Wednesday, April 29, 2009

The Traveler and His Temple, A Fairy Tale

*Originally published in January 2009, I think it is appropriate at this time.

The screams of a thousand rapes of her soul poured forth from the gutters of the desecrated temple in attempts to debeautify. Vandals covered her delicate facade with dense, decaying green, with "ugly," "dirty," "slut," "bitch," Patched places where the priestess, whoring traitor, with her concubines slammed again and again into her foundation. The freezing winds of doubt and self-loathing swept through the inner rooms. Putrid foulness. Soldiers who could have resurrected the temple chose instead to defecate on her altar.

One lone traveler bravely approached the temple many times. Looking more closely, he could see underneath the layers of filth the magnificent rays gleaming from her glowing jewels. Her foundation was unbroken, though her beams were bowing from the years of relentless pounding. Ignoring the stench, the traveler discovered that deeper inside, her aroma remained fragrantly sweet. He felt in the dark for any hidden treasure that might have been overlooked by the godless destroyers.

For years, he would return to his beloved temple and search, refusing to believe that she could not somehow be restored to how she should be. The traveler grew to know his temple nearly as well as he knew himself, and he learned to feel her tender heartbeat.

Each visit brought him closer to the source of her fragile existence. He would try to wipe away the sludge, but the stains could not be erased. He had cleansed the altar the first time he entered. He found comfort in its beautiful simplicity.

He tore down the useless paper patches, and with much care, he filled the holes with the best material he could find. His work did not completely block the winds. Winds so strong, so loud, so violent at times. Disheartened, the traveler felt he had failed his temple. He hung his head and left, heartbroken.

The traveler tried no to think about his precious temple, but she implored him to return. He could stand no more and gave in to the urge to go see her. He was surprised to find that she had been restored in many places. On her face, the old stains were nearly invisible. Her supports seemed to be stronger, if that were possible.

Only for a moment did he hesitate to enter--not for fear of what he would find, but for fear that he would undo her magical transformation. but he could not resist her invitations.

Her internal transformation was even more drastic and beautiful than her outward appearance.
Wisps of coolness saddened him as he discovered that the fillings were still not enough to protect his temple.

He had missed her. At her altar, he was able to find a peace he had known in none of the other places he had traveled. As he slept, she whispered a secret in his ear, the secret he had spent more than half his life longing to know. He woke and wasted no time gently opening a tiny door on the underside of the altar. Inside, the intricately designed key of the whitest gold he had ever seen sparkled in the low lights of the candles had had lighted to fight off the occasional biting breezes.

He took the key in his fingers, laid it upon his bare chest under the left fold of his tunic, and pressed it firmly with his hand.

The screams of a thousand rapes of her soul poured forth from the gutters of his temple. As the screams grew louder, the wall, the floors, the ceilings began to shake. The altar trembled as if it would crumble. The traveler felt the pain, the desolation. The utter agony scorched through, ripping his flesh, nearly tearing his own heart out of his body. How had she survived? He wondered at her perseverance, at her desire to exist in a world that had shown her little mercy.

When the screams subsided, the traveler fell to his knees. He lifted the key with somber reverence, touched it to his lips and kissed it with a love as pure as light. He returned the key to its safe enclosure, closed the door, and leaned against her altar, holding it tight in his arms until he could no longer feel the lower half of his body.

Rising, he steadied himself and noticed that the room had grown comfortably warm. Her aroma, now thick and sweeter than before, wrapped around his senses and delighted him. Her heartbeat, no longer a faint tremor was a vibrant, rhythmic song of joy.

to be continued

Is this what all this was about? It would make sense, but -- never mind.

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