I am on the island of Serifos in the blue, blue Aegean. My wife Sharon is engrossed in her month-long seminar, and I am left to my own devices. I have slowed down considerably – reading, swimming, and sleeping is all I do. Eating too.
But now comes the national strike, a two-day gesture of defiance and outrage over the Greek financial crisis. In both the public and private sectors, nothing will get done today or tomorrow, except shouting outside Parliament. No ships will arrive or depart from the harbor. No planes will fly overhead. No trains will move between Athens and Piraeus on the mainland. The Greek-speaking world will come to a halt. Silence will take over from the noise of scooters and trucks. Stillness will settle over us.
There is no peace in the silence and the stillness. Anger and anxiety abound. But I like to think my own effort to come to rest is radiating from me. That my micro stillness has become the macro. That the world around me is taking a breath, and that out of that experience will come new strength. For the Greeks, it will be the strength to fight through the difficulties ahead, and mine will be the strength to go back to work.