LANDING AT MOUNT HOLY
The SUN, like a heavenly portable, emerges brilliantly on the horizon of Mount Athos and paints the Holy Mountain with its life-giving glimmers.
He rises and blows his trumpet like an angel in creation to rise and rise again, in this eternal and daily resurrection that repeats thousands of years of inactivity.
Then you see among many household and clean pilgrims to Daphne and some disembarked and self-exiled by the good and wise judgment of men.
The older ones never lost the love and the sure caress of a loving mother.
Others betrayed and disappointed. Many persecuted, crucified and hurt by the world.
Poor, inadequate, despised by the scales of men...
And just as the vast sea is not satisfied to drink the sweet rivers that fall into its embrace and remain salty again, so also these disembarked people, as if entering the port of Panagia, are not satisfied to nurse the caress of Panagia that brings them out of Hades.
It is there in the insatiable embrace of the ever-sung Theotokos of Athonite that everything...the earth, the soil, the stones, time, the flowers, even this oxygen, chant and sing innocent peace, unpunished acceptance and heavenly silent affection.
Father Dionysios Tabakis
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