Roman Holiday – DAY 8 – Fleeting Wor(l)ds

Astral Chorus.

Energies unwind, sweep down my heart like a hurricane, like a sea storm. Once again without notice. Without lying. They take advantage of Via della Conciliazione’s width, where my wanderings just unleashed me, they sharpen their tsunami and swallow me up in order to raise my soul. They both blind ans stick me to the ground. Unable to understand.

Does the Bocca della Verità spared my hand from all my lies yesterday to reveal my truth today?

Does the 24th of August’s constellation’s invisible ballet strike today as horned animals are battling, from compelled momentum to prevented momentum, from breakable structures lacking of heart to proclaimed rebellion lacking of spirit?

Does Eternal Rome, sheltering Humans’ memories, make me the Sky’s and Earth’s secrets’s messenger for centuries?

Who knows…

Energies stronger than me are at work, floating above majestic Saint Peter’s white pavement, dancing towards golden Vatican’s art. Something is striking me. Numb. Breath-taken. Hidden behind sunglasses. On a bench. I don’t struggle. I don’t try to run. I surrender to the wave’s flood. It goes through me. I encourage salted waters to cleanse the universal present’s wounds. I submit to emotions’ release through me. I await the end like a blessed soul. I let unspoken vibes atone for their catharsis. I know this state of grace doesn’t belong to me, yet it moves me. As if I was a passage. As if I was bearing a historical, karmic, ancestral or even universal sadness.

Then my breath is taken me back.

Then my body and soul are given me back.

The wave is over.

Everything started so well…

Gazed by Villa Farnesina Raphael’s murals. Suddenly unreal under the Great Master’s immortal colors. I have heard his name so many times, he now stand among my invented princes and princesses. It is a bit like the first time I met the Mona Lisa – except she disappointed me when I didn’t know a thing about Raphael’s thin features -, or the first time my eye gazed at Manhattan skyline ; my collective imagination had taken over and it was almost impossible to embrace what I was facing. Almost impossible to understand it was real and not a floating idea among magical memories anymore.

Thus, I wandered under pure lines, powdered with majestic blue, again surrendered to Princess Ann’s dreams. I wanted to touch, taste, be possessed by my admiring heart. It was almost like devotion. I felt so incredibly grateful to be lucky enough to look at such a pictorial show. I was endlessly rich of what I was fleetingly watching.

And I lingered for breakfast at Janicule Hill’s feet in order to process previous magnificences instead of discovering Rembrandt’s shadows and light lying in Palazzo Corsini, closed for today.

Everything started so well…

Not that it is going wrong now but I am totally overwhelmed. This day is crossing my Rubicon. I cant’ step back. To be honest, I can’t move forward either. The wave is over but I am still frozen. A universal plight takes its time to quit after flooding you.

I am waiting to be sure it is utterly done surrounded by Roman white stones. I don’t even dare to look at the Basilic in the eyes… I must confess I am quite worry about my future visit behind Vatican’s invisible and sacred borders after such a powerful wave of energies in profane lands. What will the telluric strength be over there, in walls specially built for such influences?

But it is enough for a day, I am washed after that hollistic washing machine. I am pure. I take shelter in the Angel Bridge’s shadow and I wind light and happy. I cheer to my transcendance, I let Via dei Coronari‘s Spritz ruling over me.

I am losing track of time as if a day was missing when hours blend and surimpose.

I am already tomorrow in Vatican City. I already gaze at the Pieta‘s pure beauty in the Basilic’s entrance. Emotions are less subtil and inconsistent than today in Via della Conciliazione. I am only a spectator tomorrow. I would almost feel crushed by Vatican’s treasures they should use – like its holy mission should be – to end worldwide poverty.

Between astronomic halls. Under other Raphael’s murals. Facing the blue Last Judgement. Hanging on MichelAngelo’s famous and surprisingly tiny hands. In the Sixtine Chapel’s heart where we keep being praised: « Silencio, per favore! » breaking the whole place’s holiness. I have nothing to write. I feel a lot but today’s wave took over any Roman tomorrows. What comes after is a beautiful fog of words spread on my diary and that I try to make a neckless of on my screen.

I was a bit afraid of what was lying in between those cleverly sacred places but it is way too much, way not enough, compared to the alignment between the astral chorus and my body a 24th of August in Rome.

Tomorrow everything is gone and I am only hugely grateful for what is given to me behind each Roman corner. Tomorrow everything is gone and I only gaze at the life’s storm.

Tomorrow everything is done and I am endless.