Tag: unplanned pilgrimage

Chapter 11 ~ Walk Through the Veil – Erice

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.

 

 

 

 

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.