I’ve got enough oceans in my life

We were sitting in a bar in Paris. His friend the anti-theist was the life of the party, having been found by a slew of friends celebrating St. Patrick’s day a week late he was gesticulating wildly, and his fan club of adoring ladies was increasing exponentially every second. We smiled at him and at them, waiting patiently for him to return as we chatted, made funny faces at one and other, and drank our cocktails. I recall a lot of singing to American music that night, but I also recall musing to him: “Maybe I need a new religion.”

Heading for the train coming back from Versaille, the anti-theist and the explorationist discussed religion, drugs, and humanity. I’ve never really liked drugs. Not in a judgmental way necessarily, but in a very personal way; I’ve always liked to entertain the idea that I don’t need them. I think the mind and the emotions are powerful enough to open doors to new ways of thinking, and I find that if I let myself go to it, I can explore great ideas and spaces in my own head without putting anything on my tongue or in my lungs. Between the boulangeries and cafes it occured to me that I didn’t need a new religion – I needed a new perspective. A new way to bring religion back into my life. A new way to see it and feel it everyday.

The next week called both the power of my own mind and this need for spirituality to the forefront of my thoughts. I watched myself cannibalize myself, tearing myself to shreds as I lost the ability to sleep (save the rare occasions when I tossed and turned with nightmares) and to eat.

Upon returning to Rome, I knew I had to do something. I called an old friend, seeking some sort of guidance, though as he is an agnostic(ish) I didn’t necessarily expect it to be religious in nature. Still, he surprised me as usual and shared his newest spiritual revaluations by way of a fiery-red new fascination. She had described God as a purple ocean. To summarize quickly and inadequately, her intention was to describe God as something a person jumps into and is completely covered by. I believe there was some sort of sink or swim concept involved, and as it came for a modern day oracle, I was certain there were hundreds of other nuances swimming within it. As a closet-spiritualist it struck a chord with him, and perhaps he expected it to do the same with me the metaphor-junkie.

I chewed on it – turned it around, rolling my tongue over its edges and tasting its subtle nuances, but spit it out with the gum in my mouth that was beginning to lose its flavor.

Back to square one, I scowered my mind under the guise of cleaning my room, searching for something, anything, that might get me through the night.

As I moved items from one shelf to another, I knocked over my small stack of DVD cases. Among them was Under the Tuscan Sun, a movie that has consistently been filled with poignant parallels and catharsis, and as I contemplated watching it, I turned through the chapters of the movie in my mind. I came across one scene I remembered in particular. Francesca is discussing the presence of the Virgin Mary – everywhere – which is a phenomenon I have come to understand completely. She is in the churches and the paintings of course, but she is also on street corners. Her ceramic or mosaic images appear on city walls and bridges. There are icons of her in restaurants, around people’s necks, and even in my own apartment. I went to my drawer and pulled out a necklace with the Virgin and babe that I bought while touring the Vatican museums with my mom and sister.

I’d been searching for one for some time. Not because they are difficult to find, but because I was very particular about what I was looking for. I wanted one where Mary looked sweet. According to the story, Mary is a girl in her early teens, terrified because some glowing winged guy shows up in her house while she’s trying to do her laundry or something, and tells her that even though she’s been virtuous she’s going to get huge and then have to go through child birth. I would consider her closer to a Juno than a Jackie Kennedy, and I wanted an image where she looked like it. I was raised a protestant, so as far as I see it, she came into the world like the rest of us girls, and as I recall at the age of 15 I was not even close to the wise and graceful women I often see haloed and holding the son of God. My other major qualm is the images of Jesus. I also believe I remember that the whole point of him being born of a human woman is that he came into the world as a human – not as a child who looks like he’s actually 30 years old. (If you ask me, that is just plain creepy.)

Finally, I found this one. Mary and Jesus are adequately humble and age appropriate, and it reminded of Francesca’s favorite Virgin image. This one was above her head on her bed-frame, and she took comfort from this image when a violent storm raged outside her newly acquired Tuscan villa one night. With this in mind, I put the necklace on (even though it was yellow gold and my watch and ring were white), and went about my day.

I’ve worn it ever since.

As Francesca says, I’m not expecting to come out of this a Catholic. She is not an someone I pray to, interceding to the Lord on my behalf. She is more like my favorite aunt. Someone who has seen quite a lot – just an everyday girl who got dished more than her share, but who took it in stride. And I appreciate her femininity, in such a male dominated arena. Sometimes I like to muse about womanly things to her. “So Mary… there’s this boy…”. And she is there when I need something to hold on to – literally I can grab her around my neck and clench tightly as I breathe “Be. Still. “

I have not yet found the answers to my questions of spirituality, and I still toss and turn in bed at night. But Mary and I… we’re working on it.

“Signora, between Austria and Italy, there is a section of the Alps called the Semmering. It is an impossibly steep, very high part of the mountains. They built a train track over these Alps to connect Vienna and Venice. They built these tracks even before there was a train in existence that could make the trip. They built it because they knew some day, the train would come.” – Under the Tuscan Sun

yours.Rachel