In early Fall, I had the pleasure of visiting Barcelona and taking a trip to Montserrat. It means, “serrated mountain” in Catalan and its massive mountain range is spell bounding. It attracts various people: some come to escape the city, attend religious pilgrimages, metaphysical pursuits, and others want to know what exactly is the “spiritual heart of Catalonia”. Montserrat houses the La Morenata, the Black Madonna, and high on the mountain sits the 11th Century Santa Maria de Montserrat Abbey.
My time there was stepping into a vortex away, miles and miles above sea level.
When I first get there, the mountains are foreign. Vocabulary I cannot use and a part of me holds back. Bulbous peaks like alien guardians or monsters loom above the villages and feel intrusive, scary.
Yet looking at the intricacies of the architecture miles and miles above sea level, the passion for the Divine by the Moors, Persians, and Romans is inescapable.
The feat to build seems impossible, but yet. And yet.
In the air, no static or stickiness lingers.
The smell of sun on rocks, earth and metal
meld crisp and clean the higher I go.
At each hour after midnight, the monastery bells ring.
Low and full, the sound flies off stone from each direction,
an echo hangs in the air.
Then a new bell rings overlapping the first,
creating a rhythm.
Soon, with each new bell- the knocking is so loud,
I clean off cobwebs, turn off the static, and
Open the door.
Here,
Gives the soul room to see for itself.
For me, the Divine is felt in every pore.
Even the rocks hold prayers
And they say,
“Grace”.
Photography by Leonidas Jaramillo
Words 