Photos from Paris: Notre Dame

This entry is part 8 of 20 in the series Analog Tweets from Paris

[stextbox id=”info”]My partner Mike and I went to Paris last month. These are shots captured. Also reference the Analog Tweets from Paris series, as this may give you some context. The shots/slides are available to view on Flickr, and are hidden behind a cut so as not to make Livejournal explode.[/stextbox]


The prayer in this video is to get across what the cathedral masons aimed for. I lit a candle at the altar of Saint Joan D’arc. It was weirdly emotional for me; of course I know her story and her terrible ending, and of course I think martyrdom is a lousy idea in general. Still, it did feel like she was present, waiting, and like we shared something in common. I petitioned her to make the world a better place for women because I’m genuinely scared by the rising tide of misogyny issued forth from women and men. Maybe she heard me – Amanda Knox was freed this week, Saudi women will vote in 2015, and Slutwalk Minneapolis happened last week and was only objected to on the grounds of its name. I’m willing to consider a saint heard me. I converse with gods, spirits and angels and insist on behaving as it’s just one more conversation with one more kind of person and absolutely not some form of madness – so why not saints? Technically talking to them is more socially approved.

I love cathedrals. They’re comforting, and lovely – Minneapolis has two of them. There’s always this sense of divine presence that never has anything to do with the nonsense that humans wander into with their silly Bibles and Catetchisms, utterly manmade, and insist upon calling the world of Whosit.

I have become more frequently present at both the Saint Paul Cathedral and the Minneapolis Basilica because of this divine presence. It hasn’t brought me back to monotheism in any form – quite the opposite – but I very much appreciate the conversations you can have with the divine presence when there’s not a service in progress.

My father was Catholic but nominally converted to Protestanism when he married my mother. From what I gather it was a Big Freaking Deal. I didn’t really think about him while I was touring the ground floor of Notre Dame – to him any church was just another place to snore during the sermon.


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