Sunday, December 23, 2012

There was just a single light on in the cathedral that night.
It hung high above,
barely casting light upon an empty floor.
The dusty pews were lonely
having been jostled about in mild disarray,
and waited for the warmth of prayer
to stir the shadows once again.
I sat near the stained-glass window
with the pale moonlight shimmering through.
A vast space, that carried within it both
the soft fragrance of a loving embrace
and the cold, eternal loss of dear friends torn asunder.
It was a divided space, a duality of the impersonal and intimate,
and I felt caught in this twilight between the two worlds
of the spiritual and religious.
But even this was perversely uplifting
this confusion and alienation,
this restless ebb and flow of questions and doubts.
There is a thrill in opening up the doors to a strange world
where there isn't even a language to speak of.

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