Lost Things and the "Go To Guy"

"Dear St. Anthony, please come around. Something's been lost and can't be found."

"Miracles waited on your word, which you were ever ready to speak for those in trouble or anxiety."

One theory that rings true for most Italian Americans is that they form a relationship with Saint Anthony early on in their lives. If you come from parents, or grandparents of any sort of Roman Catholic faith, it is ingrained into you early on that if anything is wrong, Saint Anthony will fix it, as he is the Saint of miracles, if anything is lost Saint Anthony will find it, as he is the Saint of lost things. Pretty much one stop spiritual shopping. When you were young, you were constantly losing stuff, and or hoping for a miracles to assist you in situations like that math final you need to ace to avoid going summer school. Saint Anthony became a guy you talked to on a regular basis.

My cynicism comes in waves. I am well aware of this. I wrote a small monologue in my short film about the soul growing hard as you get older, and I do believe that. You see to much in your life as time passes and your knowledge of the world grows to the point that reason stands to be hopes biggest adversary. Ultimately faith is born of hope, so when hope is gone, you're left with a brain swollen with theories and ideas and a soul thats greatest task is to decipher right and wrong.

Those who know me know I almost always wear a medal of Saint Anthony around my neck. I always question my attachment to this medal. I am not quite sure if it comes down to the fact that the medal came from my grandmother (who was part of the dynamic duo of Grams and Gramps that shaped most of my world), that I ultimately believe that a prayer to this man can help me find the words that seem to be lost when that page is blank, or it is way of hanging on to a time when hope became faith, a time that seems out of reach when reason tells me that the world can be cruel and lonely.

I ended up in church this morning. I am not sure what brought me there. The need for clear thought, an attempt at an honest prayer, or the fact that the first time I discovered I wanted to put words down on a page was in church. I've been reeling a bit lately trying to seriously break through on the draft of the feature script of Mamma. I guess I thought that if I walked out of church once, and walked home to fill a few a pages with some words that felt right to me, it could certainly happen again. I am writing on this blog now, so in that sense the clarity must have helped some. As far as a draft of the feature, that remains to be seen. Not sure I will put my head to that task until tomorrow morning, but I think in a way, I am in a decent place. This feature was designed to be a dark and funny commentary on the culture I have always found so warm and satisfying. This was the culture that championed the belief that if you prayed hard enough and believed with everything you had inside of you, good things will happen. I know that is not always the case, but I also know that those around me that believed it found comfort in that sort of divine abandon.

Making a film is maybe not that sort of abandon, but abandon nonetheless. You believe in a story, and that this story can bring something to the people that watch it. That a story can change things, open people up. You can only tell that story though, if you understand it's essence, the truth that exists inside of it. For me, the truth to Mamma lies in the sum of the parts of identity. I guess today I just wanted to remember with hope, rather than disregard with reason. Today I wanted to find something that was lost. In a way I did.