W.E. – The Sunset Point

Sunsets are golden everywhere, but the spectacular ones experienced from the terraces of Mr. Penditakis’ manor overlooking the Mediterranean are unparalleled. Some people claim that by design, humans can live almost anywhere on Earth. This may well be true scientifically speaking, but anyone postulating that all places are equally livable is either a fool or a liar. A single sunset experienced at Mr. Kandrataki’s 3,600 square foot home will leave its indelible imprint on your soul. Once his limited hospitality wears out, you’ll depart thankful and irreversibly convinced that some places are indeed infinitely more livable compared with others.

It sits up there on a high cliff, some 235 kilometers from Athens. Plutarch is widely rumored to have visited the area in his old age, when he needed a rest to finish one of his many books of philosophy, in which he supposedly was trying to splice hairs between the Platonic inner core beliefs that were native to him and some existentialistic nuances that were to him somewhat more alien, or novel at least. Verifying or disproving these rumors would require more digging than time permits, but let’s assume for arguments sake that the renowned philosopher did indeed spend some time here.

From the impressive vantage point some 600 meters above sea level, ā€‹ Plutarch’s weary eyes would have followed the Sun moving ever so slowly across the sky as the day was closing. This huge yellow ball would be emitting rays long and strong enough to reflect endlessly on the wave-tops of the ocean, a basin so deep in this area that its base color tilts towards blackish rather than blue. These long rays, some clear white, others a muffled green, would literally dance across the water’s surface, reflecting unpredictably in all directions, randomly creating beams that went straight upward as if returned from some invisible mirror.

As the Sun started caving in to the curving of Earth, Plutarch would have seen its color shift gradually from yellow to a shamelessly delicious-looking orange. At this point, he would need to release his excitement somehow, either by taking a long drink or by saying something to himself in a protracted moment of euphoria. Even a world-class philosopher could not hope to internalize his excitement through an entire session at the Sunset Point.

Source: Author/Fotograf: Manfred Werner

Even my best friends regularly say that I’m taciturn, as they wonder openly whether I’ve become that way by natural disposition or by choice.”You may laugh, but seldom at other people’s jokes,” a friend once told me. “You may smile, but seldom in the situations where others expect you to. You may talk, but rarely say much except to correct what you call their patently false assertions or ‘unsubstantiated assumptions and beliefs.”

Why would I even bother responding to that? I know who I am, and that’s good enough for me. My adversaries amongst archaeologists call me The Silent Oracle, but their sarcasm is entirely lost on me. They know me not!

For example, and this is no trivial matter, they have never seen me when I sit in one of the poolside lounge chairs on Mr. Penditakis’ stone terrace.

“Distinguished colleagues, nitpicking professors you! May I introduce you to life? While you have your long noses buried in literature in the pedantic hope of finding some error or inconsistency in your colleagues’ writings, so that you may publish another scientific article, I’m sitting all by myself right here high up in the mountains. See, Penditakis happens to be my friend, he actually cares for me and gobbled up uncritically every word I wrote about Plutarch’s alleged visit to these regions some 2,000 years ago. He invited me – me, me, me; not you! – to ingest the juiciest Sunset you’ll never see. My palms are sore from rubbing them against one another in a satisfied gesture of gratitude and delight. “

Iā€‹ laugh internally at the thought of sending such a note to my colleagues around the world. Then the sunset kicks in, ever so slowly carrying my reluctant soul with it across the horizon, my heart feeling the pinch with every flash reflected from the wave-tops. Plutarch was a wise man if he came here to experience this, and he wisely chose not to intimate his innermost feelings to anyone.

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