And then there is Sunday....

We saw our lovely friends for lunch today.

We ended up at the playground opposite a church i have walked by many times (Eglise De La Duarade), but never gone in. I think because it was meant to be today. With my newest friend. The blahs of yesterday gone and forgotten. The husbands getting on well. The children spinning, climbing and generally torturing each other on the playground equipment.

 After our trip to Rocamadour to the "Madonna Noire" i googled black Madonnas and discovered there is one here in Toulouse. With our Polish friends we had a discussion, me telling them about my story (you can read the other post here) and they told us their story of the famous black Madonna in their church in Poland. (see here)

I told you "kindred".

 We girls excused ourselves, "said we would be back in 10minutes" and went to see her. WOW ! 

She was beautiful.

My friend told me about the regal dress she wears and that it is changed at certain times. In the Polish church once a year.

The altar, painting and design are inherently feminine.

The pinks and blues soft and kind.

God & the angels looking over La Madonna serene.

This church is not popular. It is bit hard to find the entrance, dark inside and not lovingly restored like other churches i have been to in the last few months.

 Yet i love that about it.

It must be how art restorers and archaeologist must feel when they know they have found something amazing.

One day it may become popular again and be cleaned, untarnished and mended.

Until then i will take her as she is; well worn, ageing and with a deeply lived facade.

 The windows are broken and gloomy daylight the only illumination.

 The stars still shine here, even in the day.

 You know this tiny photo hardly does justice to the magnificence and vast grandness of this ceiling.

 This looks like a carving but it is painted. Chipped and graffitied.

 A painting to celebrate the arrival or "Virgin Noire".

 “Every archetype has its seasons. They come and go according to the deepest, often unconscious, needs of the psyche both personal and collective. Today the Black Madonna is returning.”

Matthew Fox, Return of the Black Madonna, ©2006

 I seek light. I am a "light hunter".

Light also has shadow and embracing the darkness helps.

To hold both in your hands and your heart is what makes us whole.

 Amazing mural clearer in the photograph.

The blurriness in the photos is due to the poor lighting and no flash. Also an unsteady hand.

Excerpt from Sue Monk Kidd, author, "I first became aware of the Black Madonna in my late thirties through the writings of Jungian analyst, Marion Woodman. It was a revelation to me that hundreds of very old Black Madonnas exist in Europe and elsewhere, and that their darkness is a legacy of ancient black goddesses. I think of the Black Madonna as the White Madonna before the church scrubbed the really interesting stuff out of her. I began to study the Black Madonna, and to travel to her pilgrimage sites, especially in France. I discovered that many of her stories and history reveal a Mary who is openly defiant in the face of oppression. In Poland, South and Central America, and other places, she has been a symbol of revolution. I decided I would create a Black Madonna for the novel (Secret Life of Bees), who had existed during slavery in the South, and that she would be a symbol of freedom and consolation."

The truth is always the truth. 

The truth of today is that we are blessed in so many ways.

The journey is challenging, tricky and sometimes unkind. 

It is worthwhile when deep love is revealed and universal truths prevail.

sparkle & twirl deeply*

Rocamadour.....

A place of wonder.

This is what i wondered bout this little village in the south west of France.....

Who were the first people to live here and think,

"Mmmm vertical rock face, perfect for a village. Lets build up."?

I understand that it has been more than two millennia of nomadic human occupation and evolution for it to get to the cite that it is today. The earliest information is set in mystery and legend.

Yet the tenacity, audacity and fortitude people have had to maintain while clinging to the side of this escarpment is hard to fathom.

There is no wonder that there are a couple of churches here. 

One must have faith, to endure. 

Also when you look out across the valley and take in the beauty of both sides, a belief in a higher power is not surprising.

The four of us made out pilgrimage as a family touring, yet i had a very awe inspired experience.

I walked away with such gratitude and peace in my heart.

How is it that a place can help you have such an inner experience?

As we arrived the bells rang out, loudly across the valley. It was Sunday after all.

Driving to Rocamadour, i asked Mr M how he knew about this place. He said when he told a friend that we were going to Toulouse, the friend replied "Rocamadour". I then asked a number of questions about how our friend knew this town. Mr M did not remember. Well, to that friend i says thank you. 

It was a grand adventure today.

 I could see this town had heart from the beginning.
The architecture, so lovingly restored. In the high season a town like this must be flooded with tourists. My experience may be heightened by the fact it was a 6degree day at the end of October and that there were not bus loads of people today.

 Shutters to die for. 

Reflection of a gloriously sunny day.

 A place to admire, to contemplate, to pray....

On the left is a smaller chapel. 

An unusual shrine, a unique statue of Mary, alongside a shrine to Rugby.

Worship is worship. In all its forms.

On the right is the larger Miracle Chapel. With the statue of the black Madonna.

I saw this sign and my thoughts went into a spin. 

"Wait, i know about this.... I've read two books this year about the black virgin....

One of my aunts gave me a book for my birthday called Travelling with Pomegranates by Sue Monk Kidd. I read it, on out last holiday, as we drove 3000km across Australia. 

She is the same author who wrote Secret Life of Bees. Oh my goodness...

So now it held a personal connection.

As well as fictional characters, i had fallen in love with & interesting facts about these Madonnas, i could feel parallels within my own life lining up.

The natural curve of the rock sheltering the building, while the building is sheltering the pilgrims.

The angelic shielding the weary, heavy hearted & brave.

It was not really noticeable but there are skeletons painted onto the wall to the right of the door. 

Like graffiti from the middle ages. Kind of creepy.

I guess the elements of heaven & hell. Human & divine. 

I entered through the door, 500years old? On the wall was a list of the miracles that have been recorded here.
This is  a good idea to record your miracles. I think i might start a list and put it on my fridge.
This place was aglow with candle light. the ceiling joined with the cliff wall. A strange effect, the reverence of a church with the nature of exposed rock.

Sunlight illuminating the stained glass. Angels watching over us.

The kids just wanted to light a candle. Their dad scooped them up and steered them toward the main chapel. The tears welled up. All that i had read was real in an instant. The history, the energy, the stories slammed into my heart. I had no thoughts, just this strong feeling that i was somewhere familiar.

The black Madonna here oversees the miracles of saved ships. There are many ship models displayed.

This Madonna sits in a boat. I light my candle and shut my eyes like she is.

The tears spilled down my cheeks.

I was her, she knew me. 

The traditional Mary stood along side her shadow.

The contrast of light & dark. 

Both illuminating.

There she was.

I sat, and was filled with gratitude.

All of my struggles, frailty, joy sat on a throne before me.

I was the mother, the daughter, creator and muse.

They were singing "Halleluja" 

They were waiting for me outside.

I am blessed.

sparkle & twirL*