Let There Be Peace

48 Dreams Left on the Way to Completing 101 Dreams Come True

On September 11, 2010,  I stood at the Sacramento Cathedral steps, the setting sun illuminating the church spires in pink, as white doves were released over the crowd. A soft song of "Let There Be Peace On Earth" was sung, as one by one, people placed roses on the Quran in blessing. Religious leaders from the Bahia, Jewish, Muslim, Catholic, Spiritual Life, Hindu, and different Christian religions read passages of peace from the Quran. The crowd was just as diverse, coming together in the understanding if we're to have peace on earth then prejudice must come to an end.

The ceremony was an attempt to heal the hurt caused by a man in Florida who called for the Quran to be burned. As I looked around the crowd, who stood together in a vision of a world united by differences instead of disgraced by ignorance, I was surrounded by hope.

When I made my list of 101 Dreams Come True, I wrote that I wanted to bring all faiths together in an open discussion for understanding. At the time, I wasn't part of organized religion but had my own spirituality that I hold to this day (though I'm now part of a Franciscan church). I didn't have contact with any Muslims, so my only knowledge of the Islamic faith was what I'd seen on newscasts, movies, and what I'd heard from other people. If I'm completely honest, I had prejudice towards many organized faiths (Catholicism being one) that I hadn't recognized.

But as I've searched for ways to make this dream come true of bringing faiths together, I've become part of the Interfaith Service Bureau of Sacramento that's opened my heart and mind to many religions: I've shared Ramadan in my Catholic Church; gone to Iftar at the SALAM center; prayed with Muslims in a mosque; taken a class on Monotheism led by Christian leaders, Rabbis, and an Imam; meditated with Unitarians; done Yoga with Hindus; walked through Potala Palace with a Buddhist monk; attended Non-denominational services; and have become an active member of my church. As I've studied faith, I've realized that all religions are based on the same ideals: a higher power; love; treating others better than we expect to be treated; and that humans so often get it wrong and need a little help along the way.


I have to wonder, if we're similar in our basic beliefs then why do we have a bloody history when it comes to religion? The only answer I have is that ideas are formed in ignorance and then passed along. It's only in learning and sharing with one another that we can end this horrible history of hate. For when people come together in peace, no matter what the faith, it brings forth love, understanding, and friendship. And isn't that what life is all about?

Photos on this blog were done by James Tennery. To see more photos of the event go to his gallery.

A Tiny Village In Tuscany

787 Days to Complete 101 Dreams Come True

Green rolling hills spread in every direction. Yellow flowers decorated waves of grass as the sunlight created light and shadows along the fields. Groves of olive trees, their silvery leaves shimmering, met rows of vines. I looked out over the vast landscape to the castle on top of the hill. Soriano nel Cimino,  Viterbo Italy, my home for the next ten days.

Unlike when I spent a week in Florence, where tourists marched through the city daily, and locals spoke english, now I'm in a small village untouched by time itself. Each day after exploring the region, the bus drops me  at the bottom of the hill and I begin the long climb up ancient stone stairs, past stucco and stone buildings with bright-colored laundry hanging from the clothesline.

In the square people stare at me. There are no calls of, "Ciao, Bella". Instead, this is a place where everyone has grown up together. Small shops with flowers, shoes, and clothing along with cars that move up and down the cobblestone streets are the only sign that I'm not in the 17th century. People call to one another, each person knowing the other in the town. Teenagers sit in the piazza that overlooks the Tuscan valley, bored of their small village and dreaming of someday leaving. Yet, there is a real community here of family. There isn't one tourist shop with t-shirts or calendars. The only hotel is the one I'm staying in and it's only been in the village for eight years. It has eighteen rooms decorated with the original frescoes.

I pass the square and climb another hill. Here I stop for vegetables in the produce shop, cheese from the butcher, and pasta at the place where the old woman smiles at me and says, "Bella" each time I come in.

Back at the hotel I walk the wide stone steps to the lounge where I look out across the village to the castle high on the hill. Once an Etruscan fort, (the original Tuscan people) the Romans turned it into a prison and now it stands empty. At night it is illuminated for all to see.

The closest town of Viterbo is a half hour drive. Another medieval town, but one that has modernized its outskirts. Here people can go to the cinema and shop in malls. Large supermarkets are available. Other small towns in the surrounding area have large gardens such as Villa Lente in Bagnaia. At one time, the popes ran from persecution in Rome and designed this area with duomos and gardens.

But here in Soriano, there is a simpler life - one that Rome has left untouched. It is a place of long walks and time sitting in the square. Men smoke and drink coffee while they retell stories. And everywhere I look is a view of the Tuscan valley below.

My brain has shut down. I have no desire to do anything but eat and take in the scenery - to walk the streets at night in the quiet. At the hotel, I've met wonderful people who have become friends for the week as we've explored the region. Most of all, I've gotten into my Italy mode - a time where I taste life more deeply and slowly.

The Perfect Day in Paris

I woke to the sound of rain against the balcony of my apartment and thought that the day would be spent inside at the Louvre. I'd been lucky up until this point, the only rain I'd encountered was my travel day from London to Paris. Blue, sunny skies had forced spring to bloom and each day on my walk to the Metro, the leaves and flowers poked their heads from beneath their buds.  I thought my luck had run out, but by noon, after I finished my laundry and a bit of work, the skies cleared and sunshine sparkled off the rain drops on the plants making the world look fairy-like.

I put on a spring dress and a sweater and went to the Luxemburg gardens, which turned out to be my favorite place in Paris. The Luxemburg Palace seemed more like a country estate in the middle of a city than a palace. I sat by the fountain watching the children feed the ducks and parents play with toddlers. Locals lounged in chairs, their arms bared to the sun soaking in the warm light. In the last few days I've barely stopped, sometimes being on my feet for over seven hours. Here I relaxed, eating bread and cheese. When I finally rose to walk around the gardens I spent an hour smelling the flowers, watching men and women play bocci in the square, and for the first time I felt a part of Parisian life instead of a tourist.

The sky was still blue as I left the gardens and made my way to St. Supuis and St. Germain, two churches within the Latin District. I have to say, though lovely, I've had my fill of being inside beautiful, old churches after being in Italy last year and then seeing five churches these past few weeks. As I left St. Germain, I saw the dark clouds moving towards me. Since I'd left my umbrella at home I figured I would shop until the rain hit and then wherever I was I would take cover. I roamed through the artisan market next to St. Germain, made my way through bright-colored shops of fancy clothing, costume jewelry, and perfume forcing myself to behave as I found the ultimate shopping in Paris - the Latin Quarter. Here, I could afford the prices and the items were unique and to my liking, but still there was the issue of room in the suitcase.

As I turned down a small side street, the sound of thunder shook the buildings and I ran for the nearest cover - an ice cream shop. I love gelato. I ate it twice per day while in Italy, and I never thought a gelato could rival that of Michelangelo's Piazza's gelatori in Florence - but Amorino in Paris is actually better. As the rain came down in sheets, I sat outside under the umbrellas eating double chocolate and cherry cream. I took in my surroundings: the patter of the rain, the cobblestone streets, the floral shop, the Paris architecture, the brassiere and patisseries while I savored my dessert and thought, wow, here I am - this couldn't be any better.

The rain stopped and I walked around the Latin Quarter peeking in shops until I found the temptation that broke me. A store called Parfums had unique, feminine clothing all hand-sewn and designed by the woman who owned the shop. I tried on a dress that didn't look quite right. The woman shook her head and brought me three different outfits that all fit my body perfectly. "Tres Jolie," she said with each spin I took in the mirror. I added the amounts, did the conversion and realized I could afford the splurge, but could my suitcase? NO, but I couldn't leave the skirt and dress behind. I'm in Paris, shopping has to be part of my experience, so I bought them.

I left with my fancy shopping bag and made my way to the Seine. As I crossed the pedestrian bridge and looked towards Notre Dame, a rainbow appeared. I mean come on, how more perfect could the day get? I smelled the fresh air, I watched the people, I strolled to Notre Dame and took pictures as the sun set. I made my way to the Isle de la Cite and spent another hour perusing quaint, bright shops, trying to speak french to the shopkeepers who thought I was local.

As night fell, I walked from the low-lit Hotel de Ville, along the Seine to the Louvre. I sat inside the Palace looking at the candlelit facade as I listened to a man play the cello. And in that moment I felt that life was perfect.

Impressionism and a Whirlwind Tour

801 Days to Complete 101 Dreams Come True

"Art is an abstraction; take it from nature while dreaming in front of it." Paul Guaguin

I love the Impressionists. As Robert put it, on my first night in Paris, "Most art is religious or stern portraits of royalty. Most paintings were created to show sacrifice or power. The Impressionist are colorful, bright pictures that make you feel alive."

What he says is true. Impressionism brings the softness of every day life to a place in your heart. With swishes of paint it reflects the light and color of the world. Instead of demanding you see the hard lines of reality, it blurs the landscapes into something serene and almost touchable, as if the world is in a constant state of peace.

To walk the halls of art lined with Monet, Degas, Renoir, and Van Gogh has once again left me in awe of my life. I'm so blessed.

It's wild to watch the other travelers rush through the museum. They stop at each painting for a brief moment and then move on. It's hard for me to understand how they can do this since I find it almost painful to look away knowing that I won't see these masterpieces again for many years.

I've noticed the rushing is true of many tourists, not just with art, but also with the great scenery of the world. I remember sitting at the Grand Canyon and watching people walk up to the edge, take dozen of photos, and then say, "Let's get some ice cream." I wonder if our fast-paced regular life has left humans with the inability to really experience the greatness this world has to offer. I think it's been forgotten how to stop and take in the present moment and in that the memory of how to really live is lost.

Paris is full of tour buses. The tour leaders sit up front pointing out the important buildings and monuments while half the passengers are fast asleep from exhaustion. This is the way most travelers see the world - whirlwind tours set to tight time schedules that leave little space for the unexpected. I want to yell at them to get off the bus and out from the hordes that follow leaders holding up closed umbrellas. Get out and experience the city you're in. Realize you're blessed to be standing in front of true magnificence and take more than a second to soak it in.

Okay enough of my rant for the day.

After the museum I walked to Notre Dame and began to stroll along the Seine to take in the setting sun and the way the light hits the buildings casting a golden hue across the facades. Within moments I was joined by a man named David. He spoke french and I forced the wheels of my memory to move as I listened. Actually, my french began to return a few nights before when an annoying man followed me to my hotel insisting I give him my phone number. Suddenly, my bitch came on 'en francais'. To my surprise he clearly understood what I said and ran away. So when David approached I could actually ask him in french to speak slower so I could understand. He did slow but I learned that David didn't take life at a relaxed pace.

Within moments he had my hand and was racing me through the streets of Paris showing me Hotel de Ville, the best chocolate shop in Paris, and the Royal Palace. He grabbed my camera, snapping pictures of me and then handed it to a woman to take a picture of the two of us. He danced me in the streets, hugged me to him, all the while kissing my cheek as I ducked and swerved my head so as not to be kissed on the lips. His enthusiasm was contagious as he had me laughing while he tried to enrich my knowledge of the french language and pretended we were going to go for a swim in the Seine.

He insisted we take the boat ride along the Seine, but I was tired and hungry by this time and ready to call it a night. I bid him adieu with a kiss on the cheek and made my way across the Seine to home.