«Ποια είσαι;» (“Who are you?”), when I walked by with the dogs and greeted her. The question came from interest. It’s not difficult to read someone’s energy field. Yet, this question has been puzzling me for months. Every time someone asks. Today I inquired.
«Τι εννοείτε; Το όνομά μου;» (“What do you mean? My name?”) And like every old person I’ve met, the last of the oldest generation alive, she was honest, blunt.
«Όχι. Είσαι χωριανή μας;» (“No. Are you from our village?”) I almost laughed. But not because I was mocking her. Because it finally made sense to me. So, today I answered equally honestly.
«Όχι… μόνο προσωρινά». (“No… only temporarily.”) She was satisfied. Got what she wanted, and neatly put that file away. No further discussion, except about her/their dog, which was waking the whole neighborhood up.
«Είναι δεμένος…» (“He’s tied…”) she murmured, like it was the most natural thing. Now it’s clearer why so many dogs are chained here.
The people are chained too. To their properties, to their younger lives, to their families. And also why so many dogs—big, medium-sized, and small—roam around the streets freely (many of them getting killed). The people consider the town to be their backyard. That’s also why their houses aren’t surrounded by high walls but low borders—and often none at all. Their gates are always open, visibility is accessible. Anyone can stop, walk in—as do dogs.
Little everyday incidents, which are always plentiful...
These little experiences, lived awake, say much more than all unlived theories this world is now drowning in.
Awake just means to be present, to be aware, rather than on autopilot, absent, or partly there.
