Pillows of Salt and Sand..

Brand new sounds for my beloved Coldplay. Audacious, experimental, fresh, impressive. "Viva la Vida and Death or Death and All His Friends" is currently my favourite album - I have been listening to it for over a month now repetedly and totally enjoyed the discovery of increasingly more profound meanings and interesting musical nouànce. We have been singing "Lost!", as an anthem of hope and rebirth, sweetly, "Lovers in Japan" and, as singing "Viva la Vida" ... perplexedly stopped at the enigma over what it could mean..

Before I tell you what I think, I would like to hear what you make of this song - unabridged, spontaneous, unconditional. My next post is already written.. I value your opinion.



I used to rule the world
Seas would rise when I gave the word
Now in the morning I sleep alone
Sweep the streets I used to own

I used to roll the dice
Feel the fear in my enemies eyes
Listen as the crowd would sing:
"Now the old king is dead! Long live the king!"

One minute I held the key
Next the walls were closed on me
And I discovered that my castles stand
Upon pillars of salt, and pillars of sand

I hear Jerusalem bells are ringing
Roman Cavalry choirs are singing
Be my mirror my sword and shield
My missionaries in a foreign field
For some reason I can not explain
Once you know there was never, never an honest word
That was when I ruled the world

It was the wicked and wild wind
Blew down the doors to let me in.
Shattered windows and the sound of drums
People could not believe what I'd become
Revolutionaries Wait
For my head on a silver plate
Just a puppet on a lonely string
Oh who would ever want to be king?

I hear Jerusalem bells are ringing
Roman Cavalry choirs are singing
Be my mirror my sword and shield
My missionaries in a foreign field
For some reason I can not explain
I know Saint Peter won't call my name
Never an honest word
And that was when I ruled the world

Hear Jerusalem bells are ringings
Roman Cavalry choirs are singing
Be my mirror my sword and shield
My missionaries in a foreign field
For some reason I can not explain
I know Saint Peter will call my name
Never an honest word
But that was when I ruled the world

Stuck in a Moment...

3.37 am. I came home early tonight, even skipped youth (so out of character for me to dishonour my commitments), opted for a relaxing night in and the opportunity to catch up on some long yearned sleep. Vain efforts, of course. Chris Martin’s words from “Fix You” are tormentingly resounding in my head, yet nothing seems to be able to fix me. After three chamomile teas, a hot bath, two movies, prayer and endless tears go and explain to my old pastor back in Naples that Christians don’t have trouble sleeping! Of course, there is something profoundly calming and peaceful about living in the knowledge of God’s care and protection (Psalm 5 springs to mind ‘in peace I will lay down; and in peace shall I sleep because you, oh Lord, make me rest in safety’) Nevertheless, this truth does not change our human condition. As real people living in a real world, religious and non-religious people alike experience an often painfully tearing dualism. Don't take this harshly, but I am not looking for answers and empathetic support. Guess I am simply trying to articulate what is clouding my blessed, wonderful life. Baring my soul, feeling as naked and vulnerable as a desperate woman bent on her knees, sobbing and crying in the middle of the street at night as her mascara is running down her face and a malevolent cold breeze is blowing her fine dress, which feels like dirty rags, away. There is no pity in that wind, so she feels yet the cool breeze is a wispy awakening call of an inner sense of Hope that speaks Life even in the lowest pits. That's what tonight feels like.
I first bought the album X&Y, which includes the song 'Fix You', around about the same time I moved to Manchester. I had only just graduated and I felt on the top of the world. I was an idealistic day dreamer who believed that if you work hard and honestly and honour God in all you do, life will be good. I suppose you could say that I haven't changed an inch over the past two years. Despite an increased sense of cynicism and sarcasm, a natural defence mechanism perhaps, I so desperately want to believe that 'there must be more than this'. For all the failiures, I want to learn to stand up again more and more quickly; for all the disillusionment, I want to become even more loving; for all the tears, I will seek to smile my heart out; I will learn to continue to love even what is lost, because it is only things which break beyond repair. On the contrary, hearts and emotions can be mended; therefore I shall persue unconditonal Love; for all the sleepless nights, I will post about it - express my fears, insecurities, self-perceived sense of failure and persue Beauty, pant for Grace.

*At the top of the page, Salvador Dali "The Persistence of Memory"(1931)
On the left, an iconic image of Sofia Loren in Vittorio De Sica's "La Ciociara" (1960) based on a wonderful novel by Alberto Moravia.

'Painting the Town...Green'

Little did I know about Manchester before I moved over here. The stronghold of northern Englishness, red bricked terraced houses,'English bulldogs' fuelled by a sturdy diet of 'sausages,chips & mushy peas', is actually the hub of multicultural Britain. From the renowned Rusholme Curry Mile to the festive Chinise New Year celebrations in the town centre, Manchester masterly embraces, fuses and showcases a number of ethnic groups, cultures and customs over the traditionally suggestive backdrop of typically Victorian architecture and reminiscences of an industrial scenery. Fast moving, vibrant, tollerant, progressive and remarkably open to change and modernization are traits of a city that moves on without ever discrediting its own origins and history.
About 200 years ago a wave of Irish emigrants touched the Mancunian shores and made their permanent residency there, merging with the locals and giving the city a whole new identity. If you speak to any of the kids in our youth club, they all claim Irish ancestors of some sort or have Irish family names - despite wearing hoodies and sounding remarkably Manc! Saturday, as you all know, it was Paddy's Day (St Patrick's) - the biggest celebration in Manchester after Christmas - go figure! It was also my friend's birthday, which kinda got overshadowed by this sea of drunken, leprechaun-like, green-wearing Mancs, ghastly resembling the damned spirits out of Dante Alighieri's Hell. * (By the way, 'HAPPY BIRTHDAY,MY LOVE,I SHALL MISS YOU LOADS WHEN YOU ARE GONE!') So I find myself having to deal with all these drunken idiots, police everywhere and not the sign of a free taxi for over an hour in the freezing cold at past 2 o'clock in the morning...no wander I have such a nasty cold today!More than a merry parade for an Irish saint, it reminded me of reading in my high-school geography book about the Belfast riots in the 70's! However, Manchester's inclusive attitude to cultural diversity does not stop at geographical multeity, but it extends as far as religious beliefs, culinary preferences and sexual inclinations. The prominent gay village is one of the most flourishing areas of town, blossoming with restaurants, pubs and clubs able to cater for all preferences. I left Italy as a traditionalist lefty, stiff-upper-lip perfectionist and opinionated religious young girl. I then moved to England to study theology and left Bible college with more passion and enthusiasm for God, yet more questions and an increased sense of grace than I ever had. Having analysed the Scriptures, philosophy and human kind inside out, I was left with a sense of wonder, disappointment, love, beauty, hope and back. I then moved to Manchester and encountered a variety of cultures which paradoxically surpassed any from my extensive travels. From 'judgmental little prat' to working and living in an environment surrounded by members of the gay community where, suddenly, being 'heterosexual and Christian' was abnormal...what a journey! Now 'judging' has all of a sudden become harder. It is much easier to make assumptions and judgements about people you don't know or don't care about. However, Manchester has actually taught me a lot more about Christianity than it meets the eye: this city, like what is at the essence of my faith,it's a place where strangers become brothers and enemies are embraced into a friendly hug. Where you can, if you want, become 'one of the crowd' but where, even staying at the fringes, you can still experience the ripples of God's love.