Gli Storme

There, all of a sudden, a new presence in Rome that cannot be overlooked. Small black birds, which I have learned are Starlings, have taken over the skies and are now demanding every space on every tree, power line and rooftop. I do not know where they came from. Perhaps they are just passing through on their way south for the winter, but as the evening approaches it is hard not to notice their swarms filling up the sky. Even through my small viewable piece of sky I can tell that there are thousands of them at any given time.

The Romans refer to them as "Gli Storme," which is a term only used to describe this particular occurrence. The really special thing about this flocks of Starlings is in the unusual way they fly. I guess you could call it "in-formation" because they all fly together as a group, but there really is no particular formation in which they fly. Rather, the mass is constantly moving and changing shape as if it were one body of liquid, swimming through the air and changing simultaneously along with the breeze.

Swirling up and around the warm currents of air, each group looks as if it is performing its own ballet. They come from all directions and merge into each other, as different colors may swirl together in a bowl, never fully mixing but nevertheless affected by the other.

I become entranced watching this intricate dance pay out in the skies above, and it becomes hard to tear myself away and focus on more pressing matters.

When the sun has finally set, it may be experienced by anyone venturing outside, especially along the Tiber, a loud ruckus coming from the treetops up above. The almost deafening high-pitched twittering of the hundreds of birds resting among each tree should be enough to make anyone wary of walking underneath the wide canopies, but if they cannot be avoided for your destination of choice, it would be wise to have an umbrella handy.    

The Grass Grows Through It

The cobblestone streets of Rome are filthy. Dirt, trash, cigarette butts, dog poo, and dead birds are seen on a daily basis. Broken stones stick up everywhere and you have to constantly be watching where you're walking so you don't trip and fall, or step on something you'll regret.

 

And yet, through all these atrocities, the rain comes down, washing away the surface and seeping down into the cracks. Then, in a short amount of time, up through dirt springs new green grass, giving the streets a fresh look and new life. You see, without all the dirt and filth, the grass would never be able to grow, and while the streets would look a lot better if they were perfectly ordered and clean, they would remain lifeless.

I like to think of this occurrence as a sort of metaphor for what God's good grace does to us in our own lives.  So long as we live in this world we are all subject to temptation and sin. Try as we might, we alone cannot rid ourselves of the dirt that covers our hearts and souls, and it accumulates. So, we come to stand before God covered in dirt and filth and beg to be washed clean. By His mercy He rains His grace upon us, washing away our sins and seeping down into our souls, where, because we have humbled ourselves before Him, a new life springs forth from the dirt, filling up every crack in our being with fresh green grass. The dirt of our temptations roots us down and makes us permanent, for though they may be troublesome and grievous, in them a person is humbled, purified, and instructed, and through the intervention of God the grass will grow through it. 

Be wary my friends! Take care not to trample the new grass which has taken so much to grow. Protect it and do not take it for granted by continuing in your old ways. It is still frail and must be taken care of to get stronger. Christ can be your constant gardener, and you need only to invite Him in.

Thank You Lord for your constant streams of love and mercy. We are but the dirt under Your feet and You, in Your infinite kindness bow down and raise us up, giving us a newness of life and restoring our souls. Lord I pray that when we stray from Your path, like the Good Shepherd You may find us once again and strengthen our convictions in You, that we may follow You now, until the end of time.  

Amen

The Feast of Saint Francis

This past Saturday was the feast of St. Francis. To commemorate the occasion of my favorite saint I decided it would be a good time to make my pilgrimage to Assisi and see all the spots that I have come to know about through books and such. Being the lone traveler that I am, I went by myself. But have no fear, I was I good hands. For the 2 days and nights that I was there, I stayed with a very hospitable host family who has taken in RISD students in previous years when the students would do a week of organized home-stay time as part of the EHP program. The hard part for me though was that my host parents didn't speak any English, so I could only speak in Italian for the entire weekend, which in retrospect is a really good thing because it forced me to use what I have learned in Italian class thus far, and quickly learn what I didn't know yet.

On the feast day, I went into Assisi around 11:30am and found that it was quite crowded. I could barely get into the Church of San Francesco because there were so many people streaming in and out! So instead I decided it would be a better plan to walk around outside and do some exploring around the area before confining myself within any particular space. Though I had a map with me, I didn't bother taking it out because even if I had known where I was, I wouldn't have known where I was going, except for as far away from the crowds as possible.

On the rural roads climbing up Mount Subasio, I saw a pen with a family of donkeys in it, including a tiny little baby donkey.
I named her "burrito" which in Italian means little butter. hahaha

Shortly thereafter the wind picked up and it started raining/hailing, luckily I had brought my umbrella, as small as it is, but I was not prepared for the cold that followed the hail, so I didn't stay as long as I had planned. When I got back to the house, I found that my host mother had baked dozens and dozens of cookies while I was away! For dinner (my first truly Italian meal!), she made pasta shells in tomato sauce, and then we got slices of tomatoes, prociutto cotto (cured ham), fresh mozzerella, and bread, and then for the last course we just had some lettuce with vinaigrette, which is meant as a sort of palette cleanser.

After getting my bearings around the town, I went back the next day with a bit more of a plan, as well as my sketchbook and drawing materials, which I had left behind the day before. After attending Sunday church with my host parents, I went back up to Assisi and went to the church of Santa Chiara (St. Clair).

Later, on a trek to the church of San Damiano, I passed by a beautiful olive grove and couldn't resist sitting down in the middle of it for a while to sketch the landscape.

San Damiano, which is where the Franciscan Sisters lived almost from the very beginning of the order, was such a quint little place. Situated down the hill from Assisi, the Sisters who lived here were in peaceful solitude, and the area has remained as such. The only other being I saw with a house close by the convent was a goat, who lived in a rather small house under a tree.

By the time I got back to the house at the end of the day, I was well worn out. I was again treated to a wonderful dinner of stuffed tortellini in a chicken soup broth, followed by baked tomatoes with bread crumbs and beef, followed by a plate of green grapes. Even though I only stayed with this family for 2 days, I still feel it was a very insightful experience into the lives and culture of a typical Italian family, which ended up reinforcing some known stereotypes, as well as disproving others.

I'm so glad that I took this journey and I look forward to coming back again sometime and seeing more of Assisi. I am also glad that I discovered this method of staying with a host family, and I now want to find other families in other places that I want to go.

Peace and Good,

~Rachael

Cinque Terre

Le Cinque Terre is a chain of five remarkably picturesque towns on the Italian Riviera, covering about 7 miles of beautiful coastal territory which is punctuated by cliff top olive groves, grape vineyards, striking geology and azure water below soaring cliffs.

In the morning we took a train to Riomaggiore, the southernmost town in the chain, and arrived at around 10:30 in the midst of pouring rain. Due to the rain throughout the day and the previous night making the trails muddy and dangerous, our main hiking journey that we had planned was cancelled and we were left free to do whatever we wanted. Our lodging for the night was in the form of apartments that were interspersed throughout the town. My favorite of these apartments was tucked away in the uppermost part of the town and to get there, one had to climb an old stone trail, with the hills rising immediately on either side, which reminded me greatly of the Hobbit land in Middle Earth of the Lord of the Rings books. Even the quaint little stone apartment house, with the large round doorknob placed in the center of the door, and just enough room for 4 people to sleep, seemed as if it had just come right out of a children’s picture book. People in my group were planning on going down to the shore for a little swimming and possibly some cliff diving, but when I got outside and saw these stone steps which looked as if they hadn’t been travelled in 50 years, I just couldn’t say no to climbing them and seeing where they led to. Since I am never one for letting a little rain and cold stop me, I ventured out with no idea as to where I would go or what I would do once I got there, but the beauty of the trail ahead was calling to me and telling me to move forward.

Along the trail, every path that I saw deviating from it was another opportunity for exploration. Traveling like this I often found myself at the top of a hill overlooking a garden, in the middle of a grape vineyard, or stuck in the thorns of raspberry bushes. By sight or sound there were no other people. It was just me and the earth, getting to know each other. Slowly but surely I was making my way to the top of the mountain

Higher and higher I went until I realized I could see the ocean and the small town of Riomaggiore leading up to it. Towards the top of the mountain the vineyards gave way to forests, with traces of ancient walls for some long-forgotten purpose scattered throughout. I just
keep on walking, feeling as if I am searching for something without knowing what it is yet.

Taking the opportunity of the silence and state of peace with the earth and sky that I was in, I start singing hymns and songs of praise to God for the supreme beauty of this world that He created. I pray for the land and the people here. For the energy to carry on and for the wisdom to know when it's time to stop. For guidance in God's chosen path for me, and the strength to follow it.

No matter how grand people can build a church. No matter how much gold and silver and jewels and art can be put there. No matter how well designed a cathedral can be. No man-made thing on Earth could truly "house" God. I believe that if God were to choose any place on earth to reside it would be in the pure and natural wilds. Nothing a human could ever make could be as beautiful and complex and perfect as what God Himself has created. It is for this reason that I seek the Earth in solitude, for it is here where I can feel God's presence most strongly, and know that He is here with me. Here away from the eyes of others I can be my true self, an imperfect child of God. I within Him and Him within me.

As I walk along the top of the mountain, more and more of the world below starts coming into view. Eventually I come upon what appears to be the end of the trail, and the start of a couple more trails around a small field. From the side of the cliff here I can see the entire coastline and the vast ocean stretching out miles and miles before me.

I feel as if I have reached the ends of the Earth. Way far out in the distance I can see a barge out in the ocean, alone in a vast, never-ending sea of beauty. My spirit is transported to the place where the ocean becomes the sky and I know that although I too am out here by myself, I am not alone. I have carried with me the spirit of all adventurers who have come here before me, as well as those who have yet to come. The only thing that could have made my joy more complete is if I could have shared that moment with someone I love, but I knew that they were right there with me, thinking of me as I was thinking of them, in the place where the ocean becomes the sky.