Venice feels so very far away now. I have been back in my San Francisco "nest" for four days or so, and slowly picking up the threads of daily/weekly life. As I look back on my 900 photographs taken in this mysterious city, I am reminded of several things: beauty, beauty everywhere - from the grey undulating waters to the sparkling shop windows or shimmering fish market filled with ladies in fur coats, and then of course the loneliness. Those images pull me back to a sense I had each day of how alone I felt in the midst of this dark city, as I walked and walked and searched for connection to it. Shooting a lot of pictures didn't necessarily mean connecting, as anyone knows who has photographed a lot. Sometimes, you must rest and just be in the middle of things, just receive what is there. There were times when just being made me feel so exposed, so raw, so alone, and there were times when I felt ONE with the life of Venice. I guess I should feel good that I could at times melt into the landscape, and forget myself. I have a little saying on my wall from the Zen calendar which goes like this: "The basic lesson of Zen is: 'Forget yourself.'" These times of forgetting the self are definitely ones where you are joined with your fellow beings in the adventure of life, without any script or expectations... Your mind settles. I discovered that the settling of the mind in Italy is often a challenge, so charged is the social climate. The city was quiet, yes, because it was winter, and there are no cars, but the Italians are never really quiet. They stir up the environment, as though creating little whirlwinds everywhere around them. Settling in the midst of this is difficult. The times when I felt myself laughing at the Italian "dance of life" were the times when I was really in the middle of it with no resistance or commentary or craving for what was ahead... I wasn't only laughing at their dance, I was in the midst of it!
The last day of my visit was a Sunday and I went to San Marco cathedral for a solemn mass. I wanted to sit with these people in the extraordinary beauty of that golden church and just feel the energy of the Sunday service, listen to the music, and the words, and lean into understanding the place of faith in their lives. I sat off to the side, not knowing the exact ritual of the mass -- setting myself apart of course -- and sat down and looked up at this epic domed ceiling covered with gold mosaics while the voices sang the hymns, and the priest intoned the Bible readings. Then I would close my eyes and feel as though I had disappeared into community of believers. I called up the Buddha and his messages of love and compassion, and I sent this forth into the vast space. And thought about the Dalai Lama's words long ago that reminded us that all religions seek the same thing: peace, love, transcendence from suffering, wisdom. And then I listened again to the priest talk of peace, not only in the larger context of the world, but in our daily lives. And I thought, yes, we really are all wanting the same thing. The trappings and rituals may be quite different, but the intention is the same. Buddha and Christ were certainly not that distant in their visions. The service over, I reluctantly exited the church, out into the steely grey morning, the square of San Marco now filling with the winter visitors from Europe and Japan. And the connection I had felt inside the church was still with me, and in a watery, flowing sort of way, I moved forward into the day, with very little on my radar. Moving through this last day as gently, kindly, and thoughtfully as possible...
And, then all of a sudden, it is all over. And you sit in your office at home, and listen to the dryer whirring, drink your green tea, eat some toast, and ready yourself to go on to your appointments. Venice is gone. The present is here, but imbued now with the sights, smells, and the misty cold dampness of that elusive city. I think the perpetual flowing movement of the water everywhere in Venice helped me let go of ideas of control and achieving, and allowed me to be in the present, moving with the water, and with the aching loneliness. I shall try to recall all that watery-ness here in my city, and move more slowly -- stop that leaning into the future, and just BE. It can be the one of the gifts of my journey.
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