This unplanned pilgrimage began as I stood near the sentinels on the balcony at Casa Cuseni under the constellation Centaurus overlooking Mazzarò Bay. Daphne’s spirit is still in the house. She sprinkled some stardust in my heart on the first night. Eighteen days of magic followed with every day better than the one before.
Near the end of this adventure, I visited the mystical town of Erice passing through La Porta del Trapani. The gateway of Trapani was huge and solid like all in Sicily. What I notice on my journeys around this precious island was from the first doorway to the last, locks worked, gates moved easily on their hinges and high walls kept us in or out. There was an underlying need for home security.
Medieval stone shoulder high walls surrounded the entire town. My neighbors at the Marsala B & B encouraged layers of protective clothing for the outing. It will be chilly, they said, so be prepared to walk through the clouds. The narrow winding road up the mountain passed through mists with long views down to the flats of Trapani. The parking lot was busy with buses and cars.
Erice was built when donkeys and handcarts were the only way to move things about. Gray cobblestones covered the lanes making it a bit slippery. Little narrow alleyways made it feel like a maze. The gloominess created a mood, and a sense of being out of normal time.
A map led to the 12th century Norman fortress lookout at Torri del Balio or Balio Towers. It was so tall. All pigeon gray stone with small windows along the watchtower. Visitors were not allowed into the courtyard and had to be satisfied with the panorama into a woodland clinging onto the hillside. We looked out into the vale below. Nearby, a little garden of rhododendrons waited patiently for sunshine.
The Sanctuary of Venus sits on the highest point of Erice. A Castle: Castello di Venere was built around the sacred space in the 11th century. A small entry fee allowed visitors into a wide open grassy area. It’s not clear if this space was always open to the sky. The gods and goddesses were received in their natural habitat. There were roofless small chambers with footstone paths. Placard guides in English helped to understand what happened here. One of the chambers was a bathhouse. A public bath by the look of it.
This sanctuary had been a place for comfort and pleasure dating back 3,000 years. On a clear day, it may be possible to see all the way out to the bay. A flame would have been lit at night to act as a beacon drawing sailors to the sight. An ancient lighthouse for mariners. Trade has been going on between continents as long as men could set sail. Trapani, Palermo and Marsala were common stops for merchants sailing up the Italian peninsula or to northern Africa. I thought the Turkish steps in Agrigento had been a navigation landmark. See the cliff face and know it’s so far from here or there.
On the grounds of the sanctuary, there was an intact well; large and laid with flat iron grey fieldstones. Was there still water at the bottom? Water is always sacred to the goddess. Wildflowers and soft grass covered the surfaces. I believe I dropped something into the well for good luck. Being swept up into the mystical moments around the island, I must have given something back as a token of appreciation. In the moment, my belief in another, a goddess presence, was quite strong.
Tall drafts of clouds billowed up. Again, the overwhelming sense of emotion came when I went to one part of the site. It wasn’t the pleasant sensation as at Selinunte. It’s hard to put into words what I felt. Not the energy of a being, but the sensation of something disturbing, some kind of grief, something here was upsetting. I felt it in the body. It’s hard to know if this came from without or something within was being released. Yoga instructors often speak of old emotional binds letting go when practicing the asanas. The movement opens up different places in the body and allows for stuck energy to move on. The shift came and went fairly quickly so it may have been walking over an energy field or letting go. There was nowhere to hide. I know it made me cry. I was on the other side and touched by the blessed.
In my introductory chapter, I spoke of the experience of practicing meditation formally with a Zen sangha or on my own. My goal in practice has been to experience enlightenment, or more simply awareness in the now. I wonder if these moments of connection with the immediate environment are glimpsing bits of awareness for more than a few seconds. A Vipassana teacher once said, we wake up often in day to day life. We don’t have the skill to stay in the moment and that’s what meditation is all about. A sitter is taught to recognize reality and the ability to be in it. Maybe I got there after all. But, was I realizing the past or the present?
The original notes from this visit are lost. Much of what is written here is from memory. I do recall meeting one American man from Colorado while walking through the town. He was with a tour group and had little time to chat. Once again, the guide hustled the group onto the next place, next sight and they were gone. My wallet was full of euro coins and getting mighty weighty. It was somewhere near the post office where I bought a handful of postcards and stamps to send home. They arrived about a month after I returned from my travels.
There was a most unusual stone chair located on the far side of Erice. It was shaped like a half moon and surrounded by shrubs giving a sense of seclusion. People could sit at one end, and heard clearly the whispered words of someone at the farther end. The distance between was twenty feet. The smallest sound somehow transmitted along the stone and sounds like it’s coming from inside the seat. I would caution anyone who wanted to keep a conversation private to not speak there.
The town was known for famous, delicious almond cookies. I did pass by a shop laid out with beautiful little finger tea cookies in the display window. Did I go in? Nope. Today, I was in a bit of a trance and not inclined to browse. My blood blistered foot was also a hindrance. Everything is extra tiny here. I am a little taller than average and was a little tired of the squeeze.
Lunch was at a café in the main square. A few cats hovered around the doorway in search of handouts. The WIFI was first rate. Italians have a higher standard of living in different ways. At least, for the tourist trade it may seem so. Service was prompt without a lot of fuss. The staff doesn’t schmooze customers as in the U.S. There was a comfortable distance to interactions. Quiet people will be happy here as the focus was on the action and not the person. Nobody asked personal questions or made strained attempts to be instant “friends”. Meals were simple and scrumptious. Sparkling mineral water was the norm as a beverage. The only thing missing were chips. Potato chips hadn’t crossed over to Italy?
I wanted to go home. As much as traveling was fun, I missed home. The struggle with language hadn’t been too discouraging. I was lost at times, but didn’t let it get me down. Because I choose a solo journey, I could conserve energy for the places and experiences. People take a lot of effort. The strain of compromise and comprehension can be too much.
The something else present is what has been lost over the years. The belief in aether. The four elements do not change, but the fifth, the thing that binds them together is aether. It’s an intangible belief. However, it does tap into the other senses inside of us. It can be as simple as intuition, but it explains why we get glimpses of things that have passed.
Afterword
The long journey home took place a few days later. It was daunting to think about that long flight to Boston from Rome. The cab left me at Palermo airport. I saw a little dog with its owner in the waiting area. So, dogs can fly on planes now? A short flight, changing planes and on the way back. The man sitting next to me thought I was an Italian woman and kept talking in the language. Really, I wasn’t giving off American vibes? An air stream blew on my face part of the way back, somewhere along the way, I developed a wicked sickish headache. Except for the blood blister on my foot, I was ailment free through the journey. I slept okay, and had no food problems at all.
The airport van dropped me off at home around 10 p.m. My first thought was where is my cat. In the dark, I could see the grass was pretty tall now. I heard her meow. I called out her name but she wasn’t responding. I had asked the cat sitter to lock her inside when the sun went down. I went back outside and found her. Her meow was hoarse. The cantankerous calico missed me! I gave her a big hug and made such a fuss over her. My headache was worse. The best thing to do was take a warm shower and go to bed. My bed felt great and I slept very well through the night. The next day was for unpacking, soaking my foot and carrying on. I love my home. It’s a quiet, tiny little house in a rural town. Was I different? I would guess so. The urge to travel has been satisfied. As the van driver said at the beginning of the journey, a lot of sorting out who I was happened without intention. I’m content with who I am.
Being in Sicily opened a different part of myself up to a spiritual journey. The attraction was something old, an old knowing of this place, a desire to be there again.
Years ago, I became intrigued by Native American culture and was bold enough to travel to Albuquerque, New Mexico for the Gathering of Nations. It’s a welcome to spring ceremony held when the corn is traditionally planted. It was at the Acoma Pueblo and in the petroglyph park that I realized this was familiar. I’d been here. Lived here before. The echo wasn’t as clear as that experienced in Sicily. I’ve also had a life span in France as a soldier or citizen during World War I. I died on the battlefield somewhere. At some point in a past life, I died by being inside either a cave or rock outcropping that fell on me. I don’t think I died right away as when I encounter a cave or closed in space surrounded by rock, I normally will not go in or have to get out right away.
In Sicily, I missed some things but really have no regrets. The urge to go back is there, but not the push, the need to go. There’s a flight out to Italy every night. Two years after this trip, I did return to Lucca. When I originally planned to travel abroad, this city was the chosen destination in Italy. I went alone, attending a language school for a week. Trips out around the countryside were planned including a few meals around Tuscany. I had several impressions of things that had happened long ago in an old church. I could see clearly where a workman had fallen and died. The energy in Italy opens me to this ability to see beyond the present. When I visited the famous Gli Uffizi Galleria in Florence, I realized how averse my psyche is to anything Roman. I could barely stay in the section that contains Roman artifacts, sculpture and paintings. When the original trip was planned with the group of women, I felt the aversion to a suggested stay in Rome. I went through Fiumicino airport outside the city on the way to Sicily, but I had no choice. Something happened there so long ago.
On the tenth day of my adventure, I am in San Leone at a seaside cottage in Agrigento Province. On this morning, I saw the natural wonder of La Scala dei Turchi in nearby Realmonte. I spent some time in the presence of this great beauty. Now I understand how myths are formed. I wouldn’t be surprised to find that on moonlit evenings, sea nymphs lounge on the steps. After a lunch break and a little rest, I headed into Campobello di Licata to meet a friend I had made via social media. I was excited and expectant as to what this meeting could bring. We’d not met in person and I took it on a leap of faith that this could be fun.
The day before this visit, I had been in Naro, a neighboring town steeped in medieval and baroque architecture. Naro felt ancient compared to Campobello. The streets are wider. The buildings are constructed of honey colored local stone with a fine stucco of light butter cream. Relatively speaking, the town actually is newer than Naro. Campobello relocated from the original settlement, as the water source was low lying and a breeding ground for malaria. Before one stone moved, a steady spring of clean water was found. The well in this picture was built in 1056 and was the original water source for the old town. This had been the center of activity for centuries and the place women walked to daily for water. Now, it is quiet, if only this well could talk, the stories it could share. 
One of the reasons I liked this town so much is that the main square is wide open and flat. The walk into the 
The main corso was unusual in it had trees growing along the walkways for shade and beauty. Apart from flower pots and balcony gardens, trees on the main boulevard in most cities were uncommon. There were kids drawing with chalk in the city square preparing for an art exhibit. The town municipal buildings are painted with several murals by Silvio Benedetto. He is a popular artist in Italy known for painting grand murals on public buildings in several Italian towns. Benedetto (which means the blessed) is a sculptor, illustrator, photographer, poet, dreamer, and visionary. He also has a keen eye for town planning. He came to Campobello di Licata during the 1980s and assisted with the major restoration of the downtown area. He brought a conceptual design to the squares, monuments and sculptures. The area surrounding the 
tended to experience everything in a round shape. His art was so important, that he was given the entire municipal building as a canvas to paint on. Here is a photograph of his work. Clearly, the town embraced his vision and art for generations to come.
On a practical note, the Sicilian need for locked doors took on a deeper dimension in Naro and Campobello. When I visited with Giuseppe and Giovanni both were at work with the shops open for business. An optometry shop and physiotherapist. However, the front door at both places is locked during business hours. People arriving for appointments are buzzed in. Curious! There wasn’t a lot of foot traffic in either town. They are not tourist destinations. Naro’s streets are so narrow that only tiny Fiat’s could make it around certain parts of the city. The town hall was open when I met Piero’s mom. Churches are open. But, a business is locked? 
The walk is about fifteen minutes along the shoreline. The sea is on the left and a tumble down hillside angles up to the right. The slope increases, as I get closer to the cliff. Strange, the thing missing at all these seaside places is shore birds. Gulls are so common a sound and sight back home that it always feels like something is missing here. The aroma of sea air is also milder. The Atlantic Ocean makes itself known with a strong scent of seaweed, surf and sun when approached. The Mediterranean is more subtle, content to dazzle the eye at first.
The sea fills the horizon and laps over the foot of the cliff. Tender waves turn the mottled white surface pigeon grey. This cliff face is made of marlstone, a lime-rich clay. When it’s wet, the stone is sleek and looks like the skin of a whale as it rises to the surface to draw breath. There is sensuality in the movement of water touching the rock. If the cliff could talk, she would say, 
Stepping onto the cliff face is easy. It seems made for humans or animals to climb. The surface looks like chalk and may be soft. Underfoot, it feels slightly tacky. Up close, it is more solid, but not strong like marble. Marlstone is lime rich mud, mudstone? It’s clay and silt. This substance, found in riverbeds, is an old familiar friend. This is the sort of mush frogs and small freshwater creatures love to be in. Mix in some sand, ash, crushed shell and this forms the basic plaster used in homes on the floors and walls for thousands of years. This is so familiar. Some part of me remembers walking on this before. Somehow, nature crystallizes the calcite in the minerals and creates this substance.
Who is she? Aeolus is present in the wind. Helios lights the eyes. Keep going and the cliff face gets longer, wider and taller. Rounding a bend, it keeps going for about two miles. The grooves are now getting steeper to walk on. I wish I had my walking stick. A brave soul with cleats on the shoe could keep going all the way around. The cliff rises up and up, down and down to the sea. I can see coves below. Secret places the sea can enter into the land. I decided to stop and sit on the stone. This looks much like a natural amphitheater. The way it pitches up gradually and is comfortable. The theater is the sea and sky. There are enough seats for thousands of spectators. So, it is time to gaze at the sea.
It is hard to leave here. How fine it is to feel overcome by the senses and know for a while that nothing else matters. This is the land of Demeter and Persephone, Artemis and Arethusa. I met Arethusa in Ortygia and found her journey led here in this little fresh water stream coming down the hillside. Her fate took her underground to dwell in safe passages. Here she is, she made it to the seashore at last.
LuceStellare 