LuceStellare

Chapter Seven ~ Past Life Met in the Castle Garden

Monday morning, and it’s time to say goodbye to Noto and drive towards Agrigento Province. Along the way, a visit is planned at Castello della Donnafugatta. This enormous 14th century Norman fortress is far into the countryside of southeast Sicily near the city of Ragusa. The narrow roads are flanked by groves of olive trees growing in clusters on the gentle hills leading to the estate. Sunlight plays on the grey-green-silvery leaves under a hazy blue sky.

The castle comes with the legend of Bianca di Navarre, the daughter of Charles III of Navarre. She was married to Martino I of Aragon in 1402. It was a political union between two feudal families. Bianca lived at the Castle while managing the affairs of nine cities in eastern Sicily. Martino died in 1409 while in Sardinia. A decision was made to marry her to Bernardo Cabrera, an advisor of the Navarre family. Bianca objected to marrying the much older man and decided to flee into the countryside to escape; hence the name, donna fugatta, fugitive woman.

The driver dropped me off at the main gate for the afternoon. I walked toward the great house by a row of old stone structures lining the main entryway on both sides. They might once have been vendor stalls. All are odd, dilapidated one room huts open to the sky. I thought I’d see goats at any moment. surrounded by a traditional courtyard complete with tall, strong wooden gates.

The castle has fifty public rooms to stroll through including Bianca’s private suite. Guests and family walk up a wide two tiered staircase to the living quarters on the first floor. Statues of maidens greet visitors at each turn. Just as I entered the first public room, a school group of 10 year old children arrived. I stood back and realized it was a chance to tag along and listen to their group leader describe in Italian what was special about the rooms. She spoke slowly and clearly, but my ability to follow was poor. The rooms are well proportioned with fine woodwork and furniture. Every inch holds a small treasure of art and design. The ceilings are embellished with ancient Greek legends. Many of the walls are painted with local scenery. Curtains of heavy green brocade meant to block the hot sun draped around tall windows. The music room is distinguished with pianoforte, violin and flute. The ceilings are adorned in eggshell blue frieze. The condition of the furniture was superb, but of course, no touching or sitting permitted.

Bianca’s suite is predominantly white. Her apartments are lavish with a waiting room, bedroom with a full canopied bed, and something rare in such a home: privacy. Even the floors in her suite are laid with beautiful white limestone. On, and on I wandered along hallways into a mirrored room, billiards room and more. The Castle appears to be well cared for with fine furniture, statuary and gardens as they might have been in the day.

After a tiring stroll through the castle. The extensive gardens felt welcoming with great magnolia trees and a stone labyrinth. A boy was jumping up trying to see the way out of the maze. A stroll inside was a possibility but the thought of wandering around and around completely lost kept me outside. There was a side garden with large clumps of lavender and rosemary. Everything grew in abundance in this environment. The shrubs easily reached my shoulder. There was no apparent source of water yet all plants and trees were quite mature.

The shade was inviting, I sat down under a large tree and started lacing long strands of lavender together in a braid. The warmth of the air and hum of the bees created a languid atmosphere. As I wove, smelling the fragrant flowers, I drifted out of focus into a pleasant dreamy state of being.

As quick as a blink, I had a vision into another lifetime. I saw myself in Ortygia, having come from Cyprus during the reign of the Greeks. My parents watched me go from the dock. The sense of departure was strong. Am I being sold, or given away? They did not stop or protest my parting. Neither was I panicked. I was on a skiff sailing out of the harbor on an overcast day. I could see the wooden oars lift and splash the water. I was taken to Ortygia and became a basket weaver at the fount of Arethusa at the edge of the sea.

I worked in the shadows and led a quiet life. I had long brown blonde streaked hair tied on the sides with strands of thin leather. The hair was down my back. My skin liked the sun and was perpetually bronze. My eyes were grey, green and blue. I could feel the thin leather sandals on my feet. I hardly took them off. There was a strip of leather around the big toe and around the instep, heel and ankle. My toes hung over the edge a little. I was clean. My tunic was soft blue, green cloth. It draped to my shins. I had bracelets made of shells.

My company was mostly stray cats. They were a comfort to me here. Cats are friends of the goddess and trusted companions. There was a kinship between us. We could speak with each other. The human language spoken in Ortygia was unknown to me. Life was lonely. I had no relations and was an outsider. My task was to weave baskets for everyday use. My name was Talytga and I was around fourteen years old.

As quick as it was there; it was gone. On the little island of Ortygia, I walked around the fount and inside the hidden places nearby. The blue grey cast stones were still soothing to the eyes. The ducks still paddled softly through the reeds. The palm fronds made wonderful floor mats. The grape vine was good for oyster baskets. The slaves’ foot wash; a busy place then. This vision offers insight and possibly why I am so fascinated by Artemis and Sicily. The statue I saw at the square in Ortygia would not have been there but, I’ve traveled around here in another time.

My journey now, largely on my own, ought to have been intimidating. My disposition is not so brave. I have the odd moment of being homesick. I am by nature a homebody so two weeks into the journey, my thoughts naturally turn towards home. I never thought it odd to walk about in a foreign place. Is it because Sicily could never be strange to me? On a vacation to New Mexico, I walked about Albuquerque much the same way. I remember being in a canyon admiring petroglyphs, wandering around admiring the sacredness of the land. Is it just a high comfort with unknown places? Or, had I been there before as well?

Some of the echoes of that lifetime as Talytga follow into this one now. Stray cats find their way onto my doorstep back home. Wicker baskets are all around my house whether I need them or not. I enjoy working with my hands. I had a large bed of long stemmed lavender in the garden but the harsh winter took them away. A basket weaving workshop offered me an opportunity to create one with my own hands a year or two after this experience. My hands felt clumsy as I wove the lash together. It’s a pleasant thing to do but did not bring forth new memories.

Talytga often stood back and watched events around her. I don’t have the sense she is longing for home. But, she knows what happened. Curious, I had a distant relationship with my parents from an early age. The sensation of having been forgotten by them is constant. The name Cyprus is common to me and a pseudonym on different social media forums. Perhaps it was all a waking dream in that castle garden but it felt so compelling and satisfying in so many ways. Sicily, she opens many doors to the willing pilgrim.

This was becoming just that; an unplanned pilgrimage. I didn’t just see the stone walls and structures, I felt them. The sensation of sinking deeper into something else was close. The energy of all things and all ages is close. The living presence in the air, earth, water and sun are close. I am not alone.

Chapter Six – Ortygia ~ The Home of the Goddess

It is one thing to read about antiquities but quite another to visit one. All the descriptors in the Michelin Green Guide were most useful and gave me some familiarity with much that happened. However, nothing prepared me for the encounters with the energy of the island. On Sicily, the sense of a spirit, something else, some kind of energy was felt inside of me in several places and most profoundly on Ortygia.

Over the last twenty years, I have spent many a happy hour deeply immersed in different beliefs and cultures. My fascination with the teachings of the Buddha took me to a cushion to practice meditation and attend Vipassana retreats for about five years. My love of Native American ways took me from ceremonial Medicine Wheels in Rutland, Massachusetts with Otter Heart, all the way to the Gathering of Nations in Albuquerque, New Mexico. My love of the seasons eventually brought me into a Wiccan circle which helped me understand that the goddess appears in many forms. So much has been learned moving in harmony with the esbats and sabbats. My love of earth, air, fire, and water also lead me to Tao. Of all the paths, this is most natural. Tao-Jia gives purpose to daily activity. A life spent in contemplation has many subtle rewards. These spiritual paths raised awareness about the mystery of all that is unseen. There is something out there. The Spirit of All Things is close.

Yet, I rarely felt more than an awareness of something deeper. Not a living being. Not a specter. A glimpse into a different way of expression perhaps is the way to convey the subtleness of some other life form present. Sort of like trying to step out of the human perception of things, not just obviously living things, but the animism of stones, earth and all that is tangible. During quiet hikes through fields and forests, I would connect to the energy of the trees. An awareness of the peacefulness of a place would come through. Hiking paths I was fond of had names like the soft moss trail or the golden bronze leafed walk and the red pine needle path. Brooks sang and held their own little life energy. The poplar leaves being bustled about by the breeze at times, seemed to be talking their own language. I recall a green shimmer hanging over the ferns at midsummer along the Robert Frost trail. There was almost something I could see, or more, sense. One thing I came to understand is I had to be alone to be open to it.

Taormina was the first place to stir my spirit and represented the solidity of earth along with its fiery energy just under the surface. I felt a presence when I looked at Mt. Aetna. The summit was smoking high above the tranquil, sparkling bay. Lava was creeping down the mountainside. The solid mass of the mountain rising up from the sea bed gave a sense of being in flight and the energy of the sun and sky. Sicily has feminine energy. All the Zen teachings finally made sense. A person can sit, and sit and sit for years waiting for enlightenment; nevertheless it can occur with the simple skip of a stone. It is in living that awareness comes. By looking at the panorama in Taormina, the magic of being on the island began to take over. I was becoming aware of her, of Sicilia.

A day trip to Ortygia was arranged long before I arrived. The hired driver dropped me off at the gateway to the island where I had several hours to explore on my own. The guide books encouraged the traveler to look carefully at the ruins surrounded by the modern bustle of commerce. Ortygia is the old city of Siracusa. At a certain point after crossing the bridge, cars were no longer allowed and it was a pleasure to walk around without a little Fiat sputtering too close. The Temple of Apollo sat at the gateway to Ortygia. The city historians have preserved the site and visitors can get an excellent look at this antiquity. It’s a worn down structure of steps, walls and columns supporting nothing but sky. The area is about the size of a baseball field but oblong in shape. Honestly, I couldn’t make sense of it.

As impressive as this could be, everything came to a stop when I entered Archimedes Square. In the middle of the piazza is the Fountain of Diana. All that I knew about Greek mythology came back in a joyful moment. She I knew something about. Diana is the Roman name for Artemis, the great goddess of wild animals and the hunt, protector of women in childbirth, guardian of agriculture and animal herding. She is the moon, nature, and women all at once.

My journeys in Wicca sacred circles prepared me for this moment. Wicca honors the goddess and keeps myths alive in different ways. The ancient archetypes are celebrated and called on for guidance. A full moon circle is the Wiccan monthly celebration that honors the ancient part of us that marks the stages of birth, life, death, and rebirth. Women understand this pattern of life instinctively. We co-create life, birth it, support it and pass, but live on in our children. The old expression as above so below to a Wiccan, means literally, as the stars, planets, and all celestial bodies move above, so what happens up there reflects below on earth in us. We are stardust. We are the energy of the moon as well as the sun. The moon is feminine energy. Some women can look at the phase of the moon to understand their own hormonal cycle. Wiccan honors the goddess in myth and honors the goddess potential in every woman. A goddess is a feminine deity with supernatural powers. The phrase, “she’s a goddess” refers to a woman’s strengths, character, qualities, and her beauty.

All those nights in sacred space, all the offerings, contemplations, and wanderings in nature came back to me. So, that is why I followed that path. At the time, I thought it was just a fascination with a philosophy out of the ordinary. As much as I participated and enjoyed the full moon celebrations, I held back, I connected to the rituals, but the people often got in the way.

The reader might have sorted it out by now, I tend to do things in a solitary way. I pick up all kinds of energy and do better without the distraction of other folks around. People project their emotions and feelings in different strengths. All too often, I feel their discomfort. I can let my guard down in nature, not with others present. I trust in the unseen of natural surroundings, not the unseen nature of people. Intimacy with nature is natural.

Artemis is an archetype that impressed me but I did not know how to incorporate her qualities into my own. The only female deity I knew well from childhood was the Virgin Mary. She has limits and does not represent the aspect of the feminine that is independent, choses her sexuality, choses to give birth or not, honors all creatures, and is self-sufficient. Artemis is power without hostility. Mary always appears as a passive figure, things happen to her. Artemis creates her own future and that is the attraction. No one tells her what to do.

Standing at the edge of the fountain, putting my hands deep in the waters, feeling the spray was a singular spiritual moment of connection to water. I was able to disconnect from the awareness of other people all around and immerse in what deeper awareness the images conjured up. I was home, I am in my first, best, safest home. I am with Artemis.

The large circular fountain in Ortygia is an elaborate depiction of a myth that was unknown to me. The central figure was Artemis with her bow, at her foot was Arethusa, behind Artemis was the river god Alpheus and in the water were several figures riding sea creatures. A young boy rode a sea horse thrashing the waters. A mermaid and child rode a wide-mouthed fish. A merman rode a sea turtle moving through the sea. The gentle spray of water surrounded thel figures above.

The legend of Arethusa says there was a water nymph bathing in the sea. She felt the brush of something against her foot. It was Alpheus. He became infatuated but pursued her with too much ardor. The frightened nymph appealed to Artemis to save her chastity and obliged by transforming her into fresh water. Arethusa flowed under the earth and enjoyed the streams and bogs, finally emerging at the base of Ortygia as a fresh water spring.

According to the guide book, “Arethuse was transformed to be a source of clear waters, which from Greece, through the Ionian Sea, reached Siracuse. So Alpheus decided to follow his beloved, transforming himself into a river and once he reached her, he mixed his waters with hers. The tale makes a clear connection with the indiscernible bond between Siracuse and Greece. Arethuse became the symbol of the city, called in fact Arethusean and it was represented in the silver coins in Siracuse of the 5th C BC.” As I connected to Earth, Air and Fire at Taormina, I blended with Water at Ortygia.

The Fount of Arethusa has a fresh water reservoir near the sea. It’s a deep, large well of water filled with papyrus and reeds. A brood of ducks live there and cats are seen lounging on the walkways. A few steps away is a shaded place with a bathing area called the Fountain of the Slaves. With the beauty of ancient things, comes the reality that not everyone was here of their free will. This is sacred ground.

The Olympian version of Greek mythology has Artemis and her twin brother Apollo born in Ortygia. Her mother is Letto and came to Ortyx, Greek for Quail, to give birth. She was in labor for nine days and nights. As much as I saw the ruins of Apollo’s temple, I did not feel a connection. They are large blocks, parts of a wall and stone steps. It’s large and hard to imagine what it might have been like.

Close to the Fount of Arethusa along the seawall is a grove of enormous magnolia trees. In width, it would have taken a connected circle of ten people with linked hands outstretched to reach around the trunk. The branches curved gently out and upwards, making it perfect climbing for man or beast. The roots seemed to be growing right out of the branches reaching into the ground. There may have been nine trees in all. The grove reminds one of the Ents from Middle Earth. These trees are old and have a different connection to the earth and sky. Magnolia flowers early in the spring season. It was not in bloom during my trip. The fragrance and sight of it in flower must have been without words to describe its beauty.

The magnolia tree symbolizes magnificence because of its impressive height and enormous flowers. Sicily is so sensual a being, I conjured up this image of the nymphs gathering the flower blossoms and preparing a petal bath for the goddess. Never mind the goddess, I would enjoy just such an immersion. Perhaps that is the rite to become a devotee of Artemis, honor the magnolia and become magnificent.

The shade offered a lovely resting place on a sunny afternoon. The planters around the park are filled with bird of paradise in full bloom. Incredibly large blossoms with black beaks and tall white plumes. In my native Massachusetts, the magnolia tree might reach 20 feet high and might live 20 years at best. They were in their glory in this island environment. Sicily is more arid than humid. There always seems to be a breeze and it cools off splendidly at night. Of course, I was visiting in May and found the climate most refreshing. We had rain for one or two days, but it was a nourishing kind. The one thing missing from this landscape are rivers and streams. I rarely saw the type of water common to my native New England. We are abundant with ponds, marshes, lakes, streams, and rivers. Sicily seemed to hide her fresh water sources. The rainy season is typically in fall and winter. I commonly read signs along the highways for torrente. These seemed to be deep ravines designed to hold large quantities of water. Maybe that’s how it is in Sicily, when it does rain, it can turn a stream into a torrent requiring containment. Everything about Sicily is fascinating.

Ortygia has so many more attractions that make this a worthwhile stop for a day. I went back to Artemis and put my hands in the water and let the spray cool my head. Now, I think I ought to have taken a vial of the waters back home. To be with her, to know these stories that had only existed in books and lectures could be real, had been cherished and admired is so satisfying. It’s not a myth at all, it’s a living philosophy and way of life.

What captured my attention, is different for the next tourist. Ortygia has a large open area in Duomo Square. The Chiesa Madre was built alongside the Greek Temple to Athena. The open piazza is surrounded by different buildings. When I first entered the island, I encountered a one-man puppet show at the foot of Piazza di Minerva. The owner was swinging the little guy along in a fun rendition of “Johnny B Good” by Chuck Berry.

Alleyways and side streets offer shops and restaurants. There is a large outdoor farmers market up near the Temple of Apollo with everything including fresh oysters, champagne and lemons. I became enchanted with the doorways to tiny apartments around Ortygia. There’s something beautiful and inviting about the clean swept entryways to these homes. The doors are painted a cheery green or yellow. A little flower garden gentles old stonework. A vespa is parked to the side under the shuttered windows. I want that to be my home. I would love to walk about Ortygia, shop at the open air stalls and return home with fresh mulberry, cheese and bread for an afternoon treat. There is a massive structure at the point of Ortygia called Maniace Castle built in 1240 and open to tourists in the morning. Windows, catwalks and portals look out to the sea for advancing invaders.

I never thought a place could offer as much as this little island did. Why does statuary draw my attention like nothing else? Who walked along these ancient stone walkways? I wonder if I returned, would it feel as enchanting? The spirit of Daphne, the mystical connection with water, is following me around. The bay at Casa Cuseni, now, this marvelous sculpture brought to life at play in water. I see the nymph in the waking world. Sicily is the best place on earth.

Chapter Five – Cultural Habits in Sicily

(Observations from the road May 22, 2015)

Now that I am in Italy with not the strongest skill in the native language and cultural habits, I am having a curious time “reading” non-verbal language from the locals. My natural style around others is to observe how people talk and present themselves. Also, my empathic radar is keeping things interesting. What’s going on? What’s obvious and what’s the undertone? A spiritual friend has commented that my field of awareness tends to be wide. I let people alone and don’t get into their space. It doesn’t come from any connection to a particular divinity. My instincts are more refined while in the natural world.

As I am traveling solo here, it does matter that I pay attention to my environment for safety. The guidebooks said the crime rate is quite low in Italy. Mostly, I feel okay and strong as I move around in different places in Sicily. My daily routine is to be out in daylight hours and home by dinnertime. The night life is not an attraction. I want to be here, so I could be naïve about what could happen. I don’t feel afraid most of the time.

Perhaps it’s the urban comfort zone coming out, I was raised in Worcester MA, a fairly large gateway city. The kids next door had a unique heritage, their grandmother on the father’s side came from Assyria. Their father had a heavy accent, I don’t know for sure but he could have been born abroad. Assyria hasn’t been a country for several hundred years. But, I can recall being corrected when I said Syria. No, Assyria. Just because it’s now off the map, doesn’t mean the descendants disappeared too.

As a kid, I loved visiting the public library and had to get there on my own most of the time. By the time I was ten, I walked or took the city bus downtown. As we traveled along picking up passengers, the language changed by the block, Polish or Lithuanian was common in my neighborhood. A little further along, kids got on board speaking Greek, and down the hill Spanish was spoken. In another section of the city, it would be Lebanese or Armenian. This mix, on the bus, in the market or in the classroom, was normal. The markets on Water Street served both Jewish and Polish tastes.

I used to walk home from grade school too. Up two big hills past the local hospital and down a busy road. Sometimes I had company, but other times not. I guess it’s not a surprise that by the time I got to attend college I majored in international and comparative studies. I am drawn to other ways of life and like to be around people who are foreign born. It feels natural.

What I understand about nonverbal language is through education, observation and inquiry. People generally read others’ gestures, posture, expression and even notice their scent before attempting to make a connection. The senses and instincts are used in every way to find out if it is safe to approach a stranger or even a friend.

Being with people from a different culture will bring so many chances for miscues. A greeting can get muddled in a split second. What seems brash and loud to one, is bashful and modest to another. Bring in a layer of ego and the moment can become even more complicated. Bring in gender, age, education and it is getting deeper into the potential for confusion. So, having been a few days in Sicily, I am becoming aware of what I perceive to be normal habits over here.

Guidebooks and travel message boards about Italy mention a difference in how folks here stand in line. In the United States, it is common for people to form a queue and stay in it. People can get quite cross when an attempt is made to cut the line. A comment may be made about the behavior being boorish and unfair. In general, it is also an expectation that people will go the way of the road when walking along a busy sidewalk. Meaning left shoulder to left shoulder like a car drives. In Sicily, there appears to be no concept of a line anywhere. As happened at the airport when it was time to board the connecting flight, people just started walking all at once. There is an occasional roping off to attempt to channel people in one direction, but that is just one more thing to pass through.

The annual May Flower Festival in the City of Noto happens the second week of the month. The festival attracts thousands of people to the city. It was here that I learned how to move with the crowd. How to move with the herd, so to speak. Here, I never feel as though someone is trying to cut me off. Americans can be competitive and have to get there first. Sicilians appear to not see each other as something to get around or react to. In a crowd, a person is not in the way, nor are others ever in the way. Nobody pushes, there is hardly even a sensation of someone touching you, yet people will sort of walk right up on you and keep walking. It is not that I have to back off or get out-of-the-way. No, somehow we walked by each other but nobody seemed to yield. Everybody moves in their own direction whenever, wherever and however they want. People pick a path and stick to it, no stepping aside necessary.

By the time the official ceremonies at the festival ended, I had been completely immersed in a local holiday crowd for hours. I only heard one or two other English speaking people the entire day. I figured out how to navigate mostly by observation and following the person in front of me. I call it; the melt.

There may be a different reference point in Sicilians to personal space. Some Americans can have a wide circumference and will become agitated if others get too close. The space can be their body, car, home, desk or even significant others. A glaring eye gesture may be given to warn the other person they are too close. In my personal experience, some Americans tend to also have a high need to be recognized in public. This comment could be called over generalizing, but the behaviorisms seem extraverted. It really can feel like all about “me” most of the time. Are you seeing me, are you accepting me or are you ignoring me? Sicilians, at least in my experience, didn’t exhibit this at all. Their personal energy seems secure and confident in public.

It was fascinating to watch people try to find a comfortable place to stand to view the grand promenade, dancing and musical performances on Vittorio Emanuele Boulevard in front of the Town Hall. The beautiful sun-bleached sandstone steps leading to Church of the Savior, Chiesa San Salvatore, opposite the main viewing area do not offer the best viewing. The steps are wide, an average sized adult has to take a step up, walk straight four steps, step up and so on until the top. Maybe they were designed to accommodate crowds. If everyone is sitting down, the view is still blocked. I watched and joined in trying to find the best spot to see this spectacle celebrating the Baroque tradition of Noto.

I didn’t notice anyone react with impatience. If a person wants to move, just do it. There can be people six deep; the stair is not even visible so just say, Permesso; May I Pass. Nobody will look at you, nobody will shift out of the way, but somehow, the person melts into the crowd and goes by. Everybody heard you but nobody is acknowledging it. At least, not in a discernible way I expect. It is possible that permission is granted, it is just so subtle I miss the cue.

A couple came along with a baby carriage. A decision was made to go to the street level so they headed straight towards the staircase. I thought, how does he get the carriage down one-step? It was a wide pram style thing. There are people crowding everywhere. No problem. As he reached the point of no return, the guy ahead of them turned slightly but never looked back, reached his hand down and picked up the front of the carriage and they went down the stairs safely with the baby. Nobody said a word, nobody looked at each other, nobody said thanks, it just happened.

Sicilians do not appear to look directly at others. However, do not think they do not see you. It only seems so. I think Sicilians have a great ability to see peripherally without shifting the head or the eyes. They don’t stare. Even the cats do it. The stray cat I feed every night back home looks right at me. In fact, he’s a bold scruffy dude who hangs around the front steps until his meal is put in front of him. There was one exception here in Sicily, it being a calico in the old city of Ragusa Ibla, all the others have the same manner of looking but not looking at you. They know you are there. Their body is facing you, the head can even turn very slightly in your direction; the eyes do not open. It happened the first night in Taormina and also walking around Noto.

Actually, it’s kind of refreshing not being able to make casual conversation. It takes a lot of energy to talk and I am not intending to get friendly enough to have but the most common of conversations with people here. My lack of skill with the Italian language is part of the reasoning. But, it’s nice to just stop talking for a while.

A guy did approach me on the street during the festival in Noto and tried to start a conversation. He figured out I spoke English and said he was from Catania and wanted to practice his language skills. No, that didn’t feel right. The guidebooks did mention this type of encounter could happen to solo women and said that man is the one to get rid of quickly. Do not return even a comment was the advice, unless you feel ready for a challenge on how to get him to go away. Sicilian men may have some of their own beliefs about foreigners, especially women that they are trying out. It is okay, just say no.

The takeaway from being in this environment is a new way to be safe. My own sense of esteem may be stronger at taking care of me better then I realize. But, this style of moving with the crowd I like. Be in the crowd but not swayed by it. Stand alone in the middle of the crowd. Stand your ground without raising a finger. And, that was my day in Sicily.