I just completed the second half of my church walk. This time I headed north from the Duomo to San Marco (Dominican), and then on to Santissima Annunciata (Servite). As I turn toward Santa Croce (Franciscan) I noticed San Ambrosia way down the street, so I took a detour there. Next, back toward city center to La Badia and Orsanmichele. I was all over the map! Before ending this church walk at Santa Trinita, I crossed the Arno to Santa Felicita, then crossed back to view Santi Apostoli, one of the oldest and pretties churches in Florence. It’s fair to say that my final destination was to Chiaro Scuro, where they serve the largest cappuccino and provide a comfy place to write.
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This morning I was off on my early morning church walk by 7:30. My plan was to stop and photograph the façade of every church and then be on my way. Usually I don’t have a planned itinerary when I take this walk; my body seems to turn in one direction, I put one foot in front of the other, and I’m on my way. Since all the churches of Florence fan out from Santa Marie del Fiori (and conveniently my apartment is right on the square), it was appropriate that my first photo was of the Duomo. My route then led to the Medici church of San Lorenzo, Santa Maria Novella (Dominican), church 0f Ognissanti (Umilati), Santa Maria del Carmine (Carmilite), and Santo Spirito (Augustinian). Usually I complete my church walk in a single morning, but today I stopped to write and enjoy a cappuccino at Piazza Santo Spirito. As I entered the café I noticed antiques and craft vendors setting up booths to sell their wares. By the time I left, the early dawn atmosphere for a church walk had passed, and the busy Florentine day had begun. I wander about the stalls, deciding to finish my church walk at dawn tomorrow. When I read the headlines this morning my heart sank with the possibility that we could be at war in the near future. To get out of my funk, I decided to take a walk for peace. I crossed the Arno, entered the Bardini and Boboli Gardens, and took pictures along the way; some showed the vibrant December afternoon sun, others were rather dark and foreboding, and one depicted human beings at their worst. All along my walk Brunelleschi’s dome kept appearing, a harbinger of stability, commitment and truth. No one knew that I was walking for peace, but maybe they sensed something hopeful. I wonder if I passed anyone with the same intention? I hope so, and I’m foolishly hopeful enough to believe it could true.
A perfect day for a walk with family around Walden Pond. I hope Thoreau experienced at least one such pristine autumn day between 1845 and 1847 when we was involved in his great experiment. He was looking for solitude which was there for him, although it was said that friends often walked out from Concord to visit him. There was no solitude for us today, but we weren’t looking for it. We loved being part of the community of Americans, English, French, Japanese, Russian, Spanish, and others enjoying themselves. When asked what I do in Florence, I have a litany of responses—write, visit museums and churches, and eat. Lately I’ve added a new one; I walk around with God. At first I figured some people would get it, and some wouldn’t; how arrogant of me. Of course they get it; they’re human. We all long for the ineffable, named by all faith traditions, searched for by agnostics, and acknowledged by atheists. It’s a feeling, a natural knowing, beyond words. For years I stayed away from God talk, even from saying the word. During my years as a Unitarian God was not mentioned in the church I attended. When I joined my present church (United Church of Christ), I told people that I wanted a ‘God church.’ I kept my faith quest to myself, limiting conversation, except to mention what wonderful church I went to, which is code for some kind of surrender to God. This morning I was out of my apartment by seven to walk around with God on a visit to the many churches in Florence. That’s what I thought I was going to write about when I opened my computer here at the la Fellrinelli Café. To my surprise, out came this confession. Perhaps the catalyst is the elderly gentleman who has been a daily fixture during for the four years I have been coming here to write. He always wears a suit, and this September a large white bandage covers one side of his bald head. Sometimes he sits with friends and holds court. Today for the past hour he has been wandering about. Whether he knows it or not, I believe he is walking around with God. Truth be told, this first morning walk wasn’t all that early. After a seven hour overnight flight from Boston to Rome, an hour and a half fast train ride to Florence, and a yummy dinner of crostini misti, followed by chicken and roasted potatoes at one of my go-to restaurants, I slept in until my alarm woke me at 7:30. Tomorrow it’s up at 6:30 and out by 7. Here I am, early in the morning. sitting in a park along the Arno. I’ve savored my first cappucchino near Santa Croce and crossed the Arno to this spot. Soon I’ll stop in a favorite bar for another coffee and a brioche. Such is my morning routine here in Florence, one that started many visits ago. For you who love silence, solitude and simplicity and sometimes like to be alone, I thought I let you know how it’s going. Brief answer: very well. Silence: Yes, in that I don’t talk with anyone and can screen out most conversations and noise. No, in that there is too much chatter in my head. Practicing Centering Prayer twice a day in a favorite church helps, although I’m not very good at just sitting and feeling my breath. Practice, practice, practice. Solitude: Yes, in that I am completely alone making decisions about how I experience my day. Although I have a general plan (after all, I am a routine person), I am completely beholden to my own whim, which is an aspect of solitude. Simplicity: Yes, in that I do what I do, go where I go, eat what I eat without much forethought. I don’t need a city map any more; I’d say I’m simply on automatic pilot. For the most part I am fully engaged and am able to stay in the NOW. (For example, I just watched a man sort his garage into the big bins moments before two sanitation workers came along and hoisted them onto a truck and took them away.) Being present to the moment, a worthy corollary to silence, solitude and simplicity and a key to gratitude, is one of my on-going goals. Practice, practice, practice. One more thing. I am again working on that article about my experiences writing in Florence. There must be people out there who would like to come to Florence to write. Are they more likely to be women traveling alone? Perhaps, but that isn’t the trust of the article. Whoever they are, they might appreciate inspiration, affirmation and encouragement from someone who has done it. I’m thinking of sending it to GoNomad.com. Whatever your style, please send prayers, positive energy, good vibes. Today I took the train to Lucca, walked around, got lost, got found, and took the train back to Florence. A lovely day. I must confess that I’ve let myself be drawn back into the news. Why confess? Because I believe confession helps me stop ‘bad’ behavior, and for me dwelling on the news is just that--bad, for me. It is pretty clear that the path I am to take on my present life journey is one of light, positivity, and love. I don’t mean to sound naïve and arrogant, but I believe we must counterbalance all the darkness, negativity, and hate in the world. Please join me. I also must confess that although I continually fail at this, every morning I express what I’m grateful for and start again along the lit path. I try to do it with insight and humility. It’s a challenge to stay present to the moment on my last day here. I’ve tried to do just that, living here day by for these past twelve days. My final early morning walk about the city is over, and now am sitting at a favorite café with my usual cappucchino and brioche. It is located on Piazza Spirito, Oltrarno, on the other side of the Arno, the artisan district of the city, where locals come in to sip coffee and read the paper. This morning an elderly gentleman is doing just that. Two different friends have stopped by and told him stories of woe about their dog and their job. He looks up from his paper, listens, but doesn’t say a thing; on they go and he returns to his reading. I’m interested in ways people listen. Some are really good at it. Like this man, who doesn’t speak, and yet they come. |
Contact me: bobbifisher.mac@mac.com
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