This morning, against all reasonable judgment, I decided to visit Vatican City. The lines were, as promised, endless. Still, I felt I couldn’t be in Rome and not set foot in the Sistine Chapel—a space where so much human history has unfolded.
What overwhelmed me wasn’t just the art or the architecture, but the sheer volume of people. The endless lines outside, stretching around corners, and this is the reality every day of the year. Why do they keep coming? What is it that draws people from every corner of the world to this place?
There is something here that feels ancient and powerful, as if vibrating just beneath the surface. A pull, a thread, something almost magnetic. Maybe it’s the lingering energy of what once was. Maybe it’s a call from previous lifetimes. Or maybe, it’s the undeniable residue of centuries of power, devotion, and awe that still echoes in the walls and domes.
Despite all our advancement, modernity, and distraction, we are still drawn to places like this—to the sacred, to the beautiful, to the mysterious. The Vatican is drenched in all three.
The amount of art I saw today was staggering: statues carved with god-like precision, frescoes exploding in color and story, ceilings that speak to a connection beyond this world. It will haunt me, not in a heavy way, but in the way that true beauty does. It reminds me what humans are capable of—when driven by faith, by fear, or by an insatiable need to reach for something unknown…
Good night from Rome.