People would call him crazy,
wanting to dance on burning charcoal like his grandfather did.
It was παππούς (pappous) who taught him. Those summers back in the village they were preparing for the great spring rituals. Every year they were training. To become an Αναστενάρης (Anastenaris) was not only a matter of training and discipline. It took a lot more than strengthening your flesh. To become an Αναστενάρης (Anastenaris) meant to train your soul. Dedication, commitment, prayer and faith would lead you to an ecstatic stage where your body would overcome its mortal and perishable nature, where the strength of your soul had the power to shield your skin and make it... unburnt.
For years he tried, for years he failed to have the honor and walk on the burning coal. Others would walk and he was so jealous. What was it that these men had but he couldn't be favored? His grandpa had done it, he had taught him, he had built him to become one of them, but his time would never come.
He never gave up, though. Every year he would attend the three-day celebrations in memory of Saint Helen and Saint Constantine. On their day, right after the Service would finish, he would piously hold the sacred picture and walk across the village with the rest of the crowd behind him and the priest and the chanters in front of him. The children holding the εξαπτέρυγα (hexapteryga) would patiently remain silent and remind him of his younger self, when his παππούς (pappous) was a respected man among them and his greatest teacher into the mysterious world of fire-walking.
There, in the village square the Αναστενάρηδες (Anastenarides) would prepare their burning dance floor. With spastic moves, resembling a maniac puppet, the fearless dancers would walk on the scorching coals with their feet bare in a trance of music, faith and fire. Their hands would not leave the holy pictures down. It's the sign that years ago the saints favored them for saving their pictures from a burning church. It's an honor to become an Αναστενάρης (Anastenaris), an old tradition, an honor and a duty.
Memories.
Here he is now, on a summer afternoon, chilling with a cold coffee in his summerhouse garden. Under the vine, on the wooden chair with the straw-weaved seat and flower pots all around. Suddenly his nose picks up smoke. Something is burning.
- Ποιος μαλάκας καίει χόρτα τέτοια εποχή. (What asshole is burning weeds in the summer.)
Yelling, sirens, turmoil...
He ditches his coffee and runs to see what happens. As soon as he gets out of the garden he sees flames in the distance. They are already eating up parts of the forest and getting closer to the first houses.
- Τασίααααα, φωτιά! Τρέξε! (Tasiaaaa, fire! Run!)
He tells his wife not to leave the house unless the fire comes their way. He gives her his car keys, a quick kiss on the forehead and runs towards the disaster. He finds the fire engines. Only two. Two? Are you kidding me? This thing has been spreading rapidly, the wind is blowing like crazy now.
Houses, it's getting closer to the houses.
Too late, the first ones are already burnt to the ground.
Cars, nothing but gray chunks of metal now.
They need to back down. People are gathered outside a flaming house. Kids are trapped in there. Their parents were in the nearby town to the supermarket and the kids were sleeping. You could now make out their voices crying for help. The mother is screaming and the father trying to stop her from barging into the flames that are now blocking the entrance.
He didn't pay much thought to it. He was trained, he had trained his body, he had trained his soul, what if he wasn't called to dance on the burning coals this spring. He could clearly recognize this call today.
A quick prayer while he was running towards the house and then he disappeared behind curtains of flames and smoke.
The three children got out through the small kitchen window. When he was about to leave, the wooden ceiling fell on his back.
He had trained his soul and now he would rest it.
A story smelling like Greece, dedicated to the people lost in the tragedy of the forest fires. Not that it would make a difference now...
Greek words translation:
* παππούς = pappous; grandpa
* Αναστενάρης, Αναστενάρηδες = Anastenaris, Anastenarides; people performing the ritual of fire-walking in memories of Saint Helen and Saint Constantine (an orthodox tradition)
* εξαπτέρυγα = hexapteryga; flabella
*All images and original story by @ruth-girl - Steemit, 2018
(Images taken with Nikon D3400 - AF-P NIKORR 18-55 mm)
Thank you so much for your time!
Until my next post,
Steem on and keep smiling, people!
You made a nice fit of a traditional fest and the early disaster.. I hope their souls rest in peace.
Thank you. There has been a massive release of pictures, photos, news articles. Little to no difference will it make to those lost.
This is good stuff
I heard the coals used in fire walking also have a low heating capacity, andthe our feet produces sweat which acts as a protective surface by forming water vapour.
Also, the seminar @njokueruchi is talking about I think is the one by Tony Robins "Unleashing the power within"
Find the report here
https://www.google.com.ng/amp/s/amp.livescience.com/21835-firewalking-hot-coals.html
Thank you!! I haven't looked further into the ritual and how those dancers manage to walk on the burning coals. But it is really interesting.
Thanks for the link :)
Μπήκε κάτι στο μάτι μου στο τέλος :(
Κάποιο σκουπιδάκι θα ήταν :)
Hello @ruth-girl, thank you for sharing this creative work! We just stopped by to say that you've been upvoted by the @creativecrypto magazine. The Creative Crypto is all about art on the blockchain and learning from creatives like you. Looking forward to crossing paths again soon. Steem on!
Thank you very much for the support! :D
I am sorry, for the people who lost their lives. You make the suffering personal. It brings back to me the memory of a woman I knew, mother of a dear family friend. The woman was elderly and had become an appendage to her family, but a beloved appendage. Years after I met her I heard the story of how she had become a widow. Her husband died trying to save someone in a fire. I was a child when I heard the story, but it impressed me that his widow did not receive any special regard. I thought, the wife of someone who died in such a way should be elevated in honor. But that regard apparently faded with time and left behind a lonely woman.
You help us to realize that each life lost to fire is as tragic as the one you highlight.
This is a very sad story you shared @agmoore! Usually people who die heroically to save others are forgotten soon after the disaster and so do their families. We only remember them in great holidays and celebrations. It's in our nature to forget easily, the masses don't want to stick to the sorrows of the past.
At least this old lady has a family that loves and protects her now.
Thank you for taking the time to read this! :)
Nice one, this got me captivated till the end
I first heard about people walking on coal in a seminar by Anthony Robins, he was trying to explain the power of the human mind. It was quite interesting until i heard some people burnt their feet while trying to do this.
RIP to the people lost in the tragedy of the forest fires
Thanks a lot. @akiripromise left me a link from the seminar you're talking about. I'll check it out. It's amazing what the mind can do.
It's really sad what happened. People here are shocked and angry...
@hash-tag upvoted this post via @poetsunit!!
Poetsunited - DISCORD - @poetsunited - witness upvote