The authentically Greek soul frequents places secret to many, where reason and emotion, mind and heart, the natural and the supernatural, the sensible and the super-sensible meet and converse. Only those living within the Grace of the Holy Spirit know these secret places and present themselves, listening clearly and fully understanding these conversations – which are sometimes entirely curious. (Heraclitus and Makrygiannis)

Perhaps it is the memory of death and the desire for the Upper Jerusalem that stands at the depth of my soul like the first paint on an old school desk. Deep beneath layers and layers of dark green paint that one must scrape to reveal the note written by ancient students. To cheat on some final exam, they had written something that calls the inhabitants of the earth “dwellers.” (Preservation of a word)

A person is born to be free, not only as a material existence but primarily morally and spiritually. If there is a message that Hellenism has given and must continue to give to the world, it is the message – the cry – of freedom. In our worldview, everything is imbued with the notion of freedom. Everything begins there and ends there. In the beginning, it was only “freedom or death.” From the moment Hellenism embraced and internalized Christ, there is perfection: “freedom” (and from that death). (The onslaught of deconstructors)

“Where have you laid him?” (John 11:34). Everywhere, Lord… everywhere. Some of your friends we found, and we took their bones and kiss and venerate them. Others, again, we could not find… it was not possible to locate them. Only when we pass by the holy grounds that cover them, as if the air brings whiffs of myrrh – or an ineffable fragrance, in any case. Yes, there are many we cannot find. What can one find from Giorgakis the Olympian… The rain does not say to stop. (To rain)

Keep memory alive and arise living. Always followers of the Fathers. The virtue of ancestors, the tradition of descendants. The virtue of descendants, the living memory of ancestors. Without this prerequisite, we are worthless, intolerably decaying; and then who pays us any mind? We will write. Perhaps one day, strangers and kin will understand. (A hundred years)