twelve days of mary love

years ago,

memories all mixed up in the 

fragrance of roses,

my mother and i traveled to mexico city

 to the basilica virgin de guadalupe.

fittingly our hotel was once a convent,  our room, a nuns cell;

a single bed, penitence-hard.

 by morning we were on a

 a local bus, 20 pesos to fulfill a dream.

chattering uniformed school children filled the isles,

mothers wrapped in rebozos cradling babies,

quiet husbands,

everyone curious with the two new gringas

smiling radiantly; on their familiar ride.

silently

crossing themselves

as we arrived;

one hundred hands folding origami  

peace doves in thin air. 

we left the bus together,

a cluster of bright flowers thrown into a sea of devotees.

under the weight of 12 million worshipers a year,

Templo Expiatorio a Cristo Rey,

built between 1503 and 1709,

began to sink

...and in time a new basilica was erected.

as we wove our way silently inside the concrete walls,

my heart sank.

courting a vigil that bowed back

over five hundred years 

 i was not prepared for the carpeted,

ultra modern cavernous interior...

replete with moving sidewalk to glide each pilgrim

as if walking on water

beneath the most revered ancient textile in mexico.

as we passed directly under the sacred cloth

there was a presence of peace that transcended all time.

yet, it was when we walked the ancient cobblestones

around the enormous modern basilica to a small,

humble stone chapel that my heart flooded.

 here, juan diego lived out his entire life;

speaking of the virgin

to anyone who would lend an ear.

upon entering,

men and women paused

to carefully pluck one petal

from the enormous bounty of roses

spilling over a life size statue of juan diego.

they would hold the delicate cup of pink

to their lips while they prayed.

their breath,

a flame of devotion filling the bell curve of love.

when their prayers were exhausted

 they took the infused petals

and rubbed them in utter adoration

over juan diego's marble

heart, mouth, eyes. 

imagine, being painted with prayer infused rose petals

for eternity.

i still have my small paper thin petal,

curled like a tiny fist holding tight

to peace. 

shrine from my series 

Serving Mary

vintage silver tray, glass, solder, paint, gold leaf, found objects

 

twelve days of mary love

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Comments

[Magical Mystical Teacher]

Sometimes one paper-thin petal is enough to transport us to worlds we have not even imagined could exist.

Your story takes my breath away, Rebecca. Thank you.

[Anne]

Like Magic, I was left breathless by your story. Each step of the way, from arrival to the present, pulled me long, like a child in her wagon, trusting in the anticipated arrival.

[gemma]

Serving Mary is an amazing shrine. You were blessed to have these wonderful experiences as a young girl xxx

[Meri Arnett-Kremian]

Beautiful story, Rebecca. I can imagine the hush in that small chapel -- the reverence of those who entered.

[peggy gatto]

Thank you for "my" visit to this magical place!