The Sacred Place

                                         mamma Rosa and Luciano

                            Ussolo, Italy. The little village where my mother grew up

                                      April 2004 when ABridgeofRoses started

How to choose a Pilgrimage? Why undertake such a journey? How does it happens that one feel the call to go there instead of there?

For some people the sacred place is within them, their pilgrimage is a journey with no physical movement, but a personal seeking within mind and body. For others, the sacred place may have a physical existence and a physical journey is needed in order to reach it.

I am one of those that have to walk. I have to feel that I reach a place. I love to listen to the sound of my steps, I love to turn around and to look at the footprints left behind. And each time, when I am arrived, there is where I feel what I was looking for. This feeling is deep inside my heart, I can almost touch it. In that moment the joy that I feel is a lonely feeling, sweet and overwhelming. And there at that moment is where the next pilgrimage starts, the next walk, the next place to reach, the next journey.

I made my first pilgrimage a long time ago, way before I was born, and way before my mother was born.

My grand-father and grandmother have been married for more than a year. Their marriage was a marriage of love, it has not been arranged by their parents. They have fell in love with each other and wanted to spend their lives together, and they wanted a family. But although they have tried, my grandmother has not been able to get pregnant yet. They have started to feel the pressure: people in the village have started to murmur and to question why this young and healthy couple could not produce an heir.

They decided to put all their hopes in one more tentative: a pilgrimage to La Madonne delle Grazie (Our Lady of Miracles), a small chapel on the top of the mountain, six hours walk from their home and from their little village. My grandfather decided to do it barefoot my grandmother followed him riding a mule.

It was Summer, the day of the Madonne delle Grazie holiday. A local but venerated holiday marked by a day of rest from the work in the fields, a day of prayers and hopes. The following Spring my grandmother gave birth to their first son, he was followed by ten more children among them my mother.

Madonne delle Grazie, Acceglio, Italy - My Sacred Place

I heard this story from my godmother Lucia, I was six years old, and with her on the day of Madonne delle Grazie I was walking from that same village to the same little chapel, on the way my god-mother started to tell me this beautiful story. It was a beautiful sunny day; we walked with other people for several hours. I still remember the moment we approached the chapel, I felt as I had arrived where my journey had started: the sacred place of my beginning.