What’s in my head? Not a lot, which is underrated.
The last Greek hotel I stayed in was huge and somehow rather frenetic. Perhaps it was the constant wind. Most of the hotel guests – a party-mix of well fed Americans and Europeans, along with a number of freshly-minted Russians – were glued to various mobile devices and were not settled. They were all physically there, but none of them, it seemed, were mentally present. They appeared to be scanning the cyber-horizon to see whether something more interesting was happening elsewhere. They certainly seemed incapable of letting go. Mild frustration mixed with disappointment seemed the dominant theme.
Contrast this with where I am now – a 15-minute flight away. The pace is glacial, if that’s not oxymoronic for a volcanic island. The wind has more or less disappeared and it’s stillness that now dominates. People are sitting, looking outwards. But this outer gaze inevitably turns inwards. People end up looking at things with their hearts.
Why would this be so? I think the reason is the view.
I’m in a tiny hotel (14 rooms) overlooking an extinct volcano that last erupted several thousand years ago. The crater is about 14 kilometres across and is filled with very deep, and hence very still, water. The view is uplifting. It’s partly the distance, but you should never confuse a long distance with a good view. What is happening is that people are looking at is themselves reflected in the water.
The mobile devices that were so ubiquitous a few days ago have largely disappeared and people appear to be contemplating both their immediate past and their more distant future. It seems impossible for any thinking person not to be seduced. I suspect that this is due to several thousand years of human history mixing with a geological event of such intensity that all human accomplishment is meaningless.
It reminds me slightly of a conversation I had watching a cricket match a few months ago. I was talking with someone about what I liked about Europe and said that the age of things, especially some of the buildings, left me feeling hugely connected with everything historically. But that simultaneously it meant feeling totally insignificant. Bizarrely, both felt rather empowering.
This place is much the same. The age of the surroundings, together with the raw potential of nature, makes you feel simultaneously connected and disconnected. You feel like stardust one minute and personal assistant to Zeus the next. Thinking is elevated. Minutiae disappear, replaced by substance.
In my experience you can connect with this kind of thinking almost anywhere, bit to do so one has to first do absolutely nothing. It is only with disconnection and letting go that one can arrive at this destination. It is only by sitting quietly, looking outwards, that one can start to see what really maters.
