Papal Tears and Weird Dreams.
I woke this morning to the bluest, most lovely sky I have seen in a long time. I thought I had slept way in to the morning, but it was only nine ! I did what I am best at doing this vacation: I slept some more.
After a lunch with my cousin, I met a fellow named Peter on the subway. Peter is from Vietnam-America, and is an older gentleman. We walked together for a bit and chatted, adn I ran into Fr. Borys from Ukraine-America, with whom I worked many summers ago in Ukraine. Small world, eh? With my new friend and bumping into an old one on the street, I felt I was in the very right place.
I headed for the Vatican Museum, where I had my first really good experience with an audio guide. I learned a lot about the art and artefacts in the museum, especially the Sistine Chapel. the Chapel, while impressive (the commentary kept saying this is the best work of art in our history…which I failed to see), did not have the sacred feeling I felt at Notre Dame, or at Angkor Wat, or at the Pecherska Lavra. Perhaps it was all the tourists, or the guards shushing us. Lucky for me, it is still low season, and the halls were not packed. When I left the museum, I took a wrong turn, but followed the wall, not realizing that it went ALL the way around the Vatican, practically. I enjoyed the lost walk, though, especially the smells of palm trees and sweet flowers and grasses. When I rounded my way around to St. Peter,s square, I was just in time for a mass with the Pope in commemmoration of John Paul II,s death.
I was moved to tears, inexplicably, as I watched two young girls present the gifts to the Pope. I am not a pope fanatic or anything. Actually, I felt supreme loneliness watching the liturgy unfold. Like I didn,t really belong there, among my fellow Catholics. I didn;t belong there or anywhere, I felt. Very strange and lonely it was. It is hard to be lonely among so many people.
What I have been seeing in my mind has been just as interesting: my dreams have been vivid, velvety, beautiful, featuring a more vibrant me than I;ve seen in a while. They also feature friends from home I;ve been thnking of often. Last night, a young boy was combing my hair and washing my face for me, and it was beautiful. I felt like a figure in a Degas painting. Velvety red.
They aren;t all so lovely, though. Last week, I dreamed of a lady carrying a baby through airport security, and said she had to change her baby,s diaper. I knew she was hiding a bomb in the diaper and alerted the police about it. So…exploding babies, and boys combing my hair. Interesting.
I am off to Assissi tomorrow. This one is for you, Kim.
Tags: Italy
blueskies
Ah distinctly do I remember that wall – which goes on for bloody miles! Had a plane to catch and had to run round the length of it in the blazing Augustan heat – I was a fitter man back then…
Speaking of weird papal things, Nikolai asked the other day, “Do you think the Pope has keg parties?” That’s YOUR Godson!