The Tomb of Juliet

The museum and tomb of Juliet is a conglomeration of Roman pottery in the basement, a garden entrance to the tomb with a stunningly rusted 'wishing' well. The collection of frescoes, paintings and statues range from some mythology to nativity and crucifixion scenes of Christ and Mary, and soem cherubs. Some portraits also show the themes of death and innocence and violence--several statues depict both men and women being tempted--including innocence--a young girl with a serpent clutched to her chest, it's tail curling around her neck. Her left hand grips it lightly, trusting it implicitly, steadying it as if afraid it might fall--oh the naievity of innocence--what danger and what bliss!

Lowering yourself into the tomb, you walk down a few stone steps. The antechamber and the tome are covered in lovers' declarations to each other. In different languages, love is proclaimed to shared beloveds--everyone wanting to share in the tragedy of Juliet. Only one naysayer proclaimed in bright red --LOVE KILLS--over other lovers' names. Ever practical--the story of Romeo and Juliet, which Queen Elizabeth I had attributed as a true depicition of love--throws caution to the wind--love doesn't have to create babies or families or build community. Only God knew of Romeo and Juliet's holy union-proving that sacred bonds can be made outside of paternal blessings. What Romeo and Juliet had could not last--they had to die of their furnace of passion, driven by hate and secrecy. Elizabeth similarly lived passionately, but murdered any desire or hope of family-perhaps it had been killed long before by how she witnessed family life by her father and sister--surely noone would want to give raising a child a go with such a family history. Either way the effect is the same, whether quickly and fiery or slowly and smouderingly--LOVE KILLS. Love kills, but only the body--a whole different kind of annihilation occurs wen we ignore the fires inside of us. A whole other kind of death occurs when we push ourselves outside the possibility of love, tombing outselves in a bastion of ice, ever practicle we remind ourselves, LOVE KILLS, but alas, another kind of death has left us in soulless bodies, mechanically spouting practicalities. Even if we don't know this, somehow, deep inside, we know. This human need, this loving hate, this crystal clear madness is the reason so many lovers will write their names, sign their love on the tomb of Juliet, and all the sacrifices of love she represents.