On our way out of Monemvasia, we passed the town’s graveyard.
Graveyards have always fascinated me with their symbolism of eternity, like islands unmoved by the breaking waves of a turbulent sea. Stubborn reminders that there might be more to life than the tangibility of our senses. Its millennia-old cultural heritage often contrasting with the transience of its enveloping world.
Loss, a child of love, is the traveler between these worlds.
Because, regardless of faith or religion, love always crosses over. It transcends any teachings, any instructions, any right or wrong while embracing all of it.
The moment of loss is therefore also a moment of opportunity.
The opportunity to find wisdom within. To find comfort in our own thoughts and feelings, when religion will speak to us of life hereafter, but little of the pain of our remaining days.
To depend on ourselves for the answers we long for.
At least, for some time.