The monk Neophytos looked out from the small veranda of the monastery at the vastness of the sea. It was late afternoon and the last pilgrims had just left. He was now free to walk again in the sacred spaces, on the veranda he loved so much, which had the most beautiful view on the entire island. How much he loved this island. He was approaching thirty-eight and was a very charming man. Beneath the wide black monk’s robes, his body remained athletic and vigorous, just as it was back when he used to swim and exercise almost daily. And although his body remained alive, his heart had withered. You could tell from his sad eyes that this man had long been dead inside. For four years now, here, in this monastery, he had found peace. He liked to wake up earlier than everyone else and prepare for the matins. He liked to take care of the monastery’s spaces, do the heavy chores, climb the stairs without panting, cook for everyone, wash the dishes, feed the cats that roamed the monastery and cared for them lovingly.
He was always calm and obedient. The abbot of the monastery had taken him under his protection from the very beginning. It is not an easy thing to decide to become a monk at the age of thirty-three, in the prime of your life, after having lived a highly worldly life. The abbot had learned about his personal drama, about his decision to become a monk there at the monastery of Amorgos. At first, he tried to convince him that he had chosen the wrong path. A path of no return. And he had replied that this was his path. For four years he never complained about anything. Neither about the harsh monastic winters nor the simple food, the cold, the hard life of the monastery. One would say that this was his destiny from the moment he was born. What a pity. He was a handsome man and an even more wonderful person.
