Woke up today at 11am. Margaret is on her way out to the Campo to do some shopping, so I run over to the Goggi art store to buy those brass dividers I saw there. I stop by the Pantheon and went inside again. Strange. Same exact scenario there as on Tuesday. Strange to me, that is… that the scenario should replay itself. The same packed crowds, the same hot sun shining through the oculus into the cool dark space… the same tourists marveling at it all. And yet by simply revisiting I have demythologized some tiny sliver of it. I have some sense of the endless repetition that the building feels. Maybe in two thousand years I can achieve some wisdom too, like the Pantheon. Maybe I can see it all and know it all and transcend it all to the point where I simply ball up into a marble colossus and refuse to move or be moved. The greatest wisdom in the end is that there is no wisdom in the end, simply the cessation of all consideration, and the eternity of existence. At least for the Pantheon.
I meet back up with Margaret and we proceed at the agreed upon more leisurely pace for this, or our last day in Rome. We head back over to Trastevere. Margaret wants to have drink at the palazzo in front of Santa Maria of Trastevere, the aforementioned social center of this area. We find out way there… back across the Ponte Giribaldi, down the boisterous side street lined with cafes, and into the palazzo. Fortunately the church is still open, and we go inside. It is nondescript as far as churches in Rome go… but it has a long history. It is supposed to be the first church in Rome where masses were openly held.
We situate ourselves in a cafe on the far side of the palazzo from the church, and relax into a few drinks. People come and go endlessly. Prime people watching. The harsh, hot sunlight of the early afternoon is beginning to ease off, and the shade we sought in the cafe is no longer strictly necessary. Everything is bathed in light and shade and is perfectly pleasant. It's the kind of moment you want to keep aloft forever. Another drink… a thousand more drinks. Another wink and a nod and a smile… another order to the waiter… another instance of squinting into the sun to make out people coming and going… another everything. But you can't keep moments going forever. I suppose that's what makes them special. The moment you realize you're in a moment, it begins to move away from you… like the picked flower is already faded. The next drink or the next is too intoxicating… the next bit of food feels stuffed… the next person that walks by may not be so interesting as the first… the seat underneath is less comfortable than before… the mind engages one too many thoughts and loses the perfect balance of the simple moment. The scaffolding erected for the construction of moments implodes in on them, and our human nature hastens the demise of our pleasure. Being wise to this, we prefer to leave the moment early while still wanting more, rather than extend the moment by ill advised repetitions of what made it, which only ever sees the moment collapse all about you.
We make our to the other side of Trastevere, in pursuit of another old, historic church… the "Santa Cecelia in Trastevere", a 5th Century church. We get lost in the tiny side streets, whereby we effectively circumnavigate the church without knowing it. The entrance is very non-obvious… the church itself being cloistered behind a giant wall. Inside the nuns are saying later afternoon vespers (prayers) or so we think. I walk solemnly around the church, peering into the many chapel niches. There is no famous art here, though the baroque sculpture "Martyrdom of Saint Cecelia" sits beneath the alter, producing an eerie effect. But more eerie than the severed neck of Cecelia is the solemn procession of nuns down the aisle when their prayers are finished… or how they turn 90 degrees with heads down and disappear into a cloistered area.
We walk back to the Campo, stopping to get yet another serving of gelato. We pack that night, because we have to leave early the next day for Florence. The trip isn't even a week old, and we've spent so much energy. The next 12 hours are gonna be hard again.
Good night.
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