Learning by Experience

Many, many years ago I had a friend who lived in Greece on the island of Symi. I use his name now because when I knew him before he was demonized by those who used his station and his position as miraculous miracle of Archangel Michael; he was a fleeting shadow, living, in the musty rooms of the monastery, and a friend. We called him Gabriel. His family had been bombed by the Germans in the war and he was kept alive on the frightful, fierce waters of the Aegean by the protection of the angel. He vowed to donate his life to the service of the monastery of the Archangel. His shredded bark of a raft was found washed up at the monastery's beach and he was rescued and brought to life by those already living there. He died and his death was pronounced to all. His name was Ygavriellees pronounced Gabriel by the ignorant of the island tongue.

Before all these secret making game of naïve women and children American and worldly international billionaires seeking to make us all one family by teaching us to target and to kill our weak, Gabriel and I would pass each other by every summer for many years until I changed, married, and had a child.

I returned to the island with my child one summer and wanted to show her around at my remembered monastery. The situation that unfolded itself was stunning. I called the monastery and miraculously, for he never in the normal years, the years before the hideous murder of my second cousin Pardonmetis, named after one of the icons at the monastery, a murder in the United States, I might add, answered the phone. Aisei thar tis me to Dyonisius.

The smile on my face froze, but I did as he told me. We went down to the docks and boarded the enormous tourist ship, and as if they knew, they treated us as in the old days, services rendered without knowing they were being rendered and protected.