The Borghese galleries were the top priority on my agenda for the day. By the time Rome was just beginning to awaken, I was already half way there.
Picking up the pace, I clutched my purse tightly to my side and prayed it contained the very detailed list from my mother.
Whenever traveling, my mother made sure to send me her, “don’t come home if you haven’t seen…” requirements. (There was a small mishap when at age 14 I went to the Louvre and somehow never saw the Mona Lisa. No amount of research and planning will ever let her forget.) As I strode purposely through the gardens, I was pleased to note there were very few people on the grounds.
I walked right up to the ticket counter only to be immediately informed that all the tickets had already been sold. Tickets were now purchased ahead of time with a credit card. I could only imagine what my mother would say.
Fortunately, there were still tickets available for the following day. I sighed with immense relief knowing that I would be able to stand in awe of Bernini’s Apollo and Daphne, marvel at Raphael’s Deposition, and be allowed home once again.
Discouraged at the slight hitch in plans but eager for adventure, I found an empty bench to study my map. The wind blew gently on my face and sent golden leaves scattering across my well crinkled map. No longer blasting through the day, I sat back and began to fully appreciate my surroundings. I may have missed the inner fine art of the Borghese galleries but I found myself immersed in another type of art, sitting here in the sunny park.
This majestic display was actually the kind I find most beautiful. It shows a joint effort by man and nature. There are man-made paths, fountains, and even planted trees. Yet, the paths are filled with fallen leaves; the fountains flow with pristine waters, life grows at its own pace, and life’s energy runs through all.
As I basked on the sunny park bench, my mind wandered back to the Cathedral’s Museum in Sienna, filled with ancient religious art. I recalled paintings, sculptures, jewelry, clothing… all depicting Christianity with its major events and persons. Each and every sculpture, mosaic, painting, was filled with incredible detail. Even the building itself, with all the time, labor, and skill that went into it, was simply unbelievable.
As interesting as all that may have been, it was not what made that particular museum my favorite. As I was wandering through a display room, I came upon a set of sliding glass doors that led to an ancient spiral staircase. As I climbed up and up, and even up again, I found myself on top of a tower looking 360 degrees around Sienna and her countryside.
Clouds in the sky did not disrupt my view of golden rolling hills, almost the same shade as the solid gold rose bush in the staircase downstairs. The rose bush with real rubies on the tips was a gift from the pope to the city of Sienna in honor of her beauty. The brownish reds of the fallen leaves matched that of the city’s roofs which is almost the same color as the mosaics on the cathedral floor.
The inspiration for all the tangible, trapped beauty downstairs, roamed free among the surrounding hillside. As I stood on that tower and breathed in the fresh damp air I finally felt spiritual is this holy place… well on top of it anyway. Despite how beautiful and grand the cathedral may have been, with stained glass windows and jewels, she was all man-made.
The natural world is where I feel connected.
Indoors, the air was stuffy, the lights were artificial and everything seemed unnaturally quiet and still. On the top of the tower sounds were muffled and distant, but real. Wind and voices mingled to create one sound, the sound of life: a true work of art.