It has nothing to do with the architecture. It has nothing to do with what religion the church may be assigned to, or its history. It's more to do with the intangibles, the resonance with personal feelings left behind by the congregations.

No, I get that, and I envy it. I think my thing is purely architecture. I'd never had it happen before, and the Dom is immense. It just goes up and up and up, and the stone is black with age. The next time I felt it was at street level in Philadelphia, which is not a particularly vertical town. I've been in large churches, since. One was of a pale creamy stone, Duke Chapel, and it's neither as immense, nor the stone as dark as the Dom, so the comparison really isn't fair, but I didn't have the same reaction. I think mine is purely psychological and physiological. My receptors for psychic awareness just don't work.

"I've never been to England/ But I kinda like the Beatles"

My receptors for psychic awareness just don't work.

Or not about that particular environment. Museums don't do that for me. Even walking the remaining foundations of Roman ruins in Spain didn't do it for me. Churches, though? Yup. As an anthropologist/archaeologist it would be much handier to be able to tune into residual psychic vibrations at digs/historical sites. Churches, NSM with the handy.

French Cathedrals are where its at. I thought everybody knew that. As one ex-GF said, "I like the French approach to Catholicism. They're only in it for the beauty."

there was a wall inside the museum that they had built around and included in the musuem's makeup that was one of the preChristian walls of Londinium.

I don't care if they have to special freight my life-supported carcass, I will go to London before I die. I'm sick of the "it's eighty years old, it's so old" worldview. Want to see Chartres, want to see Amiens.

I have dreams of the Hagia Sophia. It is so damned weird. I have a collection of pictures of the Hagia, interior and exterior, and sometimes when I'm in a particular bad mood, I pull those up to contemplate and calm down. It's huge and kind of dark, but I always get this feeling of, "See what we did with our faith and passion" from the place.

It's such a pretty, sunny day after it rained last night. And smell that fresh desert air. Nothing like it.

I must be high on oxygen after walking on the treadmill.

Mr. H talked to the cops a while, but they didn't see him. It was strange.

Robin, I hope your niece gets the care she needs, and that her folks get the support and education they need, and that if her issues (addiction and/or an eating disorder) are outside of the therapist's expertise, that the family will be able to find a therapist who specializes. How sad and scary for you all.

Speaking of lizardbrain fear, someone walked into our house last night. We were sitting there watching MI5, the dog ran to the door, and this guy just walked in. Mr. H was yelling at him, and then pushed him outside. It took me a few minutes to even realize what was happening, and by that time Mr. H was on the phone with the cops.

Heather, that is *so* creepy. Was he still hanging around when the cops arrived?

One night, right after we'd moved Ben out of our room and his bassinet and into his crib, some women attempted to enter our apartment. She appeared to be mentally confused and possibly a drug addict. She kept insisting she lived there. (She didn't and hadn't, in-laws owned the place). At first, the cops didn't know whether to believe us. She had a big, long story. Before they got there, she kept attempting to enter in different ways, front door, back door, back porch window. I think I ended up setting Ben's playpen up in our bedroom for the night, because even after it was all sorted, and the cops were convinced she wasn't ours, I was so creeped out.

In a more recent instance of creepy mental confusion, today after church, Dh, the kids, my mum, cousin and I went to The 99 (chain pub-restaurant). Julia had to go to the ladies room. The first time, we were still waiting for our table, so my mum took her. The second time (everything in this rest room is touchless: the toilet, sink, soap, and paper towel dispensers all work via sensors, so Julia is captivated and has her tiniest bladder ever, there), we were eating. She said she'd go alone, but I just don't go in for that.

I took her, and both stalls were occupied at first. The handi-capped stall was available first, so I took her in there. I could see a woman trying to open the door, so I said, "Excuse me, this is occupied." She kept trying to. One time, she got it a little open, and so I pulled it shut, saying, "There's someone in here." She did it again, and I could tell the other stall was available, so I said, "You need to use the other stall. We're in this one."

She then started jimmying the lock, from the outside. I was holding the door closed from the top and she said something I disremember. I told her to stop and use the other stall. She managed to pull harder than I was, and got it open. Julia was still not done. I said very harshly, "You're going to have to wait. We are in here, and my daughter is using the bathroom."

She said, "I've got to go in there."

I said, "You can't come in here. I have my little girl in here, on the toilet."

"I need to get through this door."

I point to the right. "This door doesn't go to anything but another stall. If you need to go to the bathroom, you need to use the other stall." I pointed straight behind her, past the sinks to the restroom entry. "If you need to leave, the door is over there."

She said, "You need to let me in."

"You cannot come in here. You need to stop it. My little girl is in here." I knew the woman must be suffering some mental confusion, because the restroom just isn't big or confusing. The stalls are typical stalls that you can see under and over, so it's not like the door to our stall looked like the restroom entry. My inner lioness was too worked up by now to offer her assistance, particularly with Julia just sitting there, waiting for me.

She then said something about her sister waiting for her. I said, "Then if you need to use the bathroom, you have to wait for us to finish in this one, or..."

"I can't wait," she said.

"Well, then you need to use that one there."

"My sister is waiting for me. I need to go in there."

I finally said, "Do you need to go to the (continued...)

( continues...) bathroom, because there is a toilet right there."

"No, no. I need to go in this door."

"Look, this door is just to another toilet stall."

"I need to use the door."

By now, I was nearly hollering. I said, "If you need to use the bathroom, use that one. If you need to leave, you need to walk the other way, and get out that door over there."

She said, "Jesus Christ!" and left.

I looked around as soon as we exited, because if her sister was nearby, I was going to tell her that I thought the woman might need some medical attention, but I couldn't find them.

A few minutes later, an ambulance came, and I could see EMTs and fireman surrounding someone, but my view was obstructed from our booth. I got up, because if it was the same woman, I wanted to tell them about the incident, to help them know what was going on with her, but it was some little old lady (in her 80s) who had some kind of cut on her head. I don't know if she fell, or what, but it wasn't our confused lady.

I remember getting rather giddy while in the Duomo in Florence, not so much in the cathedral proper, but while climbing up to the tippy-top, using the staircases that are hidden between the inner and outer domes.

Part of the feeling, I think, came from thinking about Brunelleschi, and how he studied ancient buildings to figure out how they were built. There was something of a "Hey, Ma! Watch this!" vibe to the whole place.