If what I was searching for on my pilgrimage to Greece was a reconnection to beauty, I found it in spades in Olympia. I already wrote, HERE, about the stunning statuary of the western pediment of the temple of Zeus. There were other statues that were just as beautiful. One in particular features prominently in art history, Hermes and the Infant Dionysus, by Praxiteles, the artist who was first to depict a life-sized nude female figure. I stood in wonder at the feet of this statue, stunned by the idealized and graceful god, Hermes.
Outside of the museum were the grounds of the first Olympics. The games were actually held every year, but rotated among four cities. Here, there were training areas and dormitories for the athletes, set among the magenta blossoms of scores of red bud trees that were filled with birdsong. On the grounds, also, were remains of a large temple to Zeus, where the pediments I last wrote about were located. Inside, a giant statue of the seated Zeus, made of gold and ivory over a wooden support would have risen to a height of forty-one feet. Nothing remains of this statue today, one of the seven wonders of the ancient world, except for writings of pilgrims from long ago.
There was also a smaller, and older, temple to Hera, Zeus’s wife. It is just in front of these temple remains that the flame is lit that begins the modern Olympic Games. In fact, while our group of pilgrims was visiting Olympia, costumed dancers were practicing for the televised ceremony that would take place just a week later. And that torch then made its way to Paris, where the games will be played later this summer.
From the temple area, our group walked past a row of pedestals that in ancient times supported statues of athletes who had cheated in past games, making this passage to the stadium a reminder to play fair or else end up on the walk of shame. Next, we passed through a short tunnel and entered the stadium, just as Greek athletes did long ago.
The stadium is a long, flat thoroughfare where the various races were held. Lining either side were mounds of grass-covered earth where the spectators sat. A few marble seats were reserved for VIPs. The starting line of two marble strips, the width of the stadium, is still in place.Though I didn’t run, I did step on the line, close my eyes, and imagine throngs of cheering Greeks.
Here was another form of beauty—the human athlete. The Greeks idealized and idolized their athletes just as we do. Just as I sometimes do. The human body is a marvel, and at its limits, is capable of astounding feats. Captured in still shots, a well conditioned athlete is beautiful to behold. In motion, it is bewitching. I can be moved to tears watching the graceful beauty of a perfectly run race, a hurdle jumped, a javelin thrown, or a pole vaulter soaring over the bar.
As my pilgrimage to Greece continued, I was indeed connecting to beauty. It was all around. It is always all around. The simple act of intentionally naming this trip a pilgrimage and claiming a specific purpose opened my eyes to what was, and is, always there.