I stand on the edge of myself and wonder where is home?
Oh, where is the place where beauty will last?
When will I be safe?And where?
Thus starts “Pilgrim or Tourist,” a poem by Macrina Wiederkehr (posted on Poems on this blog poems). It speak to me because I continue to go back and forth considering whether my pilgrimage to Florence is over or whether I still need to go back and forth from home to Florence. This is what I know!
I know that my physical and emotional home is where I have lived for over forty years, where I am sitting right now in. It is safe, beautiful, and loving, and for that I am very grateful.
I know I am not a tourist, at least in the traditional sense, although those tourist elements are always present as I walk the streets, visit churches and museums, and drink cappuccino. I am pilgrim, slowly on the move, luggage light, learning to love the pilgrim in me.
I know that I long to go to a deep place in my soul and that Florence leads me there like no other place. However, the cottage-by-the-sea offered something similar, which leads me to ask what the two places have in common: Solitude for an extended period of time—four days at the cottage, fourteen in Florence. I go deep when I don’t have to negotiate, chatter or share experiences with anyone.
There’s much more to discover about Florence, some of which is being revealed to me. This surprises me because when I came home three weeks ago I thought my pilgrimages to Florence had come to an end. But no, I am being compelled to a deeper level, to be again in the silence, solitude and simplicity in that city, walking those streets, visiting those churches and museums, drinking another cappuccino.
I have an inexpensive ticket to Rome November 30th, returning December 14th. I’ve rented an apartment with a view of the Duomo. One of the secrets of an old woman is that she presses forward even when the odds tell her that the only safe place is home.
Oh, where is the place where beauty will last?
When will I be safe?And where?
Thus starts “Pilgrim or Tourist,” a poem by Macrina Wiederkehr (posted on Poems on this blog poems). It speak to me because I continue to go back and forth considering whether my pilgrimage to Florence is over or whether I still need to go back and forth from home to Florence. This is what I know!
I know that my physical and emotional home is where I have lived for over forty years, where I am sitting right now in. It is safe, beautiful, and loving, and for that I am very grateful.
I know I am not a tourist, at least in the traditional sense, although those tourist elements are always present as I walk the streets, visit churches and museums, and drink cappuccino. I am pilgrim, slowly on the move, luggage light, learning to love the pilgrim in me.
I know that I long to go to a deep place in my soul and that Florence leads me there like no other place. However, the cottage-by-the-sea offered something similar, which leads me to ask what the two places have in common: Solitude for an extended period of time—four days at the cottage, fourteen in Florence. I go deep when I don’t have to negotiate, chatter or share experiences with anyone.
There’s much more to discover about Florence, some of which is being revealed to me. This surprises me because when I came home three weeks ago I thought my pilgrimages to Florence had come to an end. But no, I am being compelled to a deeper level, to be again in the silence, solitude and simplicity in that city, walking those streets, visiting those churches and museums, drinking another cappuccino.
I have an inexpensive ticket to Rome November 30th, returning December 14th. I’ve rented an apartment with a view of the Duomo. One of the secrets of an old woman is that she presses forward even when the odds tell her that the only safe place is home.