I had an epiphany while I was on vacation that surprised me. It came to me while I was sitting peaceably under a tree in the Umbrian sun in a villa my cousin had rented near Orvieto, a town dating back to the 9th century B.C. that was inhabited by Etruscans. The Etruscans thrived there for about four hundred years but now only a few tombs and artifacts remain visible above ground. There is an extensive underground city that the Etruscans built for protection and sustenance. It provided water, safety, storage areas, and a dovecote to raise doves which were a major source of food. We ate no doves but did have a lot of pasta (all delicious). It was cool and dark going into the caves and hot and sunny in the streets above. History was all around, visible and invisible, above and below. I sat in the yard outside my room at the farmhouse where my husband and I were staying musing on history and the wonder of traveling again after such a long period of isolation appreciating what I could see and smell: morning light, grass, and a shed where chickens and one rooster lived and provided us with fresh eggs each morning.
The Etruscans thrived for almost four hundred years, living, dying, eating, and going about their business just like us—or did they? As wars continue and Covid is still a threat I wondered about the cycles of history and the lessons we have learned and the mistakes we keep repeating.
The Romans conquered Orvieto in the 3rd Century B.C. and left few reminders of their rich civilization. The Romans too were overcome by rebellion, political fights among nobles, and the plague. In the middle ages, the city became a papal favorite which ushered in a new age, and an impressive Church, the Duomo, was built and still stands as a monument to the Church. It is now a tourist attraction and sits in the midst of a piazza high on the hilltop surrounded by restaurants and shops. We reached it in the late afternoon and the heat of the day. The steepness of the roads we climbed to get to it dimmed my appreciation of the impressiveness of its architecture. While my husband and cousins found the ticket booth and went inside to view the interior, I decided to sit outside on a ledge in the piazza to rest. I sat next to some other tired tourists and took it in quietly admiring its construction. The Duomo was built of volcanic rock in horizontal layers of gray and white and reminded me of a giant wedding cake. I wondered how workers navigated the steepness of the land and transported the giant blocks of volcanic material. The gold illuminating its towers was beautiful but at what cost I wondered as I admired it. It was a gift to rest in the shade and take in its solidity and loftiness and meditate on its beauty and durability. It was also a gift to acknowledge my fatigue and listen to my body. I want to do it all but I have learned that this isn’t wise or possible. If I overrode the body’s message and forced myself to go inside my focus would have been on my body’s fatigue rather than the interior of the Duomo.
We didn’t push ourselves to see and do everything in the travel guides. It was lovely to simply sit and take in the scenery. Each day I sat on a chair outside my room and felt a stillness and space around my thoughts. I felt peaceful and fortunate appreciating being on vacation and having a body that still functioned. One of our group got Covid and I worried about contagion but I was being careful and felt well. I could see new sights, climb hills, savor good cooking and pause when I needed to rest. There was a rhythm to our days. We ate, we visited a site, ate some more, and let ourselves be filled with beauty, history, and companionship. There was nothing my husband and I really had to do. I did a little sketching, sipped a cappuccino, and appreciated the moment. Knowing that this idyll was temporary made it sweeter. As I sat appreciating my fortune a flicker of fear entered as I recognized impermanence and aging; loss and death entered my awareness. Then I wondered whether recognizing and really taking in impermanence would be freeing. With peace inside, outside, and all around me I could acknowledge illness, loss, and even death with equanimity. Orvieto was ancient and had survived volcanic forces and the rise and fall of different civilizations and with them destruction and construction. I realized that it’s inevitable that bad things will happen as well as good. Savoring the moment I still worried about getting Covid and the safety of driving a shift car up unfamiliar narrow cobblestone roads built for donkeys and horses (I let my husband do the driving and he was doing a great job). It felt like an epiphany to inhabit this knowing of impermanence and normalize it. There is peace and worry. Life contains good times and bad times--just this. There is no need to get lost in either one.
I write this blog today in Worcester, Massachusetts. Now remnants of the past and our trip are captured electronically on my iphone. I’m not sure what the next moment will bring.
Time is fluid and so is life.
I would love to live like a river flows, carried by the surprise of its own unfolding.”
― John O'Donohue
You are invited to join me this Thursday, June 9th at 11 AM, EDT. for our Aging with Wisdom group. We will not be meeting in July or August so this will be our last meeting until September.