Yesterday, I took a train northeast to a monastery called Montserrat. I bought my ticket online before I came, and the ticket included the train, an aeri ride to the monastery, a funicular to the Sant Joan section of the abbey, free admittance into the museum, and lunch - all for around 50 euros. Worth it!
I should note that I'm afraid of heights. Not deathly so, and I've never allowed that fear to stop me from doing anything, but when I saw the aeri, I admit to being a bit... discomfited. It's a carriage hanging on a cable going up a thousand feet hanging over a rocky terrain. If that cable snaps, everyone on board will die. I... gulped. And then... I got on board and rode that stupid thing up a mountain. Because what a fantastic story my kids would get to tell if I died like that, amIrite?
At the top, I wandered around a bit to get the lay of the land. There was a shop (of course) that I stopped in to see if they had rosaries for purchase. They did (of course), and I bought two; one for me and one for my dogsitter's mom. She's a devout Catholic, and I'd decided to have a rosary blessed by the Pope for her when I was in Rome. What better rosary to have blessed than one bought in Montserrat? So I bought two, with the intent to have both go on this journey with me, be blessed, and one will continue on to her while I kept the other.
From the store, I wandered around the courtyard a bit to take in the view. It was breathtaking, and I understood immediately why the monks of centuries past had built this monastery here. How they'd built it, on the other hand, still has me flumaxed. It was literally on the side of a rocky mountain, with many of the large surrounding rocks being held in place now by netting and bolted cables. I felt safe, but I can't imagine how the workers of years past had felt as they'd leveled the hill and built the magnificent buildings.
From the courtyard, I went down into the Museo' de Montserrat. I have a million pictures from there that I'll make a separate post with, but there were a few things that I think are worth bringing up here. First, they were spotlighting a sculptor named Gerard Mas. His work was exquisite, and a bit disconcerting. A giant baby's head sat on the floor in a corner. It came up to my hip. There was also a bunch of examples of what looked like practice pieces that were just... weird. Cool as hell, but weird.
Second, there was a section of the museum that was obviously set aside behind heavy velvet curtains to "protect" passersby of being unwittingly assaulted by what was behind those curtains. The rooms were called "Oriental Christanity". Oh hell yes, I'm going in there. What in the world could be so unsettling that it had to be cordoned off??
Nothing, it appears. Nothing was unsettling at all behind those heavy drapes. What they did share in those rooms, however, was Orthodox Christianity iconography. Brilliantly painted sheets of wood with incredible depictions of Christ's life and the saints who attended him. Stunning works of art, nearly all covered at least in part by gold paint and/or leaf. Most were older - 15th or 16th century - though some were as new as the 18th century. I thought it amusing that these were hidden away as if somehow shameful. Religion is funny.
After the museum, I went up to the cathedral. (By now you have to know that I'm a sucker for beautiful churches.) This cathedral did not disappoint. To put a word to it, exquisite. Stunningly beautiful ironwork around each of the different little crevice chapels (no idea what they're actually called), gorgeous chandeliers, woodwork that you ached to touch, and an extraordinary apse with Jesus on the cross hanging as if in thin air over the alter. Just incredible.
On top of how it all looked, as I wandered from crevice chapel to crevice chapel, someone started to play the magnificent organ and the pure joy of being somewhere with so much history, so much sanctity, so much spirituality in it brought tears to my eyes. I. Was. Here. In the moment, in the place, in me. If you're not at all spiritual, I don't know if I can explain to you how I felt right then. It was like... feeling completely whole for the first time in a very long time. That moment of clarity, of acknowledgement of all of your mistakes and successes, and knowing that all of it is okay. All of it is pure. All of it is... you. And that's all you can be. Even now, thinking about it and trying to describe it for you has made me dab at my eyes a bit.
I then went along the left of the cathedral entrance where a long stone hallway lay. On the left side, tucked into the stonework, were a series of carve-outs with iron shelves covered in candles lit for loved ones. It's a Catholic thing, lighting candles for loved ones, and one of the few things that I miss from my years of Catholicism. On the right side of the hallway were large crates filled with candles of various sizes and colors that you could drop a coin into a container to buy. I dropped a 2 euro coin into one and picked up a small white candle. I walked to the far end of the hallway and then slowly walked back, waiting to feel where to put this candle to light it.
Midway down the hall, I stopped and set the candle down in the middle of the shelves. I took the little stub of candle on the wall to light it with, walking a few feet down to the two very large candles on the right side. (These were candles lit for the church each day.) I lit the stub and brought it to the candle, and while I lit it, I said a little prayer for all of my friends and family, that they find peace in their lives, whatever that looked like. I blew the stub out, put it back, and then stood in front of the candles a little while, just wishing with all of my heart that my prayer would be heard and that it would touch even a few of my friends and family. Then I quietly walked back to the courtyard and on to see what else the abbey would have for me to experience.
I should note that I'm afraid of heights. Not deathly so, and I've never allowed that fear to stop me from doing anything, but when I saw the aeri, I admit to being a bit... discomfited. It's a carriage hanging on a cable going up a thousand feet hanging over a rocky terrain. If that cable snaps, everyone on board will die. I... gulped. And then... I got on board and rode that stupid thing up a mountain. Because what a fantastic story my kids would get to tell if I died like that, amIrite?
At the top, I wandered around a bit to get the lay of the land. There was a shop (of course) that I stopped in to see if they had rosaries for purchase. They did (of course), and I bought two; one for me and one for my dogsitter's mom. She's a devout Catholic, and I'd decided to have a rosary blessed by the Pope for her when I was in Rome. What better rosary to have blessed than one bought in Montserrat? So I bought two, with the intent to have both go on this journey with me, be blessed, and one will continue on to her while I kept the other.
From the store, I wandered around the courtyard a bit to take in the view. It was breathtaking, and I understood immediately why the monks of centuries past had built this monastery here. How they'd built it, on the other hand, still has me flumaxed. It was literally on the side of a rocky mountain, with many of the large surrounding rocks being held in place now by netting and bolted cables. I felt safe, but I can't imagine how the workers of years past had felt as they'd leveled the hill and built the magnificent buildings.
From the courtyard, I went down into the Museo' de Montserrat. I have a million pictures from there that I'll make a separate post with, but there were a few things that I think are worth bringing up here. First, they were spotlighting a sculptor named Gerard Mas. His work was exquisite, and a bit disconcerting. A giant baby's head sat on the floor in a corner. It came up to my hip. There was also a bunch of examples of what looked like practice pieces that were just... weird. Cool as hell, but weird.
Second, there was a section of the museum that was obviously set aside behind heavy velvet curtains to "protect" passersby of being unwittingly assaulted by what was behind those curtains. The rooms were called "Oriental Christanity". Oh hell yes, I'm going in there. What in the world could be so unsettling that it had to be cordoned off??
Nothing, it appears. Nothing was unsettling at all behind those heavy drapes. What they did share in those rooms, however, was Orthodox Christianity iconography. Brilliantly painted sheets of wood with incredible depictions of Christ's life and the saints who attended him. Stunning works of art, nearly all covered at least in part by gold paint and/or leaf. Most were older - 15th or 16th century - though some were as new as the 18th century. I thought it amusing that these were hidden away as if somehow shameful. Religion is funny.
After the museum, I went up to the cathedral. (By now you have to know that I'm a sucker for beautiful churches.) This cathedral did not disappoint. To put a word to it, exquisite. Stunningly beautiful ironwork around each of the different little crevice chapels (no idea what they're actually called), gorgeous chandeliers, woodwork that you ached to touch, and an extraordinary apse with Jesus on the cross hanging as if in thin air over the alter. Just incredible.
On top of how it all looked, as I wandered from crevice chapel to crevice chapel, someone started to play the magnificent organ and the pure joy of being somewhere with so much history, so much sanctity, so much spirituality in it brought tears to my eyes. I. Was. Here. In the moment, in the place, in me. If you're not at all spiritual, I don't know if I can explain to you how I felt right then. It was like... feeling completely whole for the first time in a very long time. That moment of clarity, of acknowledgement of all of your mistakes and successes, and knowing that all of it is okay. All of it is pure. All of it is... you. And that's all you can be. Even now, thinking about it and trying to describe it for you has made me dab at my eyes a bit.
I then went along the left of the cathedral entrance where a long stone hallway lay. On the left side, tucked into the stonework, were a series of carve-outs with iron shelves covered in candles lit for loved ones. It's a Catholic thing, lighting candles for loved ones, and one of the few things that I miss from my years of Catholicism. On the right side of the hallway were large crates filled with candles of various sizes and colors that you could drop a coin into a container to buy. I dropped a 2 euro coin into one and picked up a small white candle. I walked to the far end of the hallway and then slowly walked back, waiting to feel where to put this candle to light it.
Midway down the hall, I stopped and set the candle down in the middle of the shelves. I took the little stub of candle on the wall to light it with, walking a few feet down to the two very large candles on the right side. (These were candles lit for the church each day.) I lit the stub and brought it to the candle, and while I lit it, I said a little prayer for all of my friends and family, that they find peace in their lives, whatever that looked like. I blew the stub out, put it back, and then stood in front of the candles a little while, just wishing with all of my heart that my prayer would be heard and that it would touch even a few of my friends and family. Then I quietly walked back to the courtyard and on to see what else the abbey would have for me to experience.
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| The candle that I lit is in the center-left, a shelf up from and between the red-green-red candles and the white-white-white candles. |
