Mists of Delphi

Grey outside. Misting precipitation clinging to the sweater I have just put on--put on for the first time since arriving in Greece. The weather and the mountainous terrain set Delphi apart from Athens. The dreariness isn’t the only difference from Athens; but it might be to blame for the otherworldly feeling I get walking through the steep streets of Delphi. I can only imagine the many mile long treks from Athens or Sparta or Corinth or any of the ancient Greek city states along mule paths clinging to steep ravines as delegates make their way to offer at the Temple of the Pithian Apollo or ask advice and guidance from the famed Oracle. It is easy to imagine the affect of unearthliness that marbled pillars and temples and statues rising with a polished white sheen out of the rough rock and breaking the seemingly omnipresent fog and mist would have on the wearied traveler already expecting to commune with the gods.

(Wrestling at the anceint Delphic gymnasium+foreboding skies and heady scenery)

With the rain falling in a much more pressing manner, we leave our bags at the hotel and walk to the Archeological museum; saving the onsite walk for a dryer day. Our hotel is situated on the lowest of the four parallel streets that are cut into the mountain side and make up modern Delphi; and our room is on the lowest level with a balcony big enough for the three of us to stand on and gape at the river valley opening below like an open mouth exposing gums and cheeks of olive trees and lush green vegetation and teeth of white rock accentuating the color of green that marches unbroken from the valley immediately below to the glistening bay of Corinth that sparkles in our eyes while we drink in the entirety of an impressive sight. Again, it is easy to understand how the ancients looked upon Delphi as holy ground. (Outside our hotel room and view below)

The ruins of Delphi itself are impressive, but are incapable of arousing the awe inspired dedications and pilgrimages that marked its earlier history. While the building structures themselves have, for the most part, been lost to the mists of times that swirl constantly around that mountain peak, the overall plan of the city is easily recognizable. Narrow streets winding upwards along the mountainside with avenues packed full of the Treasuries of various Greek powers and temples and statues and monuments that are sometimes built to crowd the monuments of other powers after recent military victories; a kind of religious/military one up manship. The sacred streams of the Pithian Apollo still trickle down from the rocks above; while priests and pilgrims from around the Aegean world bathed in the holy waters, it was only fitting that I rinse my beard in its cleansing waters.

Sam felt an overwhelming urge and falling on his knees demanded and begged for a spontaneous baptism into the pantheon of Greek Gods and giving his suppliance and devotion to Apollo in particular; I could do nothing but humbly comply (I was bathed in the waters of Pithian Apollo and as such was as near to an Apollonian Priest as we had) and quench his burning desire with a couple handfuls of the holy water that had flowed for ages over the now worn and smooth rocks, ethcing into the rock a timless legacy of its ancient tradition and importance.

It should be noted that since my ordination and Sam's baptism we have had eerie instances of foresight and prophecy. So, as the nations of Greece used to go to the Oracle for political, social and military advice; I suggest that the nations of the World might find some useful (and divinely inspired) suggestions from us. Thanks Apollo.