The Witnessing

The Teachings of Stavros

A gift of deep friendship

I was sitting at Stavros’ kafenio for my breakfast. He greeted me with a smile and immediately noticed the dark shadow below the pleasantries I offered in return. He sat with me. He created a sacred space with his presence. I told him about my losses and pain, and he bore witness. His tears allowed my suppressed tears to also flow. After an hour, he instructed me to go for a swim and come back in the evening for dinner.

I walked on the beach feeling the soft sand beneath my feet. On the beach, I notice the remnants of a bonfire from the previous evening. I was drawn to it. I stared at the ash for some time. Finally, I got up and went for a swim.

When I returned that evening, he had a bottle of ouzo out and a pikilia of grilled octopus, keftedes (Greek style meatballs), marida (small lightly fried fish you eat whole like chips), some roasted lamb, grilled vegetables, spanakopita, moussaka, a Greek salad and pita with tzatziki. The people of Hellas know that food is a way to connect with our ancestors, with the land, and with the body. Through food we achieve communion with the old gods of nature and they in turn are required to serve in the transmutation of our grief. You see, sometimes transformation requires a bottom-up approach, starting with the gut first, then moving up to the heart and finally to the head. So, we eat, we drink, we cry, and we laugh all evening. The night is ending as his staff brought a carafe of the local Tsikoudia with some fruits and sweets. We toasted the light and the shadow.

Stavros never left the table once. His staff took care of the other patrons. At the end of the evening, he walked me to my door to make sure I made it back safely. He could handle that amount of alcohol we drank better than I. As he departed, he gave me a concoction to drink to tame the alcohol I consumed and told me to come by and see him the next day because he had a gift for me. I could not imagine a more generous gift than the one he had already bestowed upon me. The loving witness of my pain allowed it to be carried in relationship and its weight no longer felt unbearable.

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