Am I wrong to assume there is a transition moment in our lives when you do not feel your life. You loose your connection to it. It seems like a big void. It can happen between childhood and becoming an adult. The roles played out in childhood are redundant and the who am I questions arrive. Then again, perhaps you never went through this tumultuous moment. I did, since am prone to introspection and analyzing everything.
As a student I spent a great deal of time wondering around Italy soul searching. There was a hunger for answers to questions about life, but I did not know the questions to ask of it. That alone created its own sense of displacement. I felt like a ghost visiting my life. I felt like a stranger in my own country. I did not feel a connection to anything that felt authentic and true to who I was inside. I was empy.
The second year had ended at Oxford and the long Summer lay ahead. Travel plans were made for Italy and I went with two friends. We ceased to be friends by the time our third year began. It happens.
So, there we were in the town in the picture above, sitting in the piazza drinking coffee. I had a feeling of anxiety, drinking cappucino and feeling this spiritual emptiness. I was irritated by my friends company because I needed space to think. The world itself is transient and that bothered me at that time. I wanted to know what stuck, what remained. At twenty the paradox of permanence and transcience was a fascination. A typical student preoccupation no doubt. Its was not the era of philoshopical ponderings. It was 1988 after all and Thatcher and Reagan were selling the "get rich now or die trying" mantra. I was obiously not paying attention.
It was 6pm, the sun was setting. I walked into the local church. It was dim, and candle flames quivered in the soft breeze as I opened the door. I closed it silently behind me. There were small alters on either side of the chapel to individual Saints before which candle offering glimmered. The Madonna looked down upon us all from the main alter. I walked around quietly. I studied the Saints, the Madonna and the soft glowing light of the candles. It was beautiful and the silence had a presence. I sat down and felt numb. I did not know what I was looking for sitting there, but I was looking neverthless.
The door opened and a hunchback limped in. He was small, a bit over weight and aged. Graying hair hung over a wrinkled saggy face. He was not beautiful, but his eyes gleamed with pure joy as he beheld the Madonna. I remember they were a blue and clear. He dipped has hands in the holy water genuflected awkwardly and made the sign of cross.
I watched him walk slowly toward the Madonna looking up at her with profound reverence. Tears of joy filled his eyes as he drew closer to her. He had such Faith and such love in his expression. He seemed so present in her sight. He belonged there. It seemed he felt his life. He had everything I did not have and wanted. He was not empty. He belonged. His Faith bound him to something intangible, to something greater then himself.
It is ironic looking back now making all these assumptions about him, since I never spoke to him. I would never know what he felt. I realize he was a reflection of everything I wanted. I recognized it in his being, but would never know if he in fact possessed it. I think he did. His beauty shone bright and how could I felt humbled in his presence if he had not?. That is not a question I can answer, so I will refrain from doing so now.
I could never possess what he showed me in silence. I had to make my own journey to possess that which I sought. But, he was a sign in the road and he steered me toward that 'home' I did not yet own. I will never forget that unknown beautiful hunchback and he will never know me.
Peace
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