Life in the Faith
I do not cover my eyes.
I do not plug my nose.
I listen to the life of the faithful.
It echoes throughout the world.
It is the sound of the people like an ocean and the rain on the leaves outside the window that delight and tell me that it is life that goes on in these places.
It is life that swirls around me in the market outside and life that consumes me as I walk into a temple to watch the people pray.
I may stand on my tiptoes to avoid hurting my pale white feet on the rocky ground of the temple courtyard, but there is smooth marble inside to cool the fever of the other life.
The church is old like the monks who glide by in the distance, yet the spirit is as fresh as the flowers on the altar.
The desert light is blinding and the darkness inside is cavernous.
Until my eyes adjust, there is nothing but the breathing of the dusty air and smell of sweetness, like a library full of musty ancients speaking volumes.
A prayer book is lying on a pew waiting with its yellow wrinkles and well-thumbed pages.
Inside the temple it is warm and sheltered from the cold rain outside.
A lamp heats the bodies of the worshippers and bathes them in a golden glow.
The shoes must still come off, though the ground outside is frozen.
The shoes must come off, this is holy ground, can't you tell?
It is the sound of the birds nesting in the upper reaches of the minaret.
They love to play in the shadows of the pillars and leave their remains on the carpets to be cleaned with a broom by a man in billowing robes.
He is like the little old ladies who feed us crispy sweets, spinach rolls, and pour our coffee, thankfully providing plenty of sugar for those of us uninitiated into the coffee ritual.
The sounds of an organ surround me and remind me of my home, yet the voices raised are not familiar in tongue or tune.
They are bewitching and lyrical, like the people they embody, and languages they sing.
It is the universal use of incense, which permeates a space and after a while leaves a trace that can be remembered in times now near and distant.
The incomprehension and awe are gathered together in the sight of the stone, it is the sight of the holy and transcending.
It is a giant and unfamiliar statue that reflects my face in its metallic body, though that does not make it special, my face is but one of many.
It is the life of the faithful.
And it is beautiful.
