Week 5: Termite Mounds
Mounds of dirt. That’s what I first thought the Sagrada Familia looked like from a distance. Mounds of dirt being constructed by a brood of industrious super-termites who know how to operate tower cranes. Antoni Gaudi’s yet to be realized masterpiece sits in the northern part of “L’Example” a gritty neighborhood not too far from my base camp in Sarria. Approaching the basilica, one begins to notice the crumbly, lunar-like texture of the structure’s exterior that rivals the imposing termite strongholds erected in the Australian outback. Moving closer the craters, cracks, and clumps jutting from the surface of the Sagrada’s rocket ship sized spires morph into lush vegetation, honeycomb shaped windows, figures of disciples, saints, and members of the Holy Family the basilica is named after, and pediments shaped like stretchy ligaments or Tyrannosaurus Rex femurs. I slithered slowly through the security guards’ obstacle course at the main entrance way and emerged atop a platform in front of the facade. I looked up, up, up, my mouth agape. “Weird,” I said to myself, “Really...weird.”
Unequivocally this was one of the strangest sacred spaces I’ve visited to date, maybe the strangest. The bizarre appearance of the Sagrada’s exterior contrasts with its otherworldly interior configuration and design. Stacks of massive stone forming dendroidal columns looked as if they were laid by giants. As thick as redwoods, these girthy trunks led my eyes heavenwards, creating a feeling of wandering into a holy rainforest. The ceiling is difficult to describe. It’s many pockets reminded me of the interior of a beehive, but configured in the shape of a cross with the Eucharist shining splendidly in the middle (see image toward bottom of Wikipedia page linked above). Each column was bejeweled with large opals seemingly filled with phosphorescent lava colored in blues, greens, oranges and purples and inset with etchings of the four evangelists or floral shapes. A crucifix levitates over a decorated altar, which behind and below lies Gaudi’s tomb.
I could go on. Although any further description would severely impoverish what Gaudi really set out to accomplish with this space: a jaw-dropping celebration of the divinity in our midst and a taste of the mysterious spiritual realm stretching eternally beyond our temporal dimension in unimaginable ways. For now, all I can give is a suggestion: Go. See it for yourself.
Later that evening I retreated to the roof of my residence and looked southeast. Below I could make out the Sagrada, red lights burning bright at the tips of its spires like candles on a cake. I stood for quite some time contemplating what I had seen an hour before, letting my awe simmer before it slowly faded. The last light of another day finally blinked behind the ridge extending from Mount Tibidabo, leaving me in darkness and ready for bed. Yet below Barcelona continued to glow, beckoning me to come back for more.
​
