Places Of Tranquility.

These days I find myself in search of places that have an aura of stillness and tranquility about them.

My home is of course at all times my refuge and my safe haven.

Nevertheless, as warmer and brighter days define this season, I venture more often outside to my secret hideaways, those that are playgrounds to my thinking and my contemplation and where I find solace and comfort, which my body and soul currently crave.

However melancholic and odd it may sound, I must confess that these escapes bring me most often to graveyards and cemeteries, as they did again this past weekend.
The most serene, sheltered and transcending moments in time, which I carry in my recollection, have been experienced in churchyards, old monasteries or memorials. I have never found these places uncomfortable or unpleasant. On the contrary; they are defined by an endless atmosphere of quietness that is infinitely soothing.
As a teenager I wrote an assay piece based on reflections over a walk in a cemetery; most likely the best assay I ever wrote as a young adult. Even today I recall how effortlessly my pen documented the train of thoughts, as I described my stroll around the graves.

Already when I enter these sacred places, it is as if a border has been crossed. Have you ever noticed when you step into a graveyard in a bustling metropolis, that it seems as if a soundproof gate is suddenly in place, shutting out the busy sounds and scents of a living city - as if by a stroke of magic one enters an uncanny stillness of a divine ground.
This happens to me time and time again and I feel almost always as if a veil of troubles is lifted from my face and I can see clearly.

I never feel that I am surrounded by death. On the contrary, I feel surrounded by lives lived. To some, this is after all only a gateway to another world. To others simply a tribute and a memorial to those we once held dear and yet again, to almost everyone, cemeteries offer a certain snapshots of moments in history, as the inscriptions on the grave stones, standing as silent sentinels of time, tells stories of the past.

My eyes are often drawn to the infinite amounts of flowers, bushes and intricately garnished spots - it is as if nature always thrives here. Even neglected churchyards are always beautiful in any seasons, as when nature is left to grow unrestricted, it flourishes, creating the most amazing pieces of living art.
I have been to carefully maintained graveyards; some simple, some intricate, as well as to forgotten small cemeteries, which were lush and overgrown with scented shrubs - finding equal solace in each.

Sitting down below the tree crowns, at any time of the year, while letting myself become infused with the surrounding stillness is incredibly relaxing. With such an ease the troubles of my every day life are removed from my perception as I am faced with the greatest secret of them all - the secret of life and death.
At all times this reinforces the belief in me of how precious and magical our time here truly is - and most of all how limited and short - and how very often we forget this. Instead, we get caught up in the turmoil of our busy days, while we waste our time and energy on petty and insignificant things, letting ourselves succumb to unnecessary irritations.

How endlessly ignorant and irrelevant some troublesome aspects of my life appear while I sit under those trees. The true magic of just simply being alive - with all its pain and suffering as well as joy and happiness - is nowhere as palpable and appreciated, as at the only place where life appears to be truly devoid...



About the images below: My favorite place of tranquility near my home is a private, but today abandoned family graveyard located on the grounds of an old mansion, today turned museum.
It is tucked away between trees, hidden from view and off the beaten path. Very few people know of its existence. The images below are taken on my walk there this past autumn and even though I was sitting there alone for almost an hour, I have never ever felt less lonely and more safe then on that early, sunny September morning.

Ss. Cyril and Methodius Cathedral.

On one of our last days in Prague we made a visit to a more somber of Prague sights, the Ss. Cyril and Methodius Cathedral. It is a beautiful Orthodox Church in Prague, position on a street leading to the Moldau river. Visiting it made such a strong impression on me that I decided to share it with all of you, despite the graveness of the issue.

I recall passing the cathedral on numerous occasions as a child, in the company of my grandparents. What stuck in my memory was when they pointed out the side of the church facing the street and brought my attention to the numerous holes in its facade (clearly created by gun shots), as they at the same time mentioned the World War II. I was never offered any more information, nor was I looking for any explanation. The memories of WW2, at that time merely 30 years old were always around me. But to me that was a distant past and my mind, although intrigued, only accepted what I saw without further interest.
This was about 35 years ago and that was the last time I passed the church until a couple of weeks ago, on the 19th of June.

The side facade, as seen here, was covered with beautiful wreaths and fresh flowers, to commemorate a somewhat sad anniversary of the previous day.
This was the sight of a terrible tragedy in the year of 1942.

The events unfolded already on the 27th of May the same year in other parts of Prague, with the assassination of Reinhard Heydrich, the Deputy Protector of Bohemia and Moravia during the Nazi occupation of Czechoslovakia. The operation was carried out by young Czech men, trained by the British, who parachuted in secrecy into the capital. Following the successful assassination they hid for weeks in the Cathedral (Heydrich was mortally wounded and died in the hospital a few days later).
Eventually, the brave men were discovered on 18th of June and in a bloody battle that lasted for two hours, one soldier was wounded and died shortly after arrival at the hospital. The other parachutists committed suicide to avoid capture after an additional four hour battle with the SS.

Signs of this battle can still be seen on the church facade, but also foremost eerily sensed upon the visit to the church crypt, where the doomed soldiers were hiding. This was one of the most stirring places I have ever visited in my life. The air was filled with sadness and a feeling of despair, clearly palpable at all times.

The consequences of the assassination were severe and too cruel for words. Entire villages were wiped out, leveled with the ground and innocent people, among them the priest and chaplain of the church (and their families) were executed.

Our visit to this church stirred a plethora of feelings in me. It did not make me despise or blame anyone, nor single out anyone or any place. I think it mostly brought the terror of war closer to home. Places such as these serve as a reminder that peace should never be taken for granted. It also reinforces the fact, that terrible evil will always exist, but so will the incredible good and that true heroes are ordinary people we might rarely hear about.