My Virgin Mary is not only of the Greeks.

She belongs to all people.

I know her name.

I know her image.

She doesn’t like grandeur and “fanfare.”

She wears no golden plumes or crowns.

She is not loaded with jewelry.

She is poor and humble.

She lives in a chapel on the edge of the mountain where, at night, the stars illuminate it.

Around her, there are no manicured and pruned roses, but only chamomiles and wildflowers that smell of musk to the sky.

Her little church is surrounded by dry grass and wats and in the trees around, all the birds find shelter in the winter.

My Virgin Mary does not wear black clothes,

because she loves the light and color of life.

She is a girl, a woman, a working mother, unemployed.

She is fair, laughing, humble, tells plain truths, doesn’t punish, doesn’t impose, doesn’t scare, but lights my path with love, and stands by me in right or wrong.

She teaches me to stand tall and not kneel to anyone,

and not to expect miracles from anyone but myself.

My Virgin Mary always stands by my side. She is my mother, my sister, my friend, she is my light and my hope, my truth, and my stubbornness in a better and fairer tomorrow.

Author: Anonymous via Lucas Benekos