Imagine a temple dedicted to what we do not know, to what is beyond imagination, to the vastness beyond vastness (what you may call God).

I would expect silence, because that is how I experience awe. The walls would be vey high, the ceiling very far above, and both made of something transparent, fragile, trembling.

As you stand there, you feel a mixture of edge-of-ledge loss and gut-opening gain.

Unreasonably thick carpeting invites you to walk barefoot or kneel or perhaps lay face down in exquisite exhaustion.

Niches hold figures–Sophia, Mary, Jesus, Krishna, Ganesh, Buddha, Plato, Einstein, Darwin, your father, your mother–whomever you need to meet or to thank, the one with whom you need to reconcile, your victim, your perpetrator, your mentor, your nemesis, the one who abandoned you or the one who saved you.

Healing happens here. Pieces of hearts (whatever can be salvaged) are respectfully reassembled. Souls lost in dark nights either find light or rest more deeply in their darkness.

Quiet corners cradle those who need solitude. Arms await those craving connection.

This basin gathers tears. Use this laver to rinse the tired filters from your eyes.

When you are here, there is no part of you that does not shimmer with holy light–not a single, neglected, hidden part.

Text and image (c) 2011 by Dirk deVries. All rights reserved.