THE SOURCE

Is it a power struggle
when no electricity ignites
and the power outage
overtakes my city
my province, my country
my continent, my world

They call it The Source
as if He is a computer
holding all the hard drives
of the Modern World.

Why not use the word God or Jesus? 
Who fears the power of words? 
The Source is a cold word—
technological warfare
of the Spirit World.

The Holy Spirit is not
	a Source
and
	The Source is not the Holy Spirit

 “Source” is…
Noun: 1. “ a place, person, or thing from which something comes or can be obtained.” 2. “Mackarel is a good source of fish oil.”
Verb: “obtain from a particular source.” “Each type of coffee is sourced from one country.”
 “God” is..
“the creator and ruler of the universe and source of all moral authority; the supreme being.”
From Oxford Languages Dictionary

God created source from where things are able to derive
God created a source from where things come from

Ambiguous words have created new meanings
you don’t want to use uncomfortable words 
 like Jesus 
source sounds poetic 
 the demons love that you won’t say Jesus

yet something gnaws at you like a revelation
words have unforeseen power
you start with
the Gospel According to John
when you finally hold
the bible in your hands
it may be a bible you had
since you were a kid
or one you took from a hotel room
when you were high
or one you bought yourself
or one you found when you were lost
or one you found when the house was stripped bare from death
or when your grandfather gave you
but when you open it to John I and read
“In the beginning was the Word,
And the Word was with
God, and the Word was God…and
the Word was made flesh.”
you’ll either read with ferocity
or charge your phone into the source. 





THE FISH

I am free to swim in any ocean water
or calm river
to meet myself and talk about the bitter beans I taste
but others are tied in nets
bound to anchors
bodies floating to the shore
and He has his arms wide open
to embrace them.

When my great-great-great-grandparents 
Carved a fish on top of a secret cave 
and taught Greek and the orthodox way
the children sat
in this school of fish
and swam together 
to become better fishermen
fish symbols
in carvings on brick walls
in stone caves
sticks carved in earth
handwritten notes of fish 
burned to not be found
hidden places
boxes, envelopes, meetings
discreet alleyways 
and tiny back rooms with candlelight
the rule of the Ottomans
persecuted the Greeks
we taught in secret Jesus’s teachings
and battled with words of truth
transforming into fish
and giving my ancestors
strength to use their fins
gospels turned into scales
the Logos
held in damp places
to continue swimming
in the waters
Jesus first swam and was baptized. 







HAVE MERCY

I drove my grandfather Pappou to church on Sundays
he chanted Byzantine Greek liturgies
live radio in my home
and when my children were baptized
he sang the lithurgy
his voice — an echo of a peaceful dawn

all men sin and he was known for all of it
but when he entered the church
and chanted it was as if he could do no wrong
and he would chant Lord, Have Mercy
twelve times in Greek
and I became accustomed to this
as if it was good morning 
didn’t everybody have a grandfather boiling wine and making toast with butter and honey for them?
But when I did my project for my family tree and my immediate family was 6 with my grandparents in my house
I sat there watching everyone do their project
and they had 3, 4, 5 people
but no grandparents
and I found it odd that I was the only one
and when my friends came over
they would ask
you live with your grandparents?
when I went to their house
they had their own key
there was no one home
and their house had a weird smell of carrots I did not like.
Raw carrots? How do you eat that? I stared at it. 

My grandfather would walk me to school every day
and walk in front of me
if it was a windy day
to block the wind
he would chant Lord, Have Mercy
at odd times
he told me how he wanted to be a priest
but when he entered the priesthood
he ran away
to become a musician
and every day he took out the divine liturgy and chanted Lord, Have Mercy

I thought that sage could sing
	but it doesn’t
I thought witches could preach
	but they can’t
I thought yoga could heal
	but it’s insignificant 
I thought meditation had power
	but it’s nothingness
prayer to God, Jesus, and the Holy Spirt 
that is the true meditation 
they want you to drown
veer off an unknown island
live off twigs
create your own Gods
the ocean has no rightful paths
you must trust Jesus
he will be your boat
to take you home.

When I go to church and listen to the chants
I hear my grandfather’s voice chanting
Lord, Have Mercy 
and I remember waiting in the car to pick him up after church
and now I regret not going in to listen to his voice chanting live
like he was meant to be
Jesus did not want him to be a priest
He wanted him to chant with his gifted voice
every Sunday Lord Have Mercy, twelve times.

How lucky was I to grow up in house with my Papou
who chanted like this
yet had to flee his village because he loved 
too many women
he was not supposed to. 




Biography: 

Christina Strigas is a Montreal-based poet and educator. Her work has appeared in numerous literary publications, including Montreal Writes, Feminine Collective, Neon Mariposa Magazine, Pink Plastic House Journal, BlazeVOX, Thimble Literary Magazine, The Temz Review, and Coffin Bell Journal.

Her poem "Dead Wife," published by Coffin Bell Journal, was nominated for Best of the Net in 2020. Additionally, CBC News recommended her poetry collection, Love & Vodka, featuring it on their "Ultimate Canadian Poetry List."

Strigas works as a full-time teacher, instructing adults in ESL at McGill University alongside her work as a public school educator. She lives in Montreal with her husband and two children.