Writings
Memoir Stories

Part I When I was still living in the Netherlands I always felt drawn to the beauty of Native American jewelry. Especially the beautiful blue color Turquoise which I found out the following information on the internet just lately: “The primary blue stone significant to Native American tribes, especially in the Southwest (Navajo, Zuni, Pueblo), is Turquoise, revered as a sacred stone symbolizing the sky, water, health, and protection, used for millennia in jewelry, rituals, and as an amulet for good fortune and spiritual connection, often set in silver, though it was historically traded and used in various forms before metalsmithing.” I had several earrings with a turquoise stone set in silver. Because I thought as a preparation of my immigration to America at the beginning of 1997, I should start by looking at the history of the Indians as we called it. I went to the library and found the following book: Begraaf mijn hart bij de bocht van de rivier (original English title: Bury My Heart at Wounded Knee: An Indian History of the American West), first published in 1970, is Dee Brown's powerful, meticulously documented non-fiction account of the systematic destruction of Native American tribes during the latter half of the 19th century. I had no clue what to expect but was in shock, and still am today reading about the way Native Americans were systematically destroyed. I was not interested anymore in other books about Native Americans - this was enough for me this massive wipe out of such a beautiful culture. Major Themes The book explores several interconnected themes that expose the moral failings of American expansionism, often driven by a quest for land, gold, and the ideology of "Manifest Destiny". Broken Treaties: - Cultural Genocide - Violence and Injustice: - Ongoing Impact. The first day of my immigration when I set foot in America was November 14, 1997 and the weather was very bad. The roads were iced up from the freezing rain. Mike’s friend Bob was there with his truck to pick us up from the airport in New York. Leaving New York on the highway we didn’t see that much traffic but suddenly we were hit by a car that lost control on the ice. This was my first accident on the road in my life and delayed everything. After police work was done we continued and saw many cars stranded alongside the road. The next day after a sleepover at my in-laws, we continued going to the place where Mike and I would have 2 rooms in an old farmhouse together with others who rented some rooms. On our way up the sun came out and wherever we looked the trees looked like crystals with diamonds. I never saw something like it and the beauty took my breath away but somehow inside of me felt welcome home. We arrived at the old farmhouse and Ray opened the door to welcome us. He looked like a hippie with his beard and very long hair in a ponytail. He had coffee for us on his woodstove, and it was so cozy and warm. How nice of this guy to welcome us in this way. We had our bedroom above Ray’s room with his wood stove, and our bedroom was always very warm but with a cold winter like this we were happy with it. Ray would become a good friend of mine during the few months we lived there. Our friendship started the first day when Mike had to leave for work and I had to stay home because I had no car - no job - no family - no friends and I didn’t know anybody. I got up and didn’t know what to do. The bedroom and a small room next to it with a salon table - a sofa and a TV felt so empty. For a while I was sitting on the sofa and tried to focus on the tv, but I was not really interested. I heard some noises downstairs and decided to check who it was. There was Ray in the kitchen cooking turkey soup for Thanksgiving and I asked if I could sit down. Of course he said and I sat down in a large bay window that gave me a very beautiful look of the natural setting of this location. Suddenly I felt so depressed and lonely. I burst out crying and couldn’t stop. I thought, “what the hell am I doing here?” I missed my cute little granddaughter Mirthe of 2 years old and wouldn’t see her for I don’t know how long? Thinking of her made me break down - now I was crying uncontrollably, sobbing away - she is the one who touched me the most in my heart. Not like anyone else like my son - my parents or brothers and sisters - friends or coworkers. I missed her so much and wished I never would have left her to come over here. In that moment I wanted to go back to the Netherlands and I didn’t want to stay there any longer. I kept sobbing away for a long time till I looked through my tears to the stranger in the kitchen. I saw that he was nervous; no wonder with this experience with me. I was a total stranger to him. He changed my focus by offering me a turkey wishbone, (which are fused clavicles - a bird’s collarbone fused together and looks like a fork) but I didn’t know what to do with it. He explained something like to dry it out and then you make a wish before we break it in two pieces, and the person who has the longest part their wish will come true. He got me out of my emotional breakdown, and I felt still deeply sad but was out of my sobbing. I don’t remember that much the rest of the day as we talked about Thanksgiving coming up and TV shows - no drama anymore. I will never forget this experience and how Ray (he explained his name as a sun ray) prevented me from going back to the Netherlands right away. Every day when I got up in the morning, I enjoyed Ray’s delicious fresh made coffee and we talked about the news and about music and about our life experiences. That is how I found out that his mother was a Cherokee Native and his father was Irish. Well Ray liked to drink like an Irish man and at one time my husband bought a bottle of tequila for the New Years party at the farmhouse. Everybody chipped in with drinks and food and lots of people were invited. Ray and I hit the bottle of tequila like it was lemonade and with no experience with tequila became so sick that I couldn’t walk anymore and crawled outside in the freezing air and sat against a tree. It was horrible, and I never had this experience again - God Thanks - it cured me from the tequila. My husband was furious about Ray drinking almost the bottle by himself and with me getting so sick. Since then, he didn’t trust Ray anymore and was looking for another place to live. But that would still take up a few months till March when Springtime arrived. I still had good times with Ray because he took me on hikes and explained the natural settings - I loved his bonfires outside and in the Summer kitchen - he burned almost the mantel down with a big log piece. What was his Native American side? I don’t know but he was a survivor in any condition. He planted seeds of vegetables in little pots to plant them outside in Springtime. I loved to see that part of him having respect for nature. One time he took me on a ride with his truck on the property of this old farmhouse in Vera Cruz which was big and had a big pound. I will never forget this ride because I thought I would never survive. I don’t know what came over him, but he was racing on a high speed over the bumps and hills - I screamed at top of my lungs from fear and that really got him going - it was a kind of wild sight in him that I never saw or experienced with somebody else. He had some fun, but I didn’t and never told my husband because he would be furious again. It made me think about what I could do about this behavior and started to explain to him about “Reiki” which is a Japanese technique of energy healing. Ray told me at one time that he would like to be connected with his native American roots. I said that we could give it a try by working with this healing energy on him and so we did. It ended up that he responded very well to this and I gave him free classes to become a Reiki Master himself. I am a certified Usui Reiki Master/Instructor with experiences in the Netherlands with my homecare providers team and working on our clients - I was a homecare manager. So, every day we worked with Reiki and he opened up very well to it. I never charged him any money because to me this was a payback for his friendship. He received the original certificates which were signed be me. But all in all, I am very grateful that he came as a true friend in my life in the beginning of my life in America. If I was left alone all this time while my husband was working, I really don’t know if I would have stayed in America. The evening before we left Ray made a big bonfire outside and invited his native American friends with drums and it was a great experience. I could feel it in my heart. Two months later he moved away too with his cats in cages and his wood stove in the back of his car to Montana where he still lives and feels at home. On New Years Eve 2025 Ray called my husband and I to wish us “Happy New Year”. We hadn’t heard from him for 20 years.

The year 1998 is the first time when I saw a powwow in Allentown, PA at the Museum of Indian culture. A powwow (or pow-wow) is a vibrant social gathering of Native American and First Nations people for cultural celebration, featuring traditional dancing, singing, drumming, and the sharing of food, arts, and stories to pass traditions to younger generations, serving as both a community reunion and a display of Indigenous heritage. This was the third weekend of August and is called: “Roasting Ears of Corn” festival. Mike, my husband took me over since he knew my interest in Native American culture. I was impressed and loved everything I saw. The different tribes dress with all different colors and colored feathers, the dancing young and old, the drumming with the singing which goes right through me, the crafts and of course the traditional food of corn and beans. There was also an original tipi, as shown below. A tipi (or teepee/teepee) is a conical tent with steep walls, traditionally used by nomadic peoples of the Great Plains, made of animal hides or canvas over a pole framework featuring unique smoke flaps at the top that allow smoke from an internal fire to escape, making it a versatile, storm-resistant shelter for year-round camping or events. (you could go in and look everything from the in- and outside).There were lots of arrowheads. Arrowheads are sharp, pointed tips, traditionally made from stone, bone, or metal, attached to the end of arrows for hunting and warfare, though archaeologists often call them "projectile points" because the term also covers points for spears (atlatls) and darts. These ancient tools, crafted through a process called "flint knapping," vary in size, shape. After this time, I went more times over the years with different friends. One time I do remember a very special experience for everyone involved native American or not. My younger friend Trishna was from India and was interested to see a powwow for the first time and was happy to go with me. There are some dances where nonnatives are invited to dance together with the natives. Both of us and others were personally invited and Trishna was really interested but didn’t want to go if I wouldn’t go with her. Doing her a favor I decided to dance and took my place in the circle with her. Each of us was placed after a native because we had to follow the same movements. We loved it because we soon picked up how to master these movements and enjoyed it. We had fun but suddenly there was an overhead announcement, and we were ordered to stop the dance and not allowed to leave the circle because that would break the very special spiritual connection. We had to turn around facing the circle from the inside and be still. The special announcement was that a very special famous chief of the West - I don’t know which tribe but he had unexpectedly made his transition. It looked like the time stood still and we were not allowed to talk. Suddenly the drumming started again with the singing but in a totally different way as before - this was to bring an ode to this well-known loved chief. Believe it or not but suddenly there was a strong wind going through the circle straight through my whole body and especially I could feel my heart. I was almost wiped off my feet and had goosebumps all over my body. Everyone in the circle was affected by it but we were still not allowed to talk. When the drumming and singing was over, we could leave the circle. I will never ever forget this special experience that was very special to all of us, native or not. I was happy that Trishna and I took the invitation to dance with the natives. I had a similar experience years ago at the Unity Church of Lehigh Valley where there was a workshop given by a Cherokee woman from Virginia. She would explain everything about the “peace pipe” and about the use of it. The Cherokee peace pipe ceremony, like those in many Native American cultures, functions to forge connections, seal agreements, and offer prayers to the Creator, serving as a sacred conduit between the physical and spirit worlds, often involving tobacco and herbs to bind promises, settle disputes, and sanctify important gatherings, ensuring honesty and unity through shared reverence. At the end of the workshop, we were allowed to hold the peace pipe and put it on our heart - it was not allowed to use the peace pipe for smoking. We were sitting in a circle, and the Cherokee woman sang over the pipe before she would pass it on. When the pipe came to me, I bowed my head to show respect for this very important native American tool. I hold it between my hands to make a connection and then put it on my heart. Believe it or not, but I felt the strong energy of this pipe going into my heart and stayed there for maybe a minute. When the energy left me I knew it was time to pass it on. It made such a deep impression on me and again an unforgettable experience. Afterwards we shared our experience, but nobody experienced what I felt. The Cherokee woman gave me a smile. My next aha experience was when I went with my friend Cathie to a Native American church service. Her friend was not a native, but his stepmom was a Cherokee woman who was the founder of this church. I never went to this kind of service and had totally no clue what to expect. I was there because my friend didn’t want to go by herself and actually had a crush on this guy. There were maybe 10 or 11 people all much younger than I was. It was all about the previous famous native Americans’ spirits who were invited to be at this service. There was some cleansing first: Native Americans cleansing herbs, primarily used in the spiritual practice of smudging include sage, especially white sage, for purification, cedar for protection and blessing, and sweetgrass for attracting positive energy often burned in bundles with intention to cleanse spaces, objects, or people. It smelled so good and gave me such a feeling of wellbeing. At the end of the service his stepmom and him were giving spiritual messages. I don’t remember exactly what the message was for me, but it was all about the turtle clan which I never heard about. Remarkable is that I felt always drawn to turtles and most of my native American jewelry were turtles and I didn’t have them with me at the time of this service. My interest for turtles goes back before my immigration so how could they know because they never saw me before? I was stunned again. For my 70th birthday this guy who was in the meantime in a relationship with my friend made a big dream catcher for me in the native American way with ceremony and messages - a great gift and it hangs on the wall behind me in the bedroom. I can feel the comforting energy it gives me and it is so beautiful - the color with the feathers and beads. It is a great spiritual native artwork. In 2011 on 11/11 I was ordained together with my friend Cathie becoming a metaphysical minister of the Metaphysical Universal Ministries. We studied for 4 years together. We set up a Sunday school at our metaphysical church in Allentown, PA. Sometimes we invited guest speakers of other religions to explain their point of view. One time close to Thanksgiving, we invited Eddie who was a Native American. He explained the coming of a ship named the Mayflower and relationship with Native Wampanoag tribe, began with crucial survival assistance from individuals like Squanto, who taught them farming and fishing, leading to a mutual defense treaty and the famous 1621 harvest feast (Thanks Giving), but his partnership was built on complex pre-existing dynamics, including devastating European diseases that had decimated Native populations and prior European interactions, setting a complicated stage for future colonial relations. It was also for me the first time I heard the true story about how “Thanks Giving” was created by the Native Americans to reach out and help the pilgrims who arrived more dead than alive by the May Flower in Plymouth 1620. I got to know my very close friend Pat in my beginning years of going to the Unity church at the end of 1999. She was also interested in the Native American culture and because of her I learned to craft Native American jewelry. We often went to classes making jewelry with seed beads. I never saw this kind of craft, but really gained a love for these creations. I made earrings, necklaces, bracelets and my favorite medicine pouches. Often, I sold them or gave them away as a gift - they were always well received and loved my creations. One time I was in a diner and the waitress saw my native American earrings and she had a question for me. Her boyfriend a long time ago gave her earrings made by natives when he visited the west, but one broke after so many years. She asked me if I could repair it but had no money to pay me for it. Of course, I said give me the good one so I can fix it and if you don’t mind I would like to copy it for myself. Okay the deal was set and I did and fixed it well. She was so happy that she gave Pat and I a very nice breakfast and she paid for it. She refused the tip and was very happy and grateful. I still need to finish a medicine pouch which the design I made myself and is not Native American but with Gold layered beads and an “Ankh, Egyptian Cross” in the middle. Still spiritual and should soon finish this last production of jewelry making. My vision declined over the years, and I really need strong reading glasses. I have another friend in her eighties whose grandmother was a Cherokee native and was raised by her because her mother was often sick. She doesn’t talk that much about her past, but you can see the Cherokee image in her. She is still beautiful and very spiritual. My passion for the Native American culture is not gone but is less so strong as in the beginning when I came to this country - America. I can say with a hand on my heart that I have only very pleasant and beautiful experiences with Native Americans or their relatives/friends.

Pat and I have been friends since 1998. We met at Unity of Lehigh Valley church in Emmaus. There was a situation with one of the members that got me in tears and I cried which is very unusual for me. Pat was the only one who came over comforting me and this became the beginning of a long term friendship. Pat was one year older than I and lived with her parents because of her serious health issues. I didn’t have a car available during the week because my husband needed the car for his job. At least I could use the car on the weekend going to church. Pat didn’t have a job and I worked only a few days a week as a receptionist in a local hospital. Pat picked me up with her car on the days I was not working. We liked to walk or go for breakfast or lunch, we enjoyed book studies at the church. Pat got me into jewelry making with seed beads and we followed classes with Gloria at Northampton Community College. She was a great teacher. I made bracelets, earrings and even necklaces with a medicine pouch. They were great gifts and at one time the giftshop of the hospital gave me a chance to sell them. Pat also got me into the first writers class at Northampton Community College with Jerry Waxler. This became the beginning of an interest, to write a book which was actually a dream I had since I was 11 years old. I liked the way Pat described her adventures of her hitchhiking trip to the West with a friend and this was in her teenage years. Her aunt (mother’s sister) lived in California. Pat had a degree from Kutztown University for teaching second graders. She worked for different schools till her physical condition weakened her too much unfortunately. There came a time when she was looking for a place to live on her own. She found this in Historic Bethlehem at the Moraivian housing for people with disabilities of all kinds. I loved her apartment on the first floor which had 2 rooms, a living room with a kitchenette and a bedroom. This building was built in 1745 and most of the wood was from the ship where the Moravians came over to America and Bethlehem. There were very wide wooden stairs like from a ship. You could smell the ages and I loved it because it takes you back in time. All the people who lived in this building were very nice. Everything was close by like the Moravian bookstore, restaurants, the library, and Musikfest in the summer. The Celtic Music Fest in September was Pat’s (actually Patricia) most favorite because her ancestors were Irish. Often we walked to “Donegal Irish restaurant” around the corner on Main Street. Here is where we celebrated our Birthdays and Christmas with the special Irish menu. What we really loved was the Irish bread they baked and was a recipe from the Middle Ages made without yeast. At one time the restaurant offered a baking class for making this bread. Pat was very enthusiastic about it and signed up. I was very interested too but I had to work that evening so Pat promised to teach me this at my house. Weeks later she took all the special ingredients with her and together we made 4 loaves of Irish Bread. It was a success and I am happy till the day of today that she gave me the original receipe. Pat died from cancer on September 28 2022 after years of struggling to survive in a nursing home. We stayed friends till her end and the thought was that I would be with her at her final moments but that didn’t happen. The day that I left to visit my family in the Netherlands after the pandemic she passed away unexpectedly. The hardest part is that I couldn't say goodbye to her because I was in the Netherlands. When I came back home I called the staff and they shared with me that she passed and the room was cleaned out - there was nothing left of her anymore as only my memories. Every year when I make this special Irish bread on st. Patrick’s Day I think of her and feel blessed she was a part of my life.

When I came to America I never enjoyed a campfire as only I knew what it looked like from tv shows. So when we bought our house in Bethlehem August 29 - 1999 - 25 years ago it was a big surprise for me that there was a small fire pit. Our house is built on top of one the surrounding hills of Bethlehem. A family with 3 children lived before in our house so the fire pit was surrounded by fallen tree stumps where the little ones sat around the fire. It looked so cute to see the little kids with a look of excitement in their eyes. This was what I saw when we had our first appointment to see the house. I immediately fell in love with this feature of having campfires in your own yard. Wow what a freedom I felt, knowing my husband and I came from a small apartment in the oldest City of the Netherlands where we lived before our immigration. The house is the last one in a row on top of the hill and the end of a dead end. So much privacy I was not used to but it felt very good somehow. Once we were settled in our house and the fall came down with the empty trees and the colder temperatures making ready for our fires. We had a wooded area alongside our house and there was enough wood to burn from the fallen trees. With our beginning fires we put potatoes in aluminum foil alongside the fire and my husband liked to cook burgers or hotdogs over the fire with a special metal cooking tool. As dessert we had marshmallows of course - it tasted all so good and much different than to cook on the stove inside your home. We both worked so mostly we used the weekends if the weather was permitted to enjoy this cookout together and with a drink of course. I felt like I was in Heaven to have this luxury so close to home and so private because we don’t bother the neighbors. They actually sometimes came over to enjoy the fire too and took their own drinks and chairs with them. That is how we connected with neighbors and friends we made. When my family came over from the Netherlands to visit us they loved our campfires too and it became a party. I will not say that there are no campfires in the Netherlands but it is rare because the population is very dense and so is the housing. The Netherlands is one third of Pennsylvania but the same amount of population. I do remember friends with little kids came over and my husband let them help to find little sticks that they were allowed to throw in the fire and especially the little boys became out of their minds. They loved some of our trees too for climbing and had lots of fun. Those were very good times to look back and give me a really big smile on my face and a warm feeling in my heart. Nowadays 25 years later we are retired but still enjoy our campfires but in a totally different way. It is only us because the neighborhood changed and everyone is more for themselves and occupied with working their jobs. We have no parties anymore - no food, no drinks as only a bottle of water. The fire pit grew over the years with big stones found in the woods - a size for a big bonfire. In wintertime we have a nice view over the Lehigh Valley and we sit in our chairs covered with a nice cushion on the seat and on our back. We hear all different sounds of animals like foxes, deer, owls, and very strange birds we don’t know about. Nature gives us a feeling of peace and harmony. On cool summer nights we listen to the crickets and katydids and see lightning bugs in late spring. My husband makes the best fires I even never saw on TV in the Netherlands before I came over!!!! The smell and smoke I just fell in love with. I am still happy with our present fires as well as the past ones!!!

Last year in October 2023 my son and I went for the first time on an eight day bus trip to Spain. This was a reward from me for him because he did go over the summer to rehab working on his behavior of substance abuse disorder in Rekken, the Netherlands. We had a great time with such unforgettable memories that still give me a smile on my face. I had a bad cold the day we would have an excursion to the Salvador Dali museum I was longing so badly to see. I was too sick to travel and decided it would be better to stay in my hotel room and told my son to enjoy this trip with the bus group and the tour guide. He didn’t like my suggestion and stayed in the hotel caring for me. He went right away to a pharmacy and explained my symptoms where the pharmacist gave him a cough syrup for me. It was expensive and bitter tasting but it helped miraculously and the next day I felt good enough for an excursion to the “ Dark Madonna” in the hills.I enjoyed my son's care for me which was very unfamiliar since it was always the other way because of his drug addiction. Because of the success of this event for us we decided to book another bustrip for 2024. I asked my son where he would like to go and his answer was: ‘ just choose a warm country mom”. That is how I came to choose for a 10 day bus trip to Italy with almost every day an excursion but my interest was to go to Rome. This was booked in February 2024 but we couldn’t go together because my son relapsed badly in May and I had to cancel him. I looked forward to going to Rome and decided I would go by myself. The bus trip was an organized excursion trip including tour guides and I felt safe with a group of Dutch people. My husband was not so happy about it and somehow concerned about going by myself but I could convince him that I would be safe. My husband is not a traveler and was not interested in going with me. I would first go to the Netherlands for a few days to meet my family which were my highlights of this trip. Then the day came that I was sitting in the bus to Italy and the driver had put the single travelers together and so I came in touch with a very nice woman. She was a few years younger than I was and also retired but as a school teacher. Soon we hit it off and we had many interfaces on a personal level. She lived and worked for the last 40 years in Amsterdam which is in the Northern part of the Netherlands and I come actually from Maastricht the oldest city in the Netherlands and from the far South. There are some differences between the North and the South like in any other country. People in the North are a little bit more straightforward while the people from the South are somewhat shy and introverted. There is a real difference in accents too like the Northern part talks with a grrrrr in the back of their throats and the Southern parts with a very soft gggggg.I had always the feeling that we in the South were behind in any development from medical to educational issues and we were the most Catholic part of the Netherlands. The Northern part was mostly reformed like protestants. Just to mention a few things. But it didn’t bother us in our communication and if we had lived close by I could see that there was a possibility of a nice friendship. The busdriver guided us in the hotels where we stayed for our table seats and that meant that we were not at the same table. It gave us a chance to connect with other people in the group too. I was placed at a table of 6 persons where there were 2 couples, an older single man of 80 years old and I. It was a nice mix I thought and everyone was nice and polite to each other especially in the beginning. We left on a Monday and drove for 2 days in a row with one overnight in the South of Germany. Then we reached the place in Italy called the Toscane area where we would stay all the 7 days. It was a beautiful scenery of hills and valleys, small streets with big curves and all the time when the bus was going from the right to the left and very narrow space I held my breath. These kinds of bus drivers are maniacs or profoundly skilled. Let's stay with the last opinion. On Friday, I felt so sick with a sore throat, coughing a lot, headaches, nose blowing and a fever. Do understand that weeks before my departure I went for a flu shot and covid vaccine but it didn;t help and the days before I was already not feeling well and felt exhausted. It was the day of the excursion to Rome and I couldn’t go and stayed behind in the hotel. Strangely, somehow our whole table didn’t go. My hotel room was above the entrance with a huge balcony and I was fortunate. Of course I saw people going in and out but suddenly an ambulance with high sirens came and parked in front of the entrance. Ran with the brancard inside and maybe 10 minutes later they came out and I saw that the one man of a couple at our table was lying on it and I saw his wife crying and walking behind. They left with high sirens uphill on their way to a hospital 55 miles away. That made a difference on our table and connection for the days to come. One of the excursions I signed up for was a visit to the basilica of St. Francis of Assisi. The first photo is from a crowd of people on the bottom of the baselica. The second photo is taken inside the basilica where I am standing in line to see the shrine of St. Francis of Assisi. From Online: The Basilica of Saint Francis of Assisi (Italian: Basilica di San Francesco d'Assisi; Latin: Basilica Sancti Francisci Assisiensis) is the mother church of the Roman Catholic Order of Friars Minor Conventual in Assisi, a town in the Umbria region in central Italy, where Saint Francis was born and died. It is a papal minor basilica and one of the most important places of Christian pilgrimage in Italy. With its accompanying friary, Sacro Convento, the basilica is a distinctive landmark to those approaching Assisi. It has been a UNESCO World Heritage Site since 2000.The basilica, which was begun in 1228, is built into the side of a hill and comprises two churches (known as the Upper Church and the Lower Church) and a crypt, where the remains of the saint are interred. On 16 July 1228, Francis was canonized by Pope Gregory IX in Assisi, and he laid the foundation stone of the new church the following day, although construction may already have begun. The construction having been begun at his order, the Pope declared the church to be the property of the papacy. The church was designed by Maestro Jacopo Tedesco, who was in those days the most famous architect.[3] The construction was supervised by Brother Elias of Cortona, one of the first followers of Saint Francis and the former Vicar General of the Order under Saint Francis. The Lower Basilica was finished in 1230. On Pentecost 25 May 1230, the remains of Saint Francis were brought in a solemn procession to the Lower Basilica from its temporary burial place in the church of San Giorgio (St. George), now the Basilica of Saint Clare of Assisi. The burial place was concealed for fear that St Francis' remains might be stolen and dispersed. The construction of the Upper Basilica was begun after 1239 and was completed in 1253. Both churches were consecrated by Pope Innocent IV in 1253. Assisi is a pretty unique town as it perfectly combines art, nature, history and religious traditions. It is in fact mostly known to be a pilgrimage destination, due to the plenty of Catholic people, nuns and friars coming from all over the world to visit the birthplace of the founder of the Franciscans. What is Saint Francis of Assisi most famous for? Giovanni di Pietro di Bernardone ( c. 1181 – 3 October 1226), known as Francis of Assisi, was an Italian mystic, poet, and Catholic friar who founded the religious order of the Franciscans. Inspired to lead a Christian life of poverty, he became a beggar and itinerant preacher. I didn’t feel any sensation of the shrine or basilica like I did in the Padre Pio Center in Bath, PA USA or the famous Virgin Mary statue located in the Pilgrimage Church in Csíksomlyó, Roemenia in Europe. This is where I felt the presence of these Spirits.