centuries changing, and this bay still keeps its secrets: the sun rises above the horizon, the waves wash the sand, the fish glisten with their silver sides in the depths. And no one thinks of destroying or appropriating this miracle.

I was overcome with a sense of humility and peace. The light touch of the wind, the roughness of the stones, was a kind of bliss. 
My eyelids became heavy and slumber pulled me into its embrace. The sea was quietly whispering a lullaby and it seemed to me that I was dreaming....

  I saw myself standing on the edge of the headland. It was hazy, misty, as if I were looking through a coloured glass that had been in the sea for years. The sunset was unfolding in front of me: the scarlet sun was spreading copper threads across the sea. Suddenly I felt a presence behind me, light and familiar, and I wanted to turn round to face it: someone touched my shoulder lightly. I turned around slowly, feeling the joyous anticipation of meeting someone. There was a silhouette in front of me: indistinct, shrouded in silver mist.  I wanted to smile, but suddenly I felt that the touch became different - hard and decisive. An icy glint flickered in the eyes in front of me through the mist.  The hand slid predatorily into my shoulder and .... and coldly pushed me off the cliff.... Tearing up clods of soil, my feet slid down.

  I fell into the abyss, screaming, but it was a soundless scream, as if the air had disappeared. For a moment the fear lost its sharpness and the fall became a flight - light and liberating. I saw a glowing golden particle fly out of my heart. It swirled around me, and then...then my body suddenly shattered into a myriad of tiny sparkling grains of sand. They fell, penetrating the sea, melting into the rocks and disappearing into the roots of plants, leaving behind traces like falling stars. My subconscious was playing with me, drawing frightening images.

  Suddenly, through the shroud of sleep, I heard the words:

"Through thorns you walk, Through trails so steep, In every wave yourself you'll meet..."

It was no longer an illusion of my imagination or a hallucination; I heard the words clearly, as if they were real. My eyes instinctively opened and I lifted my head.... silence.
I stood up. Embarrassed by my nakedness I looked around..... - no one.

  The sun had already shifted and its rays were falling on the stone, heating the surface of the boulder. 
"What the hell is this?" I thought. After standing for a minute and finding no intruder, I was about to lie down again when I happened to notice something glittering opposite me: a seagull was sitting quietly on one of the boulders, staring at me.... We were looking at each other and I recognised her! It was her - the seagull on the stormy night! There was something different about her that would enable me to recognise her among a thousand other birds. "No doubt it's her!" I thought with conviction. It was one of those strange coincidences that made me wonder, "what if there's some secret meaning to it all? ". The seagull was unnatural in its stateliness: it did not take its gaze off me: it was frightening and alarming.

  Spontaneously the thought flashed: "Is she a messenger?!" Was it a question or an answer?
And suddenly I remembered a story from an old Greek legend about Larissa, the granddaughter of Poseidon. She was called the nymph of the sea, and it was said that she could appear to people in the form of a seagull. Some considered her the guardian of lost souls, others - a guide between worlds, between reality and dreams.

"What if the seagull was a nymph? And the rumours, myths, stories I had read in books and heard from the locals were now fleshed out in front of me. Maybe this bird is not just a bird, but a sign? A message from the depths of time, from the elements themselves."

  A little while later, the seagull stirred, spreading her wings. She soared lightly, made a few circles over the bay, and the sunlight slipped over her snow-white feathers. It flew so close to me that I felt a gust of air from her wings, and without delay she passed the shore, flew over the hut and headed towards Leonidas' village. I looked at her and it seemed to me that this flight was no accident. But what was it? Was it a call, a warning, or a promise?

The words I heard in the shroud of sleep echoed so unceasingly in my mind:

"Through thorns you walk, Through trails so steep, In every wave yourself you'll meet..."

What could it mean?  Whose words were they? It was strange, for they did not sound like a voice, but they were not my thoughts, as if I heard them in my heart.

 A breeze came up. The sea moved, breathed. I sat quietly, staring into the waves, trying to make sense of the message. The midday sun was already burning my shoulders. I got dressed and brushed the sand off my feet to pull on my sneakers. 
As I left, I looked back at the bay to admire its beauty once more. No, it wasn't a farewell - I knew I would come back here again and again and it would become my secret place, where I could be filled with strength, alone with the sea and with myself.