Sanctuary
"Wherever we are content, that is our home.
There is no greater curse than the lack of contentment.
Do not open your heart to the grim silent one, guard your tongue before the garrulous fool.
When a man finds no peace within himself it is useless to seek it elsewhere. "
~ L. A. Rouchefoliocauld

I have found that difficult and intense emotions oftentimes manifest as a general overwhelmed feeling and a suffocation of sorts. This happened today and I found myself flying uptown on the number four train, moving full chat boogie up Fifth Avenue, bobbing and weaving in and out of the mass of humanity, their shopping bags and umbrellas making my movements listless, like wading through water.
Almost there, I was telling myself, almost there.
And then, I arrived. My feet hit the familiar stone steps and I walked in a diagonal line upwards, grasping the big door handle, and pulling myself into sanctuary.

Saint Patrick’s Cathedral has stood like a sigh of relief on Fifth Avenue for over a hundred years, existing today just beneath the superficial veil created by cigarette smoke and Feraud furs. Once inside there is grand stillness…except at Christmas time of course when it is just as much of a madhouse inside the chapel walls as out on the street. But on any old day, much like this past afternoon, it is relatively quiet, a steady, candle lit quiet, like a deep breath in or like shutting your eyes. There is always a pew to sit in, always a candle to be lit.This Cathedral, a sanctified spot, is seemingly out of place nestled in between Saks Fifth Ave and Cartier, places that in my mind represent symbolic capitals of decadence and surrealism. But then again, when you change the way you look at things, the things you look at change and I can imagine that those grand old stores are themselves places for peace for many people.