France is littered with old homes. Palaces and little towns that have been asleep for centuries.
We took a morning bus from the city out towards the country side where royalty use to hold their courts. The palaces were, of course, breath taking. Halls stood empty but the air was regal and ancient, and staircases linked these little heavens one floor to the next. Yes, this was the obvious splendor, however. It is easy to look to these elaborate Chateaus and be caught in their wonder. But what really struck me was the subtle joys of the country-side.
Old walls made of stone would run along a field weighed down by the sky. Snow laid broken by the remnants of crops from the year before and trees were etched out in frosted lines. The houses all reminded me of stories mothers tell their children- maybe even dreams and secrets. Streets run along quite stretches of the world and suddenly give way to forests and churches.
Churches. I had never really thought about them in a truly religious way. For me, the church represented a very profound error. It is, perhaps as Rebelais pointed out, a sign of turning towards the earthly and corruption rather than pursuing the divine. But I see these churches, and I have to be reminded of a profound faith. For centuries, people in europe where under the weight of this monolith of faith- the church. And yet, they truly believed this faith- they sought salvation and a reason to hope. Maybe they were missing the point- for what we have here was given to us, and it is to be enjoyed by us. But all the same, there are these symbols of faith all over Europe, and they just strike me as amazingly dense in their meaning.
So we wondered where the royals sat- we saw their splendor and that which was hidden. All over this world, i see these small corners of beauty. Cracked brickwalls from years ago now running behind someone's home, a field plowed by forefathers long forgotten now standing fallow, and forests that have only grown. Our history only grows. I need to remember that.
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