The Pathos of Athos

On a Grecian mountain – smoking while the monks prepare my food. They do not allow females here, which for my attitude does exactly what you think it would (I try to be polite). It’s not so bad while doing chores but standing here at night looking at hand-lit lanterns fighting off the stiff and salty breeze – I can’t help but think that food and drink do not cover my needs. There is a story that they tell here about how, during the war, a ship of refugees crashed into pieces on the shore and among the frightened freight was a baroness with legs as white and smooth as fresh pressed chalk and an aristocratic walk that even in their wildest dreams the monks could not help but take to mean that some asylum must be granted – thousands of years could be damned!

They tell this one with sheepish eyes and only after tubs of wine. I know it ruins their design: the awful longing helps remind them that they are at the most, men – and beast at the least. They are as far from heaven as anyone could be.

Advertisements

~ by perfectionatrix on January 6, 2011.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

 
%d bloggers like this: