Always epicentre of an authentic Christianity, Cascia is a must for all those pilgrims wich in Saint Rita have voted their faith. Each year thousands of the faithful undertaking the journey to the places where the Holy lived, prayed, has suffered, has made hers miracles.Arriving in Cascia breathes suffered this misticità, this strong presence of faith, impalpable, good. Everything here speaks the language of religion, even the white walls of the buildings, the silence of the lanes that climb early on, towards the monastery, the square with its roses blooming, the icons enter in the eye and in the heart. It's difficult remain unrelated to this sublime feeling of infinity. Then, in May, when really they celebrate the annual festivities in honour of the Holy, the streets are filled with flowers by bless and pilgrims who, with tears in their eyes, sing their faith. Saint Rita, Holy of the roses that are reborn from death with tenacity and patience of a hope that never ceases, the Holy of "apette" (young orphan who in the monastery are accepted, fed, educated), the Holy that, in suffering, has preferred to see hers childrens dead rather than murderers.
Basilica dedicated to her (a few hundred metres from the B&B La Rondine), perfect in her white that silhouetted against the sun, at the bottom of an avenue adorned by porches. Inside the blue mosaics and frescoes mixes gold branches of thorny roses that make up the altar. Strong in tones but never austere, the church offers generous hearts of the faithful who are inside their peace. And then there are Her, the Holy, inside a glass sarcophagus that seems to lie in listening to the prayers that the target, Her, surrounded by flowers, photos, tickets and objects that its miraculous send to thank her.
A few kilometers from Cascia is, however, another place that must be viewed: Roccaporena. It is here that Saint Rita was born and really lived before becoming a nun at the monastery of Cascia. A Roccaporena you can still visit his birthplace, his garden and, of course, the rock on top of the hill where her was usual to go to kneel to pray to the Lord. It 'impossible to describe the suggestion that everyone feel climbing those steps that seem to lead toward the sky, along the walls of a mountain swallowed by trees that only towards the top opens to the world by giving even a small source of water that flows from the rock.