The Arms That Hold You

There is safety in the presence of those who know you. There is an ease, an understanding… but in that established approval of each other, you can’t hide behind whoever it is you choose to be around new people. Old friends keep you naked, keep you honest.

 Since we last spoke, I transitioned from Costa Rica, a place overflowing with new life, surrounded by new friends to Rome, one of the oldest cities in the world, reintroduced to old friends, all sharing a new experience, swimming against the current of the past. 

Last week I walked into Sant’Ignazio of Loyola Church. The song “I Will Be Blessed” by Ben Howard began playing in my earbuds, tickling my brain through my ears. My breath sunk and my cheeks stung. I felt like the place was revolving around me, in all its years, in every soul that has stepped on the same marble where I stood. In a place entirely unlike Costa Rica, I felt the carvings and the frescos sink into me with the same mysterious wisdom as the mountains and trees did.

It seemed like something, someone, whatever you believe in was involved in that moment because I listened to the same song for the first time on my last night in Costa Rica. I hiked to a hilltop overlooking the farm’s cow pasture. I sat on the grass, my arms wrapped around my knees watching the sun melt below the mountain. In my ear, the song hummed, “heaven is the arms that hold us long before we go.” Then, for me, the arms were nature; long, vast, hopeful, clean- aired rainforest. Monteverde in all its untouched green beauty hugged me and loved me and told me that I have to do what I can during my blip on Earth to protect and appreciate nature. 

The second time this song played in the church, it echoed differently. The environment in Costa Rica was so pure, so untouched that I was clear. Rome is a city that asks questions, it is dripping in the incredible capabilities of human intelligence and creativity. There’s a constant biting here, an eerie nearness that never reaches. I think it has to do with the dense history of the city and the people I’m here with who are a part of my short but crowded past. A past I can travel from but always rests in me. It’s a powerful confrontation, realizing you take yourself with you wherever you go. 

I am lucky enough to feel like heaven, or goodness, or relief, or whatever the different names we have for the same thing, exist in so much of my living life… in my friends, in my family, in the music I love, in the art I observe, in the green mountains that tower over me and the gilded churches that make me feel so small and so far away from whatever destination it is I’m supposed to reach. In every feeling: euphoric, conflicted, alone, loved… I’m held by all of it.