The Realm of Spirit

Chief Druids were those who, from childhood, had demonstrated an intimate awareness of the Otherworld. Its mysteries were not mysteries to them; its patterns were carved into their bones. They could move in and out of the realm of spirit, seeing that to which others were blind.

Morgan Llywelyn, Brendan

If there’s anything I love as much as graveyards, it’s cathedrals. Or any site of worship really. The two are almost always inextricably entwined and the older the better. Though regardless of their age, they are always filled with stories.

These places seem to inhabit the veil between this world and another. As if…if you just listened hard enough, stayed still enough, you could hear and see a glimpse of the other side.

Though I could wax poetically on this forever, I thought that today I would return to my France travelogue with the tale of one cathedral in particular: Bayeux.

I know it has been a while since my last entry from my travels. So, grab a hot (or cold) drink of your choice and come away with me, just for a few moments, to Bayeux, France.

Bayeux cathedral was…spectacular. I know that might sound disingenuous considering that by this point in my life I had been to innumerable such buildings of all different shapes and sizes. You’d think I’d be bored of them.

But I just find each of these soaring palaces of worship so breathtakingly beautiful. And unique. It’s as if the architect of each and every one really inserted his (I’m assuming no ‘or her’ is necessary here based on the time period though I could be wrong) heart and soul into the project. Though this particular cathedral was another “Notre Dame”, and parts of it were clearly inspired by its more famous cousin, it still managed to stand out in its beauty.

But, as always, there was a slightly creepy factor as well (if simultaneously an intriguing one). One of the challenges I always encounter when walking around old churches is that I can never be quite sure where people are buried. As a rule, I hate the thought of treading on someone’s final resting place. It’s not that I necessarily believe in the superstitions that surround this idea – though a small part of me does. It’s more that I feel it’s slightly disrespectful than because I’m worried the person’s restless soul will haunt me forever.

I know this is all very irrational. After all, no matter where you place your feet on this earth, you’re likely disturbing the eternal rest of at least one of the billions of people who have gone before us. And more than likely several of them.

In Canada, for example, so many of our cities are at least partially built on ancient burial grounds that far pre-date any European settlements. Too many humans have lived and died on this planet for this to be entirely avoidable. Though that statement is not to excuse the blatant disregard colonists have had historically for the remains of Indigenous people. Willful desecration is something else entirely.

But I digress…

The reason the thought of walking over someone’s bones was so front-of-mind in the cathedral was because there was a constant likelihood of walking over a spot where someone’s mortal remains were clearly marked with an ornate plaque on the floor, however worn and smoothed by centuries of footsteps. This, to me, felt exponentially more disrespectful.

All this to say, I found myself tiptoeing around the whole time, always looking at my feet to make sure I wasn’t disturbing someone’s eternal rest. It was a hard balancing act between that and looking up and around at all the amazing stained glass windows and soaring architecture of the nave. Hard choice…the beauty of the present or, potentially, the horror of a future filled with haunting reminders of the past courtesy of some pissed off ghost. I attempted to avoid the latter but who knows if I was truly successful.

Also creepy, in a way, though I absolutely loved it was the crypt underneath the church’s choir. From my experience, most cathedrals have these though they’re often closed to the public. For safety reasons usually. This one in particular, if I remember correctly, had been rediscovered when renovations were being done on the cathedral only a few centuries ago. I’m not all that clear on what this means, really. Were they sealed off? Or completely filled in? How much excavation work did it take to make them accessible again? So many questions. I had made a note in my travel diary at this point to do some research on this after the trip? Did I? Nope. If you have any further information, please enlighten me.

At any rate, when I saw they were open for exploration, I obviously had to go down and take a look. OK, I took more than a look. I was down there for quite a while. I confess that I find such places fascinating (geez, for someone people compare to a Disney princess…I have some dark interests). Crypts are dark, sure, and a little foreboding, but when I walk around them, I can’t help but let my imagination run completely wild as I think of all the things that may have occurred in such a secret and sacred place. What have its walls witnessed? Clandestine meetings? Revolutionary plots? Hushed burials? Banned rites hidden from the clergy? Mourning family members? Celebrations of life? So many possibilities in such a little place.

On the pillars and the walls were so many half-broken murals telling stories long-forgotten. There were also a few burial nooks down in the crypt, which are always neat to see. I can’t for the life of me remember right now who they were. Probably various bishops, but again intriguing. And to see them in such a dark and silent place – there’s something hauntingly magical about it.

I basically stayed down there for hours, letting my mind run in whatever direction it would spurred on by the force of the atmospheric inspiration until a couple of extremely loud tourists interrupted my thought process by stomping down into the crypt with no regard for the sanctity of the place.

Before they entered, however, I could have sworn I felt a light breeze on my face. Odd in such an enclosed place. I’m no druid but, who knows, maybe if I had remained uninterrupted I might have been permitted a glance at the ever-present realm of the spirit. That to which others are blind.

Regardless which realm you inhabit, remember, life (and, perhaps the afterlife) is beautiful.

xo Erin