I felt puny. Puny great. I felt like a speck of dust due to the astronomical size of the Vatican City. Yet it felt touchingly wonderful because that is my dream there, embodied in the form of St Peter's Basilica right before my excited eyes, solid on the ground in all its majesty.
Entering through the right side of the twin parabolic columnar gates to St Peter's square, dotted by gigantic angels and saints at the top, it took mother and I an hour of marveling including walking time to the entrance of the Basilica. Mother kept asking, how did they manage to place the statues up there. A question she finds dancing solo for I was baffled too.
The black cobblestones beneath us were polished shiny from wear, I took my feet out of my shoes and when my skin touched the ground, it felt amazing as to how smooth the stones were, its warmth offered a mini therapy for blood circulation from the feet back to its pumping cleanser.
Mother spent another hour at the Vatican Post Office sending evidences that we are here to family and friends around the world. Postcards with Pope Benedict XVI's smiling face on all the stamps destined for European countries. I sent a couple, one of it with very little words for the space was pasted with the Pope's large stamp header containing his autograph. I told my friend the "Pope" is on his way to see him.
Going through the Basilica was another world in itself. Gregorian chants gently soothed the ears, post the noisy Italian traffic outside where ambulance and police sirens are often heard, and caused a surreal feeling to the already surreal place. We first passed by the tombs of all the previous Popes, then came to Pope Ioannes Paulus II (John Paul). There were a couple of very serene purple orchids at the head of the tomb.
To be so close to the figurehead of the Catholic church that rulled during most of my lifetime, thus far, places some perspective to things. He was once out of reach, now he is present in spirit next to me. There was a crowd bottleneck through the underground tunnel but it dissipated after passing Pope John Paul II's tomb. In my opinion it is perhaps due to the other Popes existing beyond our times, some existed far back in history books, so that we are not acquainted enough and therefore spend less time on their tombs compared to the tomb of the late Pope John Paul II. It was also as if we were paying our last respects to him and he has not gone that long yet...
Snaking our way out through the Basilica, we found ourselves on the Grand Foyer where we entered earlier but via the right most door. Crowd traffic is strictly one way and the guards mean no nonsense here. This centre door where we entered was the one to the actual church, where Christmas services are broadcasted around the world annually.
I was humbled as I looked up to the domes, left and right through the massive columns, at all the colours and images. My eyes did not know where to look and the mind started to become like a computer receiving too much information at the same time. Thankfully the super fine sculpture of Michaelangelo, The Pieta, illuminated behind a glass wall to the right of the entrance offered a starting focus point.
My feet awoke for it too did not know where to go, it took me closer to the sculpture, and then through the same right section of the cathedral. Nationalities of all continents mixed in this one spot, African, European, Asian, Americans, save for the Eski's because they look like Asian anyway.
There was a Service when we were there and as this was the only Service of the day we sat at mother's suggestion and participated. It was all in Latin but the order is the same wherever one goes and whatever language it is in. If my thoughts and emotions were numbed in a pandora's box somewhere before having realised a dream so meaningful to my heart, it went out in streams of tears here...
Once the service was over, we continued through the left section of the church, pass the great statue of St Veronica depicted holding a scarf with Christ's image imprinted on it. I attempted to photograph but my camera just would not focus. I left it. Mother was getting tired so I had to quickly browse through the remaining works of the great artists that adorn the cathedral.
We came at two in the afternoon, we finished at six thirty at San Pietro in the evening and arrived back at our humble place at the Piazza di Porta Maggiore around eight. Staying right in the centre of Rome at somewhere affordable meant traffic noises were unavoidable, it was hot and I did not expect to sleep that night. As I lay down the bottom bunker of a double decker bed, a little cool evening wind crept through the window and enveloped my aching feet like satin stokings.
I slept peacefully like a content child through the full Italian moon till morning sunlight peeked through the venetian window and greeted me ... Buon Giorno.
