#messes

[rome-et-vatican]

Messe et confession au cœur du Vatican — mode d’emploi serein

Guide des confessions et messes au Vatican — tout pour vivre un moment liturgique ou sacramentel sans stress. Lieux clés : Basilique Saint‑Pierre (entrée principale, Place Saint‑Pierre), chapelles internes, et églises paroissiales voisines comme San Pellegrino in Vaticano. Horaires usuels : messes quotidiennes matin et fin d’après‑midi à la basilique; messes dominicales plus nombreuses; liturgies papales et audiences sur réservation gratuite (billets requis, forte affluence). Confessions : gratuites, multilingues, disponibles dans des confessionnaux et zones dédiées de la basilique; horaires variables selon le calendrier—vérifier sur place. Coûts indicatifs : entrée basilique gratuite; montée de la coupole, musées et audioguides payants. Réservations recommandées pour musées et messes papales; pas nécessaires pour la plupart des confessions. Conseils : tenue décente, arriver en avance, respecter silence et files, prévenir besoin d’accessibilité. Alternatives proches pour éviter l’attente : petites paroisses du Borgo et églises près du Vatican.

[total-derangement-of-the-senses]

Song of the Day

28 Jan., ‘26

[junecoast]

When she met me I had given up trying to be seen. I had folded myself so small over the years, a constant turning of corners until even I couldn’t find myself. I had stopped raising my hackles at every sound, I had stopped looking for the sun. I had given up trying to be seen. I hid from life, small in my own pocket. But then I met her, and she saw me. And we sat together and unfolded my corners, day by day. In the hours we would stay awake whispering in the night. In the moments we laid in bed with our faces pressed together, cheek to cheek. On the train, holding onto the same pole and looking each other in the eye. In the summer, sweating while we install our AC unit. In the winter, when we feel every blanket at Marshall’s to see which will keep us the most warm. In the morning, when I make her portion of coffee before she’s even home from work. In the evening, when I am missing her in sleep. I met her and she saw me, without even trying. Like I had always been in her line of sight. And now I open the window and turn toward the sun, just to feel it on my face. Not worrying if I feel a crease from my old folded corners. Not worrying if I am seen.

[junecoast]

Sometimes something will hit just right and I clench my fist under the table. I remind myself where I am, and what it took to get here. I remind myself there was a point that I didn’t think I could get here. But the sun shines, the cats rub against my legs and my wife smiles. The rest feels like a blur. It’s been four years since I stopped drinking and I never regret it. I look back and clench my fist when I remember that wild pain. How it took over everything, felt like everything. My entire being composed of the singular trauma of fractured childhood. How it felt like my soul was rewired those years. I was caught before I could become a person and twisted; something always off. I take my medicine and it takes the edge off. Sometimes I feel like I killed that version of myself and left her behind. Other times I can feel her clawing behind my eyes. It takes me actual years, over a decade, to accept that I’ll never be without her. That my past is truly branded into my entire being, no matter how many years separate. Sometimes I still watch videos of people with their parents and my heart starts to ache so badly that I’m afraid it will burst. But it doesn’t, and I move on. I keep moving on, every day and every year. I wake up somewhere they have never been, and they rarely ask how I’m doing. Maybe one day they won’t even recognize me anymore. And sometimes that hurts so badly, but it is not everything. The sun still shines. Brooklyn is turning over to fall, we keep our windows open. I knit in front of the tv while I rewatch Greys Anatomy. I let the hurt sit in my stomach and then I let it pass, because it always passes. The life I built with my own two hands always shines through.

[kitdunsmore]

Making Messes Leads to Success

Last week, I actually got back to work on “The Gift of Sensitivity,” my Princess and the Pea diorama. It was yet another reminder that befor

[jaydove-writes]

Our cat just made a mess at 6:20 AM with my partner's beads.

[junecoast]

I always knew I was good. I held it tightly in my hand, behind my back or under the table. I kept it under my tongue and in the back of my mind. I knew I was good. Deep down, I knew it. I kept that so close to me that I was afraid to say it out loud, even when the coast was clear. Even when I left the first time, even when I left the second time. Every single Mother’s Day and Father’s Day I wrote myself a card in my head, remembering that I was good. I was good to myself. I become so on edge over the years and my goodness is held so tightly in my hand that I’m afraid I’ve lost it. I look for every exit, I drink continuously and I let them tell me I am bad. But I know that I am good, it is somewhere in me. I haven’t lost it, but I am scared to say it outloud. I don’t feel safe enough to be good. The first heartbreak of my life being biological rewired me in ways that left me feeling off. But I knew it was good. The moment to be free wouldn’t come for years. And sometimes it feels so natural that I forget there was so much time of such deep suffering. But the heat is finally breaking in New York City and we take our air conditioner out so the cats can have the window back. My wife and I touch our feet together because we have Covid and that deems the safest form of touch, and I have to touch her. I crochet us a blanket while she writes in her journal and we watch Dexter from the start. I feel the safest I have ever felt, enough to lessen the grip of my hand. Enough to let my goodness out.