February may be the shortest month, but it never seems to end.
St. Paul Outside the Walls has once again, to borrow an image from economic jargon, raised my beauty ceiling. My capacity for accepting how astoundingly marvelous human creation can be has increased infinitely in these few weeks-
Holy cow, it's been almost a month.
I prayed for my father at the crypt of St. Paul (he loves St. Paul) and put in a mass intention for Shaun and spent the rest of the tour of the basilica amazed, floored, that I could come so close to the body of St. Paul. It was like going on a unicorn hunt (which I did often as a kid, I was a real Peter Beagle fan)- except I found one. St. Paul, a person I've accepted as true, bu never before realized was real, historically real, living, and dead, but not in we just don't see him like dinosaurs dead, but a part of our time, our Church, buried in the earth.
Dinosaurs, unicorns, St. Paul- what a bizarre read this must be.
After tour we walked to the Island in the Tiber and read the Merchant of Venice until all five of us fell asleep under the sun, full of pizza and gelato, like proper Italians on siesta.
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