Taormina, Sicilia. Tuesday May 8.

Taormina, Sicilia. Tuesday May 8. 

There It Is. 

Dear Trail Friends

Today we visited Mt. Etna. Our guide Angela spoke of her personal experiences with Mt Etna’s eruptions, including one that triggered an earthquake. She mentioned standing and feeling a wave approaching through the ground, then passing under her feet, and then another wave, and another. It was, she said, both frightening and exciting. Her description resonated with my own feeling about the one relatively strong earthquake I have experienced - and also a “big dream” I remember from my 20s or 30s, of running away from a huge wave of hot lava due to a volcanic eruption. In the dream I have the terrifying feeling that I can’t outrun the danger, but also the excitement of being in the presence of something so powerful and elemental.  The fast powerful wave of hot lava makes me think of both my rages and my desires - forces that have tended to be stronger than my conscious mind, whose (perhaps impossible) job it is to accept and civilize/sublimate them. 

And of course Mt Etna erupting makes me think of Medusa and my own sense of myself as a monster. In a big eruption the lava consumes everything in its path - trees, power lines, houses - and then turns to itself (and them) to stone. MtEtna erupting also makes me think of Chris’s description of Gaia as a goddess who supports change and opposes the gods who try to oppose and prevent change by swallowing (or in other ways thwarting/imprisoning) their children, so that their own reign will never be threatened. 

Photo 1 shows Mt Etna as we approached her (our guide said the locals see the mountain as a female, her outbursts those of an angry mother) and photo 2 the landscape of hardened black lava we found after climbing as high as we could by bus, with group members Renee and Ben walking on the hardened lava. 

It was a strange day. We learned at breakfast that the cabinieri (Italian criminal police) had roused group member John at 1:30am about passport issues. Then our planned departure at 9am was postponed because the bus broke down. Finally when we did get going we had to make frequent stops because one of our group members had gotten very sick, vomiting and suffering diarrhea (alas our bus has no toilet). These three mini-catastrophes felt like our own version of the small volcanic eruptions. 

I enjoyed it when Angela spoke of Etna as one of the most active volcanoes in the world but not one of the most dangerous. “The more often you erupt,” she said “the less dangerous you are.” This is largely because frequent small eruptions (like those of Etna) result in minimum amounts of flow, while rare eruptions (like those of Vesuvius who has not erupted since the 1950s) are associated with violently destructive explosions.  I regard that as a persuasive metaphorical argument for expressing anger and not suppressing it. 😏

The bus ride seemed very long and I felt my exhaustion both from the uncomfortable seating and from the lack of solitude, (and body movement, and the solace of the natural world and the calm and quietness it evokes in me).  A lot of other group members seemed to be feeling similarly trapped in the long bus ride. 

When we stopped for lunch just before reaching Etna I found I was able to take a very short walk along the street outside the restaurant - and was surprised how restored I felt by just a few moments of waking, being alone, tuning myself to bird song and the presence of wildflowers. 

Photo 3 is a view during that walk, which I took after ordering pasta while waiting for lunch to arrive. By the way the pasta a la Norma was the best I’d had - big tender slices of eggplant, homemade pasta, huge portions. 

I also had a very short but restorative walk earlier in the day, just after breakfast. We stayed overnight at an ancient Abby just inland from the beautiful coastal town Cifalu (which I wrote about yesterday) and had a wonderful dinner with generous tastings of three different organic wines (called biologic, in Europe). They’ve been making wine at the Abby for more than 1000 years. 

Photo 4 is a collage from our short morning walk around the Abby grounds. 

When we arrived in Agrigento - a place Chris and Judy and I loved in our visit ten years ago - the transition from the bus was hectic, on a busy noisy street, and the hotel was unattractive (worn pink paint) and rundown-looking inside and out. We received less attention and help than we were accustomed to, and many of the group members seemed to be at or near meltdown (or should I say melt-up, as in eruption?). 

I found myself oddly restored when I stepped out on our balcony and could see other group members on their balconies. I waved and called our, they waved back. It provided that combination of intimacy and distance that seems to make life glow for me. Photo 5 shows group member Marenka on the roof terrace (she’s the tiny figure beyond the third umbrella) watching the sunset just before I called out to her and we did a little dance of stretched out arms and expressive gestures across the distance between us. 

Judy came over to our room to draw and photos 6 and 7 are her drawings from yesterday and today. The little Maltese dog in photo 6 gazes up at me in just the way her Maltese Snowbell used to. Photo 7 shows a pair of birds snuggling. Judy commented that they seemed so safe in their connection that they were oblivious to people passing by: they did not become startled, they did not flutter fearfully away. 

My drawing today was inspired by an art reproduction in the room where Chris lectured in Palermo. Photo 8 shows the art (unfortunately with sun reflected) and photo 9 my drawing. 

I think the horses reminded me of Pegasus being born from Medusa’s beheading, and of the commingling of Arethusa and Alfeus. I liked the movement from the female figure’s open mouth -which suggested to me breath/wind and also sound/language. I enjoyed drawing them and recalled another big dream in my young adulthood about a black horse (whose sudden appearance on a city street both frightens and excites me) who transforms into an Appaloosa (spotted white and black) and then into an all white horse. In the dream my therapist was beside me asking me, “Does your feeling have a name? Are there words for it?” And I pointed at the horse and  shouted “There it is! Don’t you see it? There it is!”

I felt better after Judy and my contemplative drawing session. Then we went to dinner with Judy and Pamela and Peter and Robert.  I drank wine and enjoyed a simple dinner and got to talk to Robert (continuing a conversation on the bus earlier) on his hopes to hike some or all of the Pacific Crest Trail. I was amazed how happy it made me to share what I’ve learned and encourage him that if I could do it, he surely could. 

I noticed I kept checking my email hoping to get emails that said “love your blog.” So finally I asked Pamela to please send me an email that said “Iove your blog” - which she promptly did. It made me totally happy - it didn’t matter at all that I asked her to do it. 

And I’m happy now - hoping that you are reading this and finding some glimpse of happiness and meaning - I wish I could send you the moments of looking at members of the tour group and feeling a wave of warm affection for each of them. 

I am shocked to realize we are close to the end and that there will only be one more lecture by Chris. I said to someone today that it was no accident that the final lecture will be about tragedy - because it is a tragedy that our tour is coming to an end. I’m glad to have reread Freud’s essay on transience )and been reminded that far from diminishing their value, the transience of precious experiences can increase the value they have for us )

Thank you for coming along on this experiment. It has been very very different from writing blogs on the trail - and I am grateful to have experienced this difference (with your support and encouragement). 

Tomorrow will be an easy day, walking around Taormina, probably visiting the beautiful Roman amphitheater and walking up the steps I so loved last visit, with the stations of the cross on them. I look forward to sharing them with you. 

In he meantime sogni d’oro by night and may you walk in a templo d’oro by day - I am not picturing the cathedral at Monreale  when I write this but an imaginary golden temple of Aphrodite. A temple of love. 

May the whole world be held in that golden temple, those golden hands. (But you and me in particular!)