MOVING TO CRETE also means becoming interested in local customs — and that includes religion.

The Holy Week before Easter on Crete involves daily church services in the Greek Orthodox church here in the village. It’s Good Friday. The church bells are ringing, calling me. I walk up to the church in the center of the village, high up on the mountain. The Gospel is being read. I hear the resonance of the voices, the reading of Scripture, the incense. I see the women beside and in front of me in the church. Reverent, yet not entirely — people are chatting and greeting one another. Children skip in, kiss the icons, and skip right back out again. The doors are open: outside I hear playing children, talking and laughing adults, the roar of passing motorcycles. These outer sounds blend with those inside the church. I hear the liturgy, though I don’t understand it. The ongoing chant of the reading leaves no space for thought, and I find myself drifting into a kind of trance. That doesn’t feel pleasant to me.

Thankfully, the service ends and I step outside. I feel the wind on my skin, hear the birds singing, and walk back down the hill toward home. I return to myself.

What is it that keeps me from surrendering to that trance-like experience?
It has to do with my awareness. I want to surrender — but not at any cost. Losing myself is not the same as surrender.

What is surrender?
After trying with all your might to control a situation — and failing — you might allow yourself to stop resisting, stop fighting, stop fleeing. Sometimes it can feel like surrender is the same as giving up.
But it’s not giving up — it’s handing over.
Not quitting, but surrendering — consciously, and with trust.

To whom, and to what?
You surrender your will, your self-determination. The steering wheel of ideas you cling to, your desires, your need to control timelines, your expectations. You hand it over to a higher power — and that power is around and also within yourself.
Does that mean you're powerless? Stuck in helplessness? Absolutely not.

Surrender is not something passive.
It’s more of a conscious decision to stop trying to control the situation. Control is what the ego wants. Not wanting to control is something more. It’s wanting — in the form of letting go, surrendering. So yes, still wanting, but wanting differently.

There are people — and I’m certainly one of them — who find it easier to surrender to the beauty and softness of the world than to the stubbornness of their surroundings. I’ve written about that in previous posts.

Buying a house or a car here on Crete isn’t easy. The bureaucracy, the casual attitude toward agreements — it takes some getting used to if you come from the Netherlands. I tried everything to gain clarity and control over the situations I mentioned. I became impatient, angry, sad, and so on. Then I realized none of that was helping — and that it would be better for me to surrender to the Cretan culture. To surrender, because I can’t bend things to my will.
What an ego exercise that is!

And now, as I write this, another word comes to mind:

Accepting
Again, an active verb. To find peace in. I’m not being rendered powerless — I choose to accept. My ego is allowed to rest and surrender to a higher power. Some call it Fate, Karma, God, the game of the angels, or coincidence. For me, that higher power is present, and things do not happen by chance.
When I surrender to the beauty and love that surround me, it feels natural. I become aware of the greatness of it all. But even when I can surrender in the face of a difficult situation, that higher power is still there.
Sometimes solutions appear from the most unexpected corners. Better and different than I could have orchestrated myself.

Back to Good Friday.
Christ became angry with his Father. “Why have You forsaken me?”
After that, he was able to accept his fate and cleared the way for the miracle of resurrection with the words: “Father, into Your hands I commend my spirit.”
He surrendered his ego.

"Thy will be done" is a moment of surrender. And it doesn’t happen without the I being fully present. It’s an active act of will — not a trance in which the self dissolves.

Quite the paradox really:
You surrender — and at the same time, you are fully present to receive.
A mystery of will, indeed.

IS PARADISE A place where everything is perfect?
Or is it simply a place where harmony can be felt?

This week, I heard the word paradise twice. But I encountered it more often.
The first time was when I went to buy a pack of butter at our little local supermarket. The cashier struck up a conversation—half English, half Greek. When she heard about the house we bought in Vori, her face lit up. She knows the village well—and the house too. She said she had always wanted to live there.
The owner of the shop also engaged in our conversation. He looked at me kindly with his caramel-brown eyes, and said:
"You're living here now, in Kamilari—it’s a little paradise, you know that, right?"
I smiled and replied, “Yes, paradise is something you can really feel here.”
He gently touched my arm, the woman smiled too, and I smiled back at both of them
Yes, that moment—it was heartwarming. I’d even say: paradise-like.
So maybe it’s the people who create it.

Back home, I was busy making my orange marmalade and limoncello with raki.
I can’t quite describe the scents—but maybe you can smell them between the lines of my words. The sensory delight of fragrance was beautifully accompanied by the sound of a saxophone—jazzy and soulful. Another Day in Paradise.

A few houses down, a German music group has rented a place for the week. These musicians, each with their own craft, have been coming to Kamilari for 20 years.
I get to enjoy their wonderful music all week as they rehearse with heart and soul.
To me, that is pure happiness.

Today we went to Kalamaki beach, just seven minutes from here.
The scent of salt water, the wind, sand, sun… and again: kindness.

After a lovely barefoot walk along the shore—our feet covered in sand, collecting beautifully smoothed stones—we ended up at a taverna with inviting sunbeds. Nestled in the sunshine, the owner came over and started chatting with us.
“It’s paradise here, isn’t it?” she said.

For her, it was still paradise to be able to work in a place like this every day.
We got our drinks, and guess what was written on the cups?
”PARADISE!”

Oh my! We turned around—and saw that the taverna’s name was indeed Paradise.

The signs from our angels are arriving loud and clear.
I think they’re having a great time watching me take it all in.

How much clearer could it be?
To feel peace… that is paradise.
I surrender.

We live just ten minutes from Phaistos. We’d been planning to go there all week. And all of a sudden we were there, It’s an archaeological site showcasing a highlight of Minoan civilization—an ancient Minoan palace. Unlike Knossos, here the ruins have been preserved as they were found. You can see foundations, walls, staircases, and open courtyards. A stunning place, with a magnificent view over the Messara Plain, and to the north, the mountain range with Mount Ida towering at 2,456 meters.
With the dramatic setting, you can almost feel and hear the footsteps and songs of men and women worshipping their gods and goddesses (1900–1450 BC).
Mmmmmmm…!

It’s amazing to walk in our present time across these ancient flagstones. I feel so small, but also deeply moved by the beauty. The importance of beauty. It’s reflected in the structure and the materials, how they used and transformed them with care. For this ancient culture, it must have been second nature.

And then I recognized the stonework of the walls. They are just like in my little ruin!
That gives my place a whole new meaning. Realizing that this same structure has endured since so many centuries before Christ makes me even more grateful to be able to connect with such an ancient culture.

Across from us is a taverna, run by the very kind Helen and Christos. I spoke with Helen. She gave me little jars with lids so I could make orange marmalade, and also a tip for how to make limoncello (my other burning wish): just use raki. Raki is, of course, available everywhere on this island—by the liter!
There’s a lemon tree right in our garden. Orange trees grow wild along the roadside. All I have to do is stretch out my arm and pick the fruit. What a gift!
A few days later, I found a box of empty jars at my doorstep—this time from Christos. He’d heard from his wife that I could really use them. I thanked him and gave him a jar (a premiere!) of my homemade orange marmalade.

During our chat, I told him about the ruin, and how it had completely stolen my heart. He told me it had been on the market for a long time, but the three families who own it haven’t been able to agree on a sale price.

He looked me straight in the eyes and said:
“You’re dreaming. And you never know. Keep dreaming. Don’t push. Who knows what might happen. I know the owners… you never know.”

I walked home, deeply content and in awe.
You never know…
Miracles exist.

AFTER MEDITATING at sunrise on our rooftop terrace, I couldn’t wait to explore the ruin. Arriving in the meadow, I stumble upon a “For Sale” sign. Does this mean the entire meadow is for sale, including the ruin?

It’s a vast piece of land, covered in weeds, stones, and ancient olive trees. Just a four-minute walk through the overgrowth from our house. Luckily, I had my hiking boots shipped over, so I bravely navigated the uneven ground, dodging rocks and holes, making my way to the site. Upon arrival, I am deeply moved. The beauty of the masonry. The old stones stacked so skillfully, forming solid walls. Here and there, I peek inside through the gaps. And then, there it is: a decayed wooden door, its rusty padlock falling apart, inviting me in.

"Enter, enter, and awaken the little princess."

This is a line from the fairy tale Sleeping Beauty. The thorn bushes that had overgrown the castle whispered these words to the prince when he finally arrived. As a child, I played a record of this story over and over until it was worn out and scratched. This line resurfaced from my fairy-tale memory bank the moment I saw the ruin beckoning me.

And so, I step inside.

All around me nothing but weeds and stones. The walls are still standing tall and proud. There is no roof. The sun warms my body freely as I admire the craftsmanship of this old house. Such a beautiful stacking technique. How old could this place be?

Outside, I can faintly make out the outline of a wall that once formed an enclosure, and is now overgrown with weeds, creating a hidden courtyard. There’s even an old oven where bread was once baked.

Oh, how happy I feel here! Why is that? That’s not so important right now. What matters is this overwhelming sense of peace and tranquility in this ancient place. In the distance, I hear dogs barking. A cat strolls by, curious. I spot two large, newly built villas nearby..

If I had the money, I’d buy this ruin with the land, clear out the weeds, gather the scattered stones, put a roof on it, build a small kitchen, plaster the inner walls with lime, install water and electricity, and move in…

Or perhaps I could use it as a practice space: a place for conversations, meditations, and healing sessions. What a sacred, restorative place this is.

But first, I’ll grab a cushion and clear some of the weeds. I’m just going to squat this place! Yeah!

In the span of a year, we sold our house—a large farmhouse (without animals)—and reduced our belongings to what would fit in a garage box and a small container for our clothes. We sent three boxes ahead with some essentials and brought two large and two small suitcases. Now everything had to come with us. From north to south.
How were we going to fit all of this into our rented Fiat Panda? How would we carry it all down those many steps? And then, our great help arrived.

Two newly made Greek friends offered to help us move with their large truck. Wow, what a kind offer! Everything went very quickly after that. They even helped unload everything into our new home, a little paradise in Kamilari. We shared an improvised meal together, and then... it was time to enjoy, settle in, and explore.

I always want to know where I am, so I walked through the village and explored the surroundings the next day. A small road runs past “our house,” lined with olive trees. Among them, I spotted two orange trees. A few ripe, perfect oranges had already fallen to the ground. I couldn’t resist picking them up and taking them home.

A little further along, I saw a pine tree with fallen, bone-dry pinecones. Just what I needed to start a fire in the hearth! Yes, even in Crete, the evenings in March can be chilly.

Completely in awe of the abundance that nature provides - if you have an eye for it - I walked back home. Out of the corner of my left eye, I spotted something in the middle of a meadow: a ruin.
A ruin!

My heart started racing, and my imagination ran wild. I love ruins… Faded glory, the mystery of who lived there, how long it had been abandoned.. is it for sale?

Lying in bed that night, I thought: tomorrow, I’m going there.