Nicki showed me the catacombs of Paris this past week. dark winding tunnels underground that allow single file visitors to course through passages dimly lit and some mysterious but welcome ventilation. First one comes upon the carved temples of sandstone, miniature palaces of some forgotten civilization of elves. But entering the miles of ossuary is what captures one's attention. Piles of head-high bones, neatly stacked like firewood with skulls artistically placed in layers line each side of the tunnel. In front of each section is a sign which informs the passerby of what cemetery and date these bones came from and when they were placed here. The dates range from the late 1700s to late 1800s.
As one moves through this underground kingdom of the dead one encounters carefully placed quotes from authors ranging from Homer to Seneca up to 19th century Frenchmen. Each one reminds the living that they are really looking into a mirror, even if unimagined as such.
When we finally exited a guard checked my purse. Someone right before our group had tried to steal a skull. Somehow I doubt Hades would have let that person go unscathed. The dead have a way of catching up with one.
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