Prisoner Amorgos

Now let me share with you a story I read two weeks ago in the New York Times, the magazine section. It was written by one who was imprisoned on the island of Amorgos in the Aegean Sea. He was a Greek imprisoned by the present regime that has taken over Greece, the generals. He was under house arrest and he was watched twenty-four hours a day. He was allowed to leave the house for a restaurant and by doctor’s orders to go for a certain walk after he had signed in at 6 PM with the police. Every morning at nine he had to sign in at the police and at 6 PM to return and sign in. Then he could go for a walk. These are his words, he said, “I began to imagine the scene in the village of horror the day after I escaped.” Then he imagined, “The elderly would be drinking coffee at nine in the morning, and then the cobbler would have opened up his doors for business, and then the scent of fresh bread would come straining through the windows of the bakery. By 9:30, because I had not registered, they would inquire of the one who had always sat in the public square dressed as a civilian looking at my apartment, and he would tell them that he had not seen me…I had not come upon my balcony. By 10:00 they would come to investigate themselves and then they would knock down the door. Then by 10:30 it would be, well, the news would scattered abroad and all would know that I was not there. Throughout the day the villagers would pass in their silent way, secretly but in a knowing way look one to the other that he isn’t here. That night they would gather in secret around their little shortwave radios listening for news from abroad of my escape. And so, I began to imagine that scene. The scene that gave me the greatest happiness was the scene when they all would know that I had escaped.”987 ¶1

Well, it came to pass, and he wrote his letter. His name is George Mylonos. It was on the 26th day of October, this last month that that letter appeared in the New York Times magazine, the Sunday issue. It all began in his Imagination. He was there for 409 days. At first it was only a dream, only a daydream. Then in the end he began to really do something about it. Now he told a story—which I will question because he wants to save the other prisoners on the other islands, also on the mainland—concerning exactly how he did it. Oh yes, there were physical means, but the means came into being as a result of his imaginal activity. To attempt to change circumstances before you change your imaginal activity is to struggle against the very nature of things.987 ¶2

For this world in which we live is a world of Imagination. You are all Imagination and God, your reality, is all Imagination. Divine Imagination has reproduced himself in the human Imagination; therefore, all things exist in the human Imagination for all things exist in Divine Imagination. Is it really true? Well, test it! He did.987 ¶3

I wonder how many people who read it only two weeks ago would relate his escape to his imaginal act? They would read the letter, but what percentage of them would read the letter anyway? Because the New York Times weighs pounds…it’s about that thick…and so you would spend the whole day and not cover it, depending upon your interest. Well, how many would even see it? But here, this simple letter occupying not more than a page—it’s on three pages, but only one column to a page, so put together it would only take up one page. How many would read it? And of those who read it, what percentage would relate his imaginal act to his escape? And that’s exactly how he escaped.987 ¶4

Now you don’t have to be a prisoner on Amorgos. You could be a prisoner financially or socially. You could be a prisoner in a thousand ways, physically in health. Now, will you do the same thing that he did and imagine the scene that would take place the day after your escape? The day after it is heard that you do not have what you thought you had and others heard that you had; the day after you are not financially embarrassed and that you have all that it takes to live graciously. The day after…and you just mention anything in this world. Always go to the end; the end is where we begin. In my end is my beginning.987 ¶5

So I go to the end…the day after my escape. Then I imagine the scene that would take place. He thought, “Well now, the elders would be having coffee at nine, the cobbler would be opening up his doors at nine. Then the odor of the bread, the fresh-baked bread would be coming through the windows of the bakery. By 9:30 they would notice I had not signed in. By ten o’clock the police would call to ask that plainclothes man who always sat in the square looking up at my apartment, and he would say ‘I didn’t see him and he did not come on his balcony today.’ By ten they would investigate and getting no response they would break down the door. Then the villagers would know it…and that was my greatest thrill!” That’s where he started, letting the villagers know it in his mind’s eye. This is all in his Imagination.987 ¶6

Now, you have friends…or if you don’t have friends, which would be a horrible thing if you didn’t…but you do have friends, and your friends know your present position in this world, the conditions that surround you. Maybe they’re pleasant and you’d like to perpetuate them. But maybe they are not pleasant, maybe they are not exactly as you would like them to be. You start with letting your friends know—not verbally, not outwardly—all in your Imagination. You see them seeing you as they would have to see you if things were as you desire them to be. You start there, the day after they know that things are just as you want them to be and then you let them see it. In your mind’s eye they are seeing it and you start there. Then ways will open that you do not devise. No one knows how it’s going to happen, but in a way that no one knows it will unfold and you will fulfill it. You’ll walk across a series of events, some bridge of incidents that you did not consciously devise which will take you from where you are in prison to your freedom whatever that end is…whether it be health, wealth, or in his case, an actual physical escape from a life imprisonment.987 ¶7

Because, as long as the present regime reigns in Greece, these political prisoners would be under house arrest.987 ¶8

So here, you can verify it. I read it and I now share it with you. It’s the 26th day of October in the Magazine section of the N. Y. Times. I think, if my memory serves me correctly, it begins on the 16th page. So it’s not long. It’s a very thick magazine because all these issues especially now coming into the fall when all things are being sold for Christmas, and the magazine is now three times its size and the paper is three times its size. But I get it every week and it comes on Wednesday. And here, a man, a simple man, political prisoner of the current regime, wondered what it would be like if these things were true.987 ¶9

So I tell you, “Man is all Imagination and God is man, and exists in us and we in him. The eternal body of man is the Imagination, and that is God himself.” When this God awakes within man, that man in whom he awakes is clothed with everything said of God in the scripture. It is said of God that he is the light of the world; it is said of God that he is love; it is said of him that he is the power of the universe and the wisdom of the universe. May I tell you, when you awake (and you will) you’ll be clothed with power and wisdom and light and love. And those who have eyes that are open into the inner worlds, open into the eternal worlds of thought, into eternity, will see you clothed as God. There is only God in this world.987 ¶10

So God is begetting himself: Divine Imagination is reproducing himself in human Imagination. And when he reproduces himself in the human Imagination, that being in whom he is reproduced awakens and he is clothed as God himself is clothed. When you see him, you’ll see him clothed in light, in love, in power, in wisdom. Everything said of God in the Bible will be said of you by the one who sees you. But if the eye is not open, they do not see you and they only see the little garment that you wear with all the weaknesses of that garment, all the limitations of that garment. You will wear it in a world that is limited not quite fully inheriting what you really are while you’re still tied to this. For your heavenly inheritance is not completely actualized, not fully realized by you while you’re still in the world of flesh and blood and tied to a garment of flesh and blood.987 ¶11

But at night when you sleep and you are detached, you are in the world of eternity. And those who have eyes will see you functioning in that world. You are fully conscious of what you are doing. But when you return you come back through a quick series of events, strange little things that pull you back to this waking surface of the mind. And then you continue to tell your story. Tell it over and over in the hope that all that hear it will believe it. But one day they will believe it, because one day they will all experience it. Everyone will experience it and not one in eternity will fail.987 ¶12

Let no one tell you that anyone is going to fail. They can’t fail for the whole thing is reproduced in us. There’s no abracadabra about it. You don’t earn it, it simply awakens within you in good time.987 ¶13

So here, he started by simply imagining what the villages would do.987 ¶14

And can you put yourself into that place? Here, under house arrest because you’re for the king, the legitimate ruler of the island of the place of Greece. And then came the junta; the generals who had their own ambitions, their own desires, and so they ousted the king, sent him off to Italy, him and his family. Then they took over and imprisoned all opposition.987 ¶15

They’re all intelligent, brilliant minds, and they were all under house arrest as they are today. If they only would see the secret of the story, not the means by which he escaped.987 ¶16

Because God is infinite in his creative power and he doesn’t have to duplicate the means: “I have ways and means ye know not of; my ways are past finding out”. So don’t try to duplicate the means; the means are not your concern.987 ¶17

But the technique is our concern, so listen only to his technique. Because what he said happened I question…because he is saving others who are going to read his letter and they are all tuned into the fact that he has escaped from the island of Amorgos. He is now in Europe, a free man, who undoubtedly will be given asylum in this country and tell his story to the world maybe in a book form. But forget the story of the means…that does not interest us. Give me principle! What did he do? The means follows the principle, and what he did, he simply imagined a scene which would imply the fulfillment of his dream.987 ¶18

I create a scene in my mind’s eye, but the scene must imply the end, not the means. “So I see faces and they’re all my friends and they’re all gathered around the little shortwave radios, and they do it in secret because these are outlawed. They must not listen to outside areas, only what they pump into their controlled press and controlled radio, but not the shortwave that would bring in the outside world to tell me what happened. So they’re all gathered together quietly, secretly, and they’re listening and here comes the news from France, from Italy, from America, saying that George so-and-so has escaped the island of Amorgos. That’s all that he wants. And the thing that thrilled him the most was when that news came through.987 ¶19

Not the elderly people drinking coffee…that happens every day; not the odor that comes from the bakery, that happens every day; not the cobbler opening up his shop at nine in the morning, that happens every day. But this: ‘they all know that I have escaped…that doesn’t happen every day, for I have been there for 409 days.’” But this day is different and that gave him the thrill of his life!987 ¶20

So I tell you, start now…don’t delay it. Start now to create the scene which if true would imply the fulfillment of your dream. And there is no power in the world that can stop it!987 ¶21

Because our Lord is Father, and our Father is our potter, and we are all the clay in his hand. So, “‘Arise, and go down to the potter’s house,’ said the Lord to the prophet Jeremiah ‘and there I will let you hear my words.’ So I went down to the potter’s house, and there he was working at his wheel. And the thing in his hand he was making of clay was spoiled in the potter’s hand. But he didn’t discard it, he reworked it into another vessel as it seemed good to the potter to do”.987 ¶22

FROM THE PRISONER OF AMORGOS. To the Editor: While I was still in exile on the island of Amorgos, I sought to imagine the scene in the little village of Hora the morning after I escaped. On the square below my house, the elders would be having coffee. The cobbler would have opened his doors. Through the baker’s windows you would smell the fresh bread. By 9:30 many villagers would have noticed that I was half an hour late to sign in at the police station. By 10 the police would have sent for the plainclothes informer who usually sits in the middle of square under a tree bearing the ironic emblem, “Long live the nation.” He would say he had not seen me, that I had not appeared on my balcony. They would probably debate whether or not to send for me, and in another half an hour they would surely be at the house, knocking at first in order not to give themselves away if they should find I had innocently overslept, then beating down the door as the truth dawned on them. Within a few moments the whole village would know. I think that was what I enjoyed imagining most— the villagers exchanging silent, knowing glances all day, then, that night, gathering secretly around their short-wave radios.987 ¶23

For most of my first year on Amorgos, my escape was simply a dream. Gradually, I began to formulate a plan, and finally that plan became a reality.987 ¶24

The New York Times had something to do with that, for Nicholas Gage’s article, “The Prisoner of Amorgos”, contributed to my final decision to make the attempt. I had given him that interview because I thought it was high time that attention should be called to those of us Greeks who have been dispersed all over the country, living in forlorn little villages, subjected to the ordeal of isolation and constant police surveillance. I believed we would stay in exile as long as the junta stayed in power, and I felt it necessary to strike back—on behalf of all of us—with the only means at my disposal.987 ¶25

At the same time, I was under no illusions as to what countermeasures the regime would take against me. My mail was censored, but it still provided a link—however tenuous—with the outside world. In addition, I was allowed to receive books and newspapers, and, although I had not been specifically granted permission, I listened to the short-wave radio. All these privileges could be denied. But most important of all, the burden of my isolation had been lightened by visits of members of my family. If these were cut off, my isolation would be complete.987 ¶26

That was why I was certain, as soon as it was confirmed by the Nicholas Gage interview, that I had to escape from Amorgos some time in September, or not at all.987 ¶27

The plan was my own, and I formulated it in cooperation with Greek associates working on my behalf, both within the country and abroad. The main problem was that I was constantly observed by the police or their informants, and after dusk there were two or three people watching my house in shifts.987 ¶28

But I thought that habitual actions would be the best camouflage. My doctor had suggested that I take long walks, and I had acquired the habit of doing so on the barren footpaths around the village. The police were understandably loathe to follow me, if, for no other reason, in order not to show that they were so concerned. They would simply see me off and wait for me to return, and, in the meantime, they would be content to ask a passing villager the direction in which I had gone.987 ¶29

Near the village of Hora, where I lived, the south coast of Amorgos is a sheer, almost solid piece of rock, dropping over 1,000 feet to the sea. From one point along the top of this cliff, some two miles from the village, you can see a small cove — almost the only cleft in the impenetrable coast — where a launch might possibly be put ashore. It took me about 45 minutes to reach the cliff, where another footpath lead down to the sea. I never dared try it for fear of arousing suspicion, but I calculated that it would take me at least half an hour to make my way down.987 ¶30

If I left for my walk just after my 6 o’clock sign-in, as I did every evening in the summer, I could arrive at the shore at roughly 7:15. At about the same time, about the same, a motor yacht with out lights could draw in under the cover of darkness and lower a boat.987 ¶31

My part of the plan depended only on me, and no one on the island was involved in it. But the others working on my behalf had to find a boat with a captain and a group of non-Greeks to pose as tourists on an Aegean holiday. This led to unforeseen eventualities, because the person who put them in touch with the owner of the boat turned out to be an Italian journalist.987 ¶32

We had hoped to keep all of the details of the escape secret, not only to protect the people who were involved in it, but also to leave the way open for others to escape. Imagine the effect on the authorities if they should know nothing, if I should simply be there one day and gone the next, to reappear some time later in Western Europe. Imagine the effect on the morale of the other exiles. If it could be done once and the details kept secret, then it could be done again. Suppose exiles began disappearing off the Greek islands one by one. From the point of view of resistance to the junta, the effect would be devastating.987 ¶33

In any case, I am grateful to my Italian friends, for they came along without motive or self-interest and with implicit faith in the direction of my Greek associate. He treated them strictly according to the rules of clandestine activity, and they did not know either his name or mine until we were already out of Greece.987 ¶34

For my part, when I received the signal that the plan was in operation, I did not know what arrangements had been made. When the boat arrived finally, I more or less expected the Greek to be aboard, but as to who the others would be, or even what language they would speak, I had not the faintest idea.987 ¶35

By that time, it was a race between the appearance of Gage’s article and the appearance of the boat. To make matters more difficult, I did not have any way of knowing how either one was progressing.987 ¶36

I knew the article had not appeared on Sunday, Sept. 14, because I had contact with the outside world after that date and I would have heard about it. As the next Sunday approached, the days became ever more crucial. By the next Saturday, I was speculating wildly. If the article were to appear the next day, perhaps I still had a few days to go. Perhaps the consul general in New York, George Vranopoulos, who had the reputation of being the junta’s watchdog on the American community, might be out of town. Perhaps, after all, he did not read The New York Times Magazine and would not see the article until someone mentioned it. At that point, I was relying on bureaucratic inefficiency.987 ¶37

The danger was not only that increased restrictions might be imposed and that I might be prevented from taking a walk. I might simply be taken for interrogation to the police headquarters in Santorini and thus miss the rendezvous when the boat arrived.987 ¶38

The following week, I waited each morning to overhear the villagers talking about the arrival of a yacht in the port below. By this time, I was waking up every morning hoping I would not sleep in Amorgos the following night.987 ¶39

Finally, to my horror, on Saturday, Sept. 27, I heard “The Prisoner of Amorgos” on the Paris radio. Now I had no doubt that the Greek authorities were aware of it. I only wondered what had taken them so long to act. Perhaps the order was already sent to the main headquarters in Santorini and would shortly be relayed to Amorgos.987 ¶40

From that day on I could not present myself at the police station to sign the register without apprehension, and I was thankful when the officer at his desk did not lift his head to greet me.987 ¶41

When the day arrived, it almost took me by surprise. On the morning of Oct. 2, I heard no one talking about a yacht. I was even a little late for the rendezvous. It was after 1 o’clock when I walked into the little tavern where I had eaten every mid-day meal since coming to Amorgos over a year before. The tourists were sitting at a table in the middle of the room, three young men and a young lady with long blond hair. We hardly exchanged a glance. I suppose they recognized me from photographs they had seen. I recognized them because, according to our plan, one of them was holding a book with a black jacket.987 ¶42

The title, in bright red lettering, which I knew before reading it, was “The Tragedy of Lyndon Johnson.” There was not a word exchanged between us.987 ¶43

I ate quickly and went home to put my house in order. I had rehearsed the next few hours so often, I hardly had to think.987 ¶44

Before 6 o’clock I signed the police register for the 409th consecutive day, and then set out for my evening walk. After dark the police could see the light in my house, and they probably assumed I had returned by another path. At about 7:20, I stepped aboard the motor yacht and we were under way.987 ¶45

GEORGE MYLONAS.987 ¶46