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| Within the church of San Pietro, Corniglia, Italy |
I am so happy, this life is so beautiful and intriguing, there is
no room for being sick . . . this is what I said aloud, as I coughed
and convulsed, walking along the narrow main street of Vernazza,
Italy. The crowds were out in midday bloom, laundry hung to dry from
lines strung by windows above, shops lined every inch of the passage to the city
harbor and of course no traffic and no motor vehicles. I walked
and thought,
this cough has been going on too long.
The illness began in Venice and was so surprising because I have
not been sick in 15 years; not even a cold. I had developed an attitude of impermeability to sickness. A friend I have been
corresponding with in the USA, noticed I was not getting
better, so wrote that I must see a doctor.
When I arrived in Vernazza, the apartment owners, a darling older
couple, Giacomo and Maria Capellini, helped get me settled. Giacomo
speaks English and when the discussion turned to a doctor, said
that the clinic up the street was always open—including weekends. He walked with me and I was
immediately seen by a physician who took tests and heard my
descriptions, then pronounced I have bronchitis.
Now I am on antibiotics and should be much better in three days.
I have been having what I am calling “portal” experiences.
These are surprising moments of occurrences that usher in such sublimity that some ancient
remembrance of a pure state of bliss results. A few examples of the
last few days: Being alone in a 500 year old church at night, long
past the time when tourists were going to and fro. Walking up the
steps into the dark cathedral and passing over the marble floor to sit
at a pew next to a beatific sculpture of Jesus, arms outstretched
with nail holes in the palms of his hands, looking down serenely. At his bare feet, candles
still burning from earlier visitors. The silence so evocative, and on
the wall nearby, a painting of the virgin mother, with the dove of
heaven arriving to tell her of the heavenly life to grow inside of her.
Another time, just a couple days ago, in Monterosso, outside my
room in the street, a man passed under the window, singing in such a
marvelous and melodious voice. Then later, he came back, still singing. It awakened
my higher sensibilities.
And of course, the church bells that ring, and sometimes their
ringing takes on a melody.
So I finally wondered if my cough could possibly be a “portal”
experience.
In some simple way, I think it could be. But I
am more inclined to dwell on the sublime experiences that lead
me to consider writing a book.
