Tuesday, October 30, 2007

San Quattro Coronati TW#18

I stood three feet away from the edge of the sidewalk, hiding behind a short metal barrier, but even with all these extra precautions, I still remained wary of the vehicles speeding by. Vespas weaved in between traffic, whirring like gigantic mosquitoes, while aggressive Italian drivers accelerated quickly, trying to zip through the crowded intersection. Slowing down meant they would have to wait for the massive hoards of tourists – who seemed to magically appear whenever an intersection was nearby – to cross. Understanding of the angry Italian drivers’ plight, I waited patiently until the walking green man gave me permission to pass, so as to not irritate the locals even more. After I had checked both directions, I scurried across quickly, a real-life game of Frogger.

I stood staring at a simple building; four barred windows and an uninviting door were positioned on its crumbling façade. Before now, whenever I had passed open doors in Rome, I would peek inside, hoping to discover a secret courtyard, like a hidden gem. Standing before this open door, I knew I wouldn’t have even given this building a second glance and wasn’t sure why Shawn had even stopped us here. Only the little plaque beside the door, which read “San Quattro Coronati,” differentiated this holy place of worship from a prison. As I entered, I saw the remnants of a few old and dirty frescoes on the walls lining the courtyard, too damaged to decipher. The main chapel had also fallen into a state of disrepair, the cracked marble floor jutting sharp fragments into the air like the uneven cobblestone pavement around the city. I lifted my feet high, as if walking up stairs.

We stopped in front of a weather-worn wooden door, ringing the bell until a little nun, dressed in black and white habit hurried forward to let us in. When I first entered the cloister, the silence immediately swept over me. I walked lightly on the cold white marble, knowing that unnecessary noise would violate the peace preserved in this space. Seated on the marble ledge surrounding the inner part of the cloister, I closed my eyes, listening intently. I could differentiate two main sounds: the slow trickle of water, falling from a simple fountain into a pool of water and the shuffling of other students’ feet behind me. A wailing ambulance siren pierced through the walls’ defenses followed soon after by the low rumbling of a passing jet. I only noticed these distractions in the periphery of my senses, as if nothing could disturb the inner peace I was able to achieve here. In sharp contrast to the chaos of that busy intersection, the cloister in San Quattro Coronati provided refuge for my overloaded senses.

I re-opened my eyes and looked closely at the simple decorations surrounding me. To my immediate left and right were two columns, which supported the rounded arch above me. As I traced the perimeter of the cloister with my eyes, I noticed that these rounded arches repeated, following the length of the marble. Countless seats to sit and meditate in, I thought. I looked up and my gaze was met with a simple pattern of black and white alternating triangles underneath the arches. My gaze drifted back downwards, to the middle of the courtyard, where the sounds of the simple trickling fountain originated, dominating the cloister. I got up and ventured towards the fountain. Small white rocks crunched beneath my feet. Aimlessly, I wandered on the small path, circling the fountain and the small islands of grass surrounding it. All of the simple architecture was a clear contrast to the boisterous luster of St. Peters, where I felt bombarded with distractions. This church was different, giving me the ability to clear my mind and meditate.

I let my mind wander beyond the confines of that small space, questioning the intention behind the cloister. Was this place built to free our minds from the world or maybe our souls? Was this built so that people could clear their minds and use them to find God? Did the open roof provide a freer path for our prayers? Maybe this was a place where the divine comes down to meet with the mundane, a place where people can connect with God. There was no more dramatic place than this, where you feel so free from the constraints of the world that you could connect with God.

I sat there for an hour, barely noticing how quickly the time had passed. The sun was now embracing me with its warmth. Shawn said it was time to go. The peaceful state my mind was able to obtain was lost as I walked through the door, treading carefully on the broken marble floor. I could have spent the whole day in there, just thinking. For an instant, the real world seemed too much and too difficult to deal with, like the moment just before you turn the lights on, afraid of overwhelming your eyes.

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