Meditation from the Doge's Palace, Venice.

I walk slowly through this crumbling beauty

In quiet, still, crowd-free early morning,

Passing by the little pontes, the Rialto Bridge,

Sleek, curved, black gondolas at their mooring;

I wander narrow lanes and alleyways

To St. Marks’ Square, its splendour of marble,

Into the Doge’s Palace, the Golden Staircase,

And there in awed silence stop and marvel.

Rich, carved and painted rooms reveal a past

When trade from the East made Venice great;

Unimaginable wealth and great beauty

Designed to overwhelm and intimidate.

In this room nervous ambassadors waited;

This one has a Raphael painted ceiling;

A third and fourth are to judge and govern;

A fifth has paintings deeply revealing.

This fifth is large.  Paintings floor to ceiling

Depict Venetian sea battles. On each wall

Thousands of ships tangle in brutal chaos,

Scenes of death and horror which deeply appal.

In the forefront of one a man in agony,

Eyes rolling, mouth open, clutches an arrow

Embedded in the centre of his forehead,

A single emblem of this carnage and woe.

 I walk back into beautiful St Mark’s Square.

It too has displays of wealth and power-

Gilded mosaics, golden winged angels,

The spear-wielding saint on his high tower.

My mind is troubled by those sea battles,

The thought of that sailor as he dies,

Troubled too by the thought that this splendour

Came at the cost of ordinary men’s lives.

Then I think of that old paradox-

How rapacious commerce plays its part

Not just in the beauty of architecture

But in the wonder and glory of art,

And looking around this beautiful place,

This land ingeniously reclaimed from the sea,

See in it the beauty and the horror

That characterises human society.

And walking slowly past the gypsy beggars,

The street hawkers, the tangled human throng

That moves in shoulder to shoulder press,

Everywhere I hear that ancient song

Of money, power, desire and need,

That relentless pursuit of beauty and wealth,

Save Venice no longer needs ships to trade,

For Venice has trade sufficient in just itself.

A little ponte.

The Rialto Bridge.

The narrow lanes...

Sleek, curved, black gondolas.

Doge's Palace

Courtyard, Doge's Palace

Golden Staircase

 

Gilded Mosaics, St. Mark's.

Gilded Mosaics.

Statues, St. Mark's.

Home, Hotel Al Vagon.

Come.

Come. It is the dawn. We must move on.

Autumn’s blue stillness is in the air.

Summer’s shimmering heat has gone.

The day that rises is calm and fair.

Think not on what lies behind or ahead.

Press on in courage, faith and belief.

Each day’s journey is sufficient to itself;

Each day will contain both joy and grief.    

Night is coming when travel ceases,

Winter will bring its own bitter states;

But beyond the night and winter’s chill

On high mountain slope the summit awaits.

We have our map. We have our hope.

The journey’s end is within our reach.

What if the way is fierce, hard and wild?

Waiting at the summit is joy and peace.

As long as you travel by my side

Of each day’s trials what do I care?

Even the burdens in the blue-black clouds

In hindsight can seem as light as air.

So let us be gone. Let us travel together

Through each day’s jubilation and sorrow.

Hand in hand we will support each other.                              

Resolutely we will face the morrow.

                       

Repentance

Repentance is pride’s bane,

The soul’s renewal or birth,

The releasing of those chains

That bind us strongly to the earth.

Then freed from the folly of pride

And all angst-filled mortality,

On eagle’s wings the spirit soars

Towards the summit of eternity.