Mysterious Circumstance

North coast of Sicily, and the Tyrrhenian Sea

This time five years ago, while on the island of Sicily, I experienced a luxurious solitude. (see my earlier blog) Abandoning the rigid dictates that my mind commanded I “should” be doing and the path I "must" stay upon, instead I wandered freely, letting mysterious circumstance unfold and lead me into surprise. I enjoyed being lost and feeling life without boundary. I had a car, a little house in Bonagia, a fishing village on the west coast, my art supplies, laptop, camera, and a change of clothes.

The little fishing village of San Maria

Mt. Corfanu on the northwest coast. The view is from where I lived.

After I adjusted to the time change and recovered from jet-lag, I eagerly breathed in the Mediterranean air, soaked up the sunlight, felt the rocky earth under my feet, listened to the birds and sound of bells tied to the sheep that wandered grazing along the hills nearby, and enjoyed quietude. If I wanted to paint, I took my easel out and discovered a view to my liking, then stood still, observing and working in silence. Some days I awoke with a plan, but if the day beckoned me in a different direction, then I might simply follow spirit into the unknown. Over the course of a month I explored the entire Sicilian coast, traveling in all directions, and into the interior, finding ancient Roman temples, and climbing Mt. Etna, a volcano.

Ancient Roman temple, standing at Segesta.

I began to sense what it is to live in THE DREAM. Now, years later, I often experience living in THE DREAM. It is a practice.

At the Roman amphitheater at Segesta.

Artist Eyes

This morning before dawn a rooster crowed, setting off a cacophony of barks, howls, chirps and more crowing. Usually I fall back asleep, but this morning I dressed and walked out into the dawning day to watch the sunrise over the sea. The old woman next door was already sweeping the street in front of her house, and a rooster crowed loud and hearty from behind her backyard fence. A dazzling red orb hung over the sea horizon as I arrived, and in the opposite direction, Mt. Etna’s snow covered peaks were turning pink; awash in supernal rose-color hues of dawn light. A few men were already fishing out on the black lava flow, waves crashing in white foam at their feet.

In the afternoon I walked around the old quarter of Acireale. It must be strange for local people to see me in their streets looking so intently at everything. I stop and take pictures of sights that they are accustomed to and barely notice anymore. Like the centuries old, graffiti marked, crumbling, cracking walls. To my artist eyes, the aging walls, color and textures are fascinating and like a big abstract expressionist canvas. Nothing man-made in the United States has this kind of age to it.

An Old Vine

THURSDAY, APRIL 5
This morning I walked along the sea wall to the coffee bar by the tiny harbor. Cappucino is served in a little ceramic cup with a froth of white milk on top. Standing at the counter, I finished it in five minutes. Working men came to the bar, usually ordering espresso’s that are served in even smaller cups. A drink of water is offered first, to wet the mouth, then the espresso goes down in two satisfying sips.

Arriving back at the apartment, the produce man was sitting in his truck out front. I picked out a zuccini squash, but did not need anything more. As I began to pay, he put the squash in my hand, spread his feet, faced me squarely and touched both my shoulders. Then, with a look that said, “ this grand acquisition of your's is not going to make me rich,” he waved me off, touching his fingers to his lips and kissing off, as if to say, “ it is yours, and bon apetito.” It was a bit of a joke for both of us, and I laughed, saying grazie as he climbed back in his truck.
Yesterday I went to Messina in search of the Museo Regionale where a couple of Caravaggio paintings are on exhibit. The drive took 45 minutes to the city limit, then, I had to squirm in traffic snarl. Arriving at the museum, it was chiuso, closed for the day. I thought, this is part of the 15% chaos to be expected along the way. Nonetheless, I did not like having come so far to be denied. Furthermore, the sky was cloudy and occasionally spitting raindrops. Traffic was bad, the streets noisy and not particularly interesting, and I felt I was not accomplishing anything. Frustration grew, and then, serendipitously, I felt a spirit touch me. In the next moment, fresh air flowed into my lungs and with each drink of breath I felt more relaxed and rejuvenated. Grace had come. Standing near a busy market, with the wet, rubbish-strewn street at my feet, an old vine tied to a fence caught my eye. A wisteria was blooming, with pale purple flowers in delicate masses spreading along the railing. The moment I leaned forward to look more closely, I found an incredible fragrance permeated the air. Just the contrast of circumstances was wonderful in itself. In the midst of feeling denied, a reminder of renewal and beautiful life. Grace works without effort.