On the slopes of the Campidoglio

Roman spiritual walks with Benedetta. Get in touch: bennidv@alice.it

On the slopes of the Campidoglio, where the glorious temple of Jove used to stand in all its might and beauty, one can still find, walking on the winding drives of the Via del Monte Caprino, the ancient flare of the holy Lupercal where the twins were nourished  by the she wolf (Acca Larentia). Down below,  on the busy Via Petroselli, the furious turmoil of the never ending flow of cars coming and going in the nonsense of everyday life. Up there, the cosmos of beauty and perfection, in the sweet chanting of birds, while the wind, graciously, rustles branches and leaves, and one might catch a glimpse of the ancient nimphs and satyrs that used to live here in days forgotten by the crowds. In the glow of autumn, the sacred mother earth seems ready for her annual sleep to come to life again in spring, full of colors in never ending glory...

I was there, yesterday, and all alone, in the sweet company of birds and groves, cleaning up the gardens from modern litter, and bottles and packets of cigarettes and all the trash of these unholy days. I was cleaning up, I say, and all of a sudden I was not alone any more. I felt, and saw, with my third eye wide open, the ancient luperci priests running, dressed as wolves, and beating up, with goat skins, young women in order to make them conceive. No doctors could have been more effective than those luperci waking up, in nature, sleeping wombs… The vision finished, back to work, hands in green gloves. All of a sudden, a man springs out from nowhere: “Please, can I throw away my bottle?”. Ok, I answered and before I could say more, the bottle popped inside and he gone.  

The eye of the cat

When walking towards the Collegio Romano, at a stone throw from Piazza Venezia, you might find yourself in a little, secluded street called via della Gatta, that snakes in sweet darkness on the borders of the Palazzo Grazioli (where no other than Silvio Berlusconi lives, when in the Capital…), well anyway, after a glance at the magnificent palazzo (that is still owned by the Roman noble family that gave it its patrician name, being Berlusconi only the one who is renting it), do keep your eyes sharp to catch a glimpse of the marble cat walking on the moulding. Its magical stare brings us back to the Egyptian times, for it does come from the enormous temple of Isis that once stood in the neighborhood. Isis, the Goddes of Earth, with Horus on her lap, was worshipped in Rome at the times of Caesar when Cleopatra arrived in the City of the Caesars, in golden chains…

No more Egypt now, but look at the greatness of the Collegio Romano, that was the University of the Gesuits (Pope Francis being a Gesuit, actually the first Gesuit ever to be Pope…). The University is now a school where someone dear to me attends his “Liceo”. The Gesuits have a new University in piazza della Pilotta (Università Gregoriana), as big as imperial as ever.

And now, before I forget, let me tell you a little Roman, traditional tale on the Gesuits that has something to do with, yes, with… the wind. I Will tell it, as Tacitus, the great Roman historian, would have done, that is to say: sine ira et studio. And now, the story. You must know that in front of the Gesù, which is the Gesuit’s most important church in Rome, on piazza del Gesù, the wind, being summer or winter, swirls and sweeps all day long. Well the story goes – and it was ever so popular in the 19^th century - like this: the devil once upon a time said to the wind: “Wait for me, I must go into the Gesù for a certain little bargain”. Off he went and the wind is still waiting for him to come out… 

Roman streets

There are streets, in Rome, that bear, with light grace, names that sound, in Italian, as lovely girls names, but are, actually, dedicated to a Pope who chose that name, in the masculine form, for the Holy seat. In the Monti area, via Clementina, steep and narrow as an alpine path; in Trastevere, a tiny, lovely via Benedetta; in Campo de’ Fiori, via Giulia, long and slim, a pilgrim to the Vatican and to our sacred river. In the Esquilino, Via Paolina hides, in dark silence, behind the great bulk of Santa Maria Maggiore. I often go there and while I walk along its slope in prayer, I close my eyes to meet an aunt of mine who bore the name, hair covered under a veil, in silence and grace of old times gone…

I often walk along that little street to go to the Esquilino hill where, in the covered market,  one can still buy bread as bread should be and vegetables with roots still covered in soil and oranges and grapes that have the taste of sugar and honey. So, please, imagine me strolling along in a soft Saturday morning, bright in gold and blue. You must know that right at the bottom of the via Paolina there is a little fountain where a generous cherub, only one, and little, with wings outspread on top of curly hair, gives his eternal present of water to the passers by. On both sides of the angel, a column gives protection to the holy spot. Well, not really anymore because someone, a hater of beauty, has signed one of the columns with a purple mark, that hits me in the eye whenever I am around. Enough, I said to myself, that morning, and quick and sharp, with a little cloth and water (and lots of energy) I wiped away the ugly signs of human silliness, and while I was there cleaning, under a golden sun, I heard all around me the happy flutter of the wings of the little, generous cherub, bound together, we two, in the real life of water underneath…

One of my handmade Roman bennibags...