Dear Reader,
My apologies once again for keeping you hanging in nail biting suspense. As you know we're back in our homeland slowly making our way towards Pacific Standard Time as we cross this massive continent. Visiting with family and friends and hearing the sound of my own voice describing our travels; the fairy-tale green of Wales, the one man band we saw in Rome, the sweet smelling Cinque Terras, what's happened only weeks ago is quickly finding a place on my mind-shelf somewhere between dreams and dreams-come-true. Why is it that our most real experiences are so quick to take on a dream-like quality? Surly there is an evolutionary advantage to this state of so-real-it-must-be-a-dream, a filter, self-defense? Waking from this dream I'm left with more questions than answers, more grey areas, more edges to explore.
Exclaim: Origin late 16th cent. : from French exclamer
or Latin exclamare,
from ex- 'out' + clamare 'to shout.'
-Webster
Assisi:
Generally I'm sparing with my use of the exclamation point. My mother (a self-described "Shy Person") while editing my school work, was quick to point out that, to the reader, an exclamation point is akin to being shouted at and one should be extremely cautious (lest it be resigned to the same sad slang-fate of words like awesome and totally). That being said, my 6/23 journal entry reads: "We had a beautiful day in Assisi! "
In the 13th century while Constantine and the Papacy were going at it, Assisi became home to one of the world's first hippies, St. Francis. His story, as it's come to be told over the centuries, resembles more the life-story of Siddhartha of Lumbini than Jesus of Nazareth, but I'm sure if they had the opportunity they would have all hit it off, smiling to each other as they compared their tour-date calendars.
Like the Buddha, St. Francis came from a wealthy family who was shocked when their son chose a life of poverty in the service of serving others. In one of his first acts of love-filled defiance Francis emptied out the storeroom of his father's textile warehouse, supplying the poor lepers of Assisi with beautiful Italian cloth. (I imagine them all walking around dressed to the nines in Armani.) Later in his too-short life, Francis preached about the humane treatment of Assisi's abundant street dog and cat population and the conservation of wilderness, both revolutionary concepts for the middle ages.
During his day Francis had only a handful of devoted followers, most notably Chiara Offreduccio who only 10 years after her death became known as St. Clare. When Clare's wealthy parents arranged her marriage to a high-ranking Assisian she ran away to the nearby hills and joined the Jesus-Love-Fest Francis was organizing. In only a few years Clare founded "the Order of Poor Ladies, a monastic religious order for women in the Franciscan tradition, and wrote their Rule of Life - the first monastic rule known to have been written by a woman". - The Interweb
Thanks to Francis and Clare, today's Assisi is full of love. The tiny streets and rosy houses are all clean and well cared for, and aside from the many chachki's, (that's Yiddish for nick-knacks - especially ones you don’t need) Assisi is beautiful. Maybe it was a hot day and we were a little tired, maybe it was the thousands of pilgrims, or the jasmine aroma therapy but the town seemed to have it's own quiet stillness an invisible cloud of meditative peace.
We climbed a fortress tower and peeked through the skinny archer's slots for the best view of the Umbrian hills. I thought about how crucial narrow vision is to war. Despite all the evidence, the city wall, the knight's heavy uniforms in the museum, the crossbow key chains for sale at the gift-shop, I found it hard to imagine such a peaceful city having ever taken up arms.
After our much needed Gelato we meandered down to the St. Francis's church. My tribe would call it: ungapatchki, that's Yiddish for over-done, at the very least, opulent. Surly St. Francis would have hated this building with its golden frescos and stained glass, all symbols of wealth and power in his day. The church is a far detour from the life of poverty the simple monk followed. But pilgrims are still pouring in from far and wide. We heard guides whispering to their tour groups in at least 5 languages as they pointed to the story filled frescos.
Deep inside the basement of the church, housed in a room he also would have hated but made much more beautiful by candlelight, lay the pulsing heart of this tiny city - the stone tomb of St. Frances raised like a shrine. I felt that the prayers of the tens of thousands of pilgrims who come here each year imbued the dark space with a life of its own. We sat there quietly on the wooden benches for a long while. People of all ethnicities came and went, Catholics did their fancy curtsy and signed the cross over their hearts (something I'd only seen in movies), a few women cried quietly and one person came in with crutches. In this way one by one, year after year the little room is filled with people's hopes and sorrows absorbed by the candlelight, into the boundless heart of St. Francis, into the space carved out by prayer, until there is nothing left but an exclamation point.
Prayer of Saint Francis of Assisi[1]
Lord, make me an instrument of your peace.
Where there is hatred, let me sow love;
where there is injury, pardon;
where there is doubt, faith;
where there is despair, hope;
where there is darkness, light;
and where there is sadness, joy.
O Divine Master, grant that I may not so much seek
to be consoled as to console;
to be understood as to understand;
to be loved as to love.
For it is in giving that we receive;
it is in pardoning that we are pardoned;
and it is in dying that we are born to eternity
[1] "The Prayer of Saint Francis…is attributed to the 13th-century saint Francis of Assisi, although the prayer in its present form can not be traced back further than 1912, when it was printed…in a small spiritual magazine called La Clochette (The Little Bell) as an anonymous prayer, as demonstrated by Dr Christian Renoux in 2001. The prayer has been known in the United States since 1936 and Cardinal Francis Spellman and Senator Hawkes distributed millions of copies of the prayer during and just after World War II."
-The Interweb!
