In Search of the Oracle in Changing Times

That morning we awoke at dawn, as daylight seeped through the cracks in the curtain of our hotel room in central Athens in Greece. Our three-hour bus journey to Delphi would skirt Marathon first then Thebes — names that ring out like bells in the quiet of the classroom in Hamilton, south of Glasgow, Scotland where I teach Classics. Soon the rolling plains of Boeotia with their olive groves and vineyards led us to the foothills of Mount Parnassus where the bus began its climb towards Delphi, offering picturesque views over lush mountainous terrain.

Delphi has featured as a backdrop to classical antiquity, a subject that has long absorbed me, from my time as a schoolgirl to my completing a doctorate in Classics. And now as we made our way on foot up the rocky path to the temple, the floral scent of laurel wafted through the still morning air, filling me with a deep sense of anticipation and excitement. Coming upon the ancient ruins on a mountainside terrace, a patchwork of foundational stone and weathered fluted columns, I could imagine how explorers would feel on stumbling upon long-lost cities in forgotten jungles.

It was hard to believe that this tranquil setting was once full of life, visited by kings eager for a glimpse into the future. Yet, it was hard to deny that I was immediately struck by something quite magical and moving about the place. I drank in the reactions of my family, wondering what they felt.

My youngest son clutched his book of Greek myths, his young mind swirling with stories of Zeus, Poseidon and Athena. I had told him that at Delphi the prophecies of Apollo were revealed by an appointed priestess. My athletic middle son sought out the stadium where festive sporting competitions had once taken place. Did he think he could outrun an ancient Greek, I asked, smiling. Easy, he swaggered. The breathtaking views from this vantage point captivated my oldest son, and I watched as he carefully framed the landscape with his camera. My husband bent down to read the many inscriptions, trying to make some sense of the ancient Greek.

In this fleeting moment of observation, I found myself overwhelmed by a strong sense of the past and future uniting in the shadow of the ruined temple. I couldn’t help but picture the ancient scene and wonder what the Oracle would say. Like the ancients who consulted her, my thoughts were on the future. Would I ever return to Delphi? As my children grow and as my oldest son prepares to go to university, how would things change? What would the holidays to come look like? Would we ever feel this close again?

I reached towards the sacred laurel, hoping to pluck a leaf as a souvenir, but it stood tantalisingly out of reach, beyond the cordon. I began to smile. The future, like that leaf, will surely always stand just beyond our grasp — only the present moment can be savoured.