I am awake in the night digesting and contemplating. I'm been perusing the Michelin guide to Italy. All our lives we are seduced with information on Italy, and so being here, it is hard, at least for me, to take it all in, to digest the history, movies, language, music, art, fashion and literature based here, to cohere it all into one me. It is like diving into a multitude of time periods at once, like living coiled in chambers like a Nautilus shell, like being a yeasty bread torn apart.
I feel torn apart and put together again and again, each time a little more tweaked to understand the centuries of growth, the balance of war and art, the blood shed to conquer and fuel and the huge need so revealed for the celebration of spirituality, of a head tilted back to the sky, of the need for so many to ingest the blood and body of Christ. There are innumerable churches, and ringing bells, and how, then, is each of us held, to open and close, connect and build future and past in this moment, and the next.
What is my offering, discovery, color, hue, tint?