A series of essays....
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| LIGHTING A CANDLE SYMBOLIZES SAYING A PRAYER FOR SOMEONE |
By: Jacqueline E Hughes
The massive doors stood wide open as the young girl, walking behind her parents, enters the cathedral. She feels a bit strange and realizes she has been holding her breath since the sunny outside courtyard pushed her from behind into this darkened world of flickering candles and explosion of echoed whispers. The sudden darkness was making her head spin and eyes dilate in the struggle to adjust. She stops, momentarily, to gain her composure and learn how to breathe, once again. Exhale, inhale, exhale she tells herself. In all of her eleven years of life, she never expected to feel so unsettled and awestruck as she was at this very moment.
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| THE MASSIVE DOORS AND ORNATE ARCHWAYS OF THE NOTRE DAME CATHEDRAL |
Her mother’s white sweater serves as a beacon of light and her lower body decides to rigidly move towards it, one small step at a time. Her eyes become more adjusted to the living shadows that crisscross before her in random patterns. It’s so dark, so dark, she thinks and moves in the direction of the table of tall, white candles with golden flames dancing like a hundred Tinker Bells before her eyes. The candlelight begins to provide a comforting, warm feeling and she moves closer to it while keeping the familiar sweater in sight.
The girl is greeted by an erratic wax landscape that thickly coats the metallic table standing a few feet away from her. The constant flow of melting wax reminds her of white lava flowing down a mountainside and then solidifies in dribs and drabs as it eventually cools down. Each white taper stands at least a foot tall and is nestled in its own holder keeping it upright while the wax flows down, down and coats the table with its pure whiteness.
Mom and dad stand head to head several feet away. Mom’s face looks very sad when dad whispers something into her ear and hugs her, gently. She shouldn’t feel sad. We’re here! We made it!
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| TALL, WHITE TAPER CANDLES MADE OF BEESWAX LIT IN HOMAGE OF LOVED ONES |
Holding an unlit taper in her right hand, she drifts into a world of remembrances including the crazy view from the observation deck of the Tower the day before. Pictures she’d seen in books could never compare to the real deal; the flow of buildings as far as the eye could see that radiated out from its base and made her feel as dizzy as the height of the Tower itself did. Her eyes settling at the waistlines of most of the compacted crowd, feeling crushed alive as they pushed towards the elevators and their caged decent to ground level.
Sitting at the base of the Arch feeling hot and worn down, she recalls what seemed like an innumerable amount of cars racing around her, around the Arch, spewing gasoline fumes while looking like lost souls trying to find their way home. Dad taking touristy pictures of her wearing the black, woolen beret recently purchased at the shop on the corner. And, walking, walking with Mom and Dad around this enormous city filled with its August heat, foreign words, and virtual sea of people. She began to understand that the three of them were tourists (time travelers, if you will) who were in constant awe of the breadth and depth of this timeless city.
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| THE INNER BEAUTY OF NOTRE DAME, AN ANCIENT CATHEDRAL |
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| THE SPIRITUAL WORLD OF FLICKERING CANDLES AND ECHOED WHISPERS |
Shaking herself back into the present, the girl knows why and for whom she is about to light her candle, say a small prayer for, and then place it among the hundreds of other souls now flickering in the holy darkness. She suddenly knows why her mother seemed so sad before and her father’s kind whisper was meant to soothe the hurt away.
Directing the wick towards another flickering light, suddenly her candle burst into the golden flame that represents her own grandmother, her mother’s mother, who had passed away not long before. May her soul be lifted up to you, sweet God, and help my mom know that grandma is okay at your side. The girl did not like seeing her mother so sad. She thought about how much she loves and misses her grandma, too.
Walking around the end of the table, she quickly slips a one franc coin into the slit of the collection box. Snuggling between her parents, she wraps one small arm around each of their waists; her bright, white sneakers directing the threesome further into the depths of the Notre Dame Cathedral and the many layers of religion, culture, and history that has symbolized French identity for over 850 years.
Please stay safe and think about a healthy future for everyone. VOTE!
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| OUT OF THE FLAMES— SHE WILL RISE ONCE AGAIN! |
Copyright © 2020 by Jacqueline E Hughes
All rights reserved
