Dreams are like inspiration—interpreted with care—we can’t choose what we dream nor can we choose to dream. Inspiration just comes and usually not when it is called upon the most.
Last week I bought a candle. Every time I light this candle the flame struggles to ignite. After a few moments I believe the flame to have gone out. However, each time my faith wavers, I look down to observe the smallest flame surrounding the charred wick, fighting to stay bright. The flame may not illuminate the entirety of my room, but it warms my soul to see the small flame struggle, the same flame that if given a piece of paper would surely burn this old building to the ground.
This last week has been an interesting one. After returning from the Vatican I did a lot of thinking about—not to sound conceited—myself. What am I looking for; hoping to find; struggling against; believing in; doubting; wishing? And I think the answer is growth. Like my small flame resting next to me on top of my dresser/desk, I must struggle against outside forces to grow strong and shine with the luminosity my childhood self so easily disposed of.
One could say that I have been in a contemplative, almost gloomy mood this last week. To combat my less than bubbly attitude I have been immersed in a novel borrowed from the school library, knitting, and planning (as always) where to go next.
This morning I went for a run…well, more like a run/walk really quickly whenever spotted by a neighboring Italian. Italians do not run except to chase after a fleeing child or animal. So, when our American running shoes hit the icy cobblestones, we are made even more aware of our “strange foreignness.” There is a small winding road behind my apartment I only recently discovered. Running down its narrow length it shot me out to an amazing garden resting in the back of a hotel I had not known to be in existence. This hotel is most likely less than two hundred feet away and for three plus weeks hid its beauty from me. Down in the garden, walled off from commoners not enjoying the luxuries of the hotel, is a small family of geese revolving in a shallow pond. Three male geese were standing on the water’s edge, ruffling their tail feathers and bouncing their heads up and down in what appeared to be a dance, or a standoff. One white goose, the smallest of the three, appeared to be losing this dance competition and began backing away, back into the icy waters. I enjoyed the sun’s warmth for a moment before shoving back off into the wind and cold of the early morning. Rounding about the edges of the city’s walls I crested the top of a hill where a small cantina rests back into the hillside and a house clings to the side. Three dogs guard this house. Yesterday morning they greeted me with enthusiastic barks and then ran the length of their fence in step with me. This morning, they were not pleased to see me at all. When I had reached the grayness of the Pope’s Palace and sat on the balcony overlooking the valley of Viterbo, their barks still echoed up my spine.
In my travel writing course, we have been assigned to complete a deep map. A deep map is where you capture the spirit of a chosen place. I have chosen the Pope’s Palace and have begun to include its dreary palazzo in my daily errands. The end of my run brought me to the beautiful view from the Pope’s Palace where I was able to view: the snake of commuters leaving the city walls, the bells of a far off church, the movements of construction workers below rebuilding a historical building, a dog playing with a stick in the park, two elderly men carrying on a conversation in the Palace’s center, the sun reflecting off of the front of the church. And I could hear: the different buzzing noises of construction, the zoom of vespas, the barking of my friends, pigeon’s coos, the wind around the Palace’s structures, the church bells, a woman’s high heels as she clacked across the uneven ground, a couple murmuring (probably wondering whether the girl sitting against the column starring directly into the sun’s warmth was crazy or homeless), and the trickle of water from the only fountain in sight. The one difficulty so far of my deep map location is I have not been able to smell much, nor taste anything. To complete our deep map we are supposed to use all of our senses to completely embody it and capture enough of the place’s essence to put down on paper. Touch is another sense that I did not attempt this morning besides the roughness of moss against my dry palms as I shifted my weight on the cold stone step I was observing from.
Tomorrow I am making a day trip to Perugia, the capital of chocolate. Nearby lives Assisi, which if left with enough time might accompany our trip to Perugia. I am just excited to buy some chocolate because I have heard amazing things from everyone who has made the weekend trip already. Originally we were going to spend the night in Perugia but my roommate Grace has been feeling a bit under the weather, so now we are thinking of making just a day trip out of it. Should still be an interesting and very sweet day.
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