I often feel like I want to think something but I can’t find the language that coincides with the thought, so it remains felt, not thought. Sometimes I feel like I’m thinking in Swedish without knowing Swedish.
Peter Cameron, Someday This Pain Will Be Useful To You.
Source: Words n Quotes.com
Once upon a time, a tour bus stopped like this ... in Rome.
When you are sorrowful look again in your heart, and you shall see that in truth you are weeping for that which has been your delight.
Kahlil Gibran
I do believe I have finished with the 3 beautiful things posts. It pulled me out of the dark place and allowed me to celebrate some of the beautiful things but it's not really my style ...
Well, there was that and the fact that today was another dark day. But really, dark and grey and wintery. I had to go out in it, twice, so far.
But I fly tomorrow. I love leaving. Always, since I was a small child.
These days it goes like this. The night before, if not sooner, I wonder whatinthehellIamdoing and have some anxiety about all that could go wrong.
The night before, I sleep badly and, these days, the Belgian bloke mocks me a little.
But then I get on the airport bus and voila, some alchemy occurs and I relax.
I reach the airport boarding lounge and enter that state of ohwellIhopeIreachmydestination.Nothingtobedonenow.
I hate leaving, I love leaving. Always. Even on my trike as that very small child. Fearful and yet needing to go.
Jack and Kay have sent photographs of my destination ... that small village somewhere in Italy. I do believe I may post one or two photographs. I'm hoping to photograph at least one good sunset and a sunrise. I'm hoping for fresh air and good espresso. I'm hoping to write and take a few hundred good photographs. I'm hoping to walk far and often. And that I come home so much healthier than I left.
Just all that.
I'm listening to Josh Garrels ... because I've just found him and I love his music, so much!
I was looking through my photo files. There are 1000s of images that never see the light of day. And I found one of my Rome shots which inspired me to go wandering through old blogs I had written about Rome. I found this which was lovely because I have been missing Rome.
I remember falling madly and passionately in love with Rome. I had gone there expecting to be disappointed by a myth fallen on hard times but found something else ...
Rome was a city that was more than I imagined a city could be. It was a mix of ancient and beautiful, of sophistication, and of real people who wanted to chat.
I stayed on Campo de' Fiori, in a hotel with the same name. The entrance was stunning, it felt like stepping into a story. Outside, there was a daily market, there in the square,where I could buy flowers and food. There was a superb little bookshop where I found a good book and, on another corner, a delicatessen with wine and cheese for my evening because ... I was in Rome and one must have a nice chianti, with good cheese, while reading that new book.
It was a city of angels. Bernini and his students had sculpted a series of them on Ponte Sant'Angelo in the 17th century. There was the arrogant angel by Raffaello da Montelupo. I loved his 1544 rendering of the Archangel Michael. And Peter Anton Verschaffelt's rooftop Michael, sculpted 1752.
Angels and archways perhaps. I felt so comfortable with the architecture there. I spent hours, wandering alone in Castel Sant'Angelo, fascinated by the history and feeling found in that ancient place. It was originally built as a mausoleum for Hadrian, then converted into a fortress for the pope and Vatican City. It even served time as a prison. I found magical, to be wandering the old hallways, or simply sitting in the sun trying to comprehend the fact that Rome's River Tiber was below me.
I had lunch with Paolo, a friend of a friend, and we wandered the city for a while. He told me his stories of the city he loved. And, after work, an old friend took me home to dinner, with his family on the back of his scooter, And his wife cooked an exquisite Roman feast, introducing me to mozzarella di bufala and prosciutto, veal, artichokes and chard ... and much conversation. Later, there was a midnight tour of Rome, on the way back to the hotel.
The next day, I bought a painting from a different Paolo, in Piazza Navone ... the place where the artists gather. He took me off to a cafe for coffee and we talked for a long time. He had been a history teacher until his art had become self-supporting. We talked of movies, books, writers, societies, children and life. His painting, the painting I bought, was a titled 'Diving into Life' ... it seemed like a painting I had to have.
I loved Piazza San Pietro, in Vatican City, and bought the ticket that allowed me to climb the 300+ steps to the cupola on top of the Basilica. You reach the top and voila, there is Rome, far below in all of her beauty.
Inside the Basilica, the sculptures fell outside of my ability to describe them. I stared for a long time, perhaps hoping to absorb the beauty via some kind of osmosis. Michelangelo's Pieta was stunning but Bernini's monument to Alexander VII was almost overwhelming. Somehow, Bernini had made heavy red marble seem like soft velvet.
I loved Rome.
The Pantheon took my breath when I turned a corner and found it unexpectedly there in front of me. The Trevi Fountain, even the Spanish Steps at midnight, all but abandoned.
I have to go back, and soon, there is no other solution.
