Friday, March 24, 2006


The sacred stillness of the sactuary is a silent symphony for my soul. Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in. Breathe out.

The soft white light filters in through the ectomorphic arches and reflects off the clean white pillars and walls to create a visual sense of serenity that matches the auditory hush. It's beautiful -- but not just because it was well-designed and well-built with fine materials by a fine craftsman. It's holy -- but not just because it was built as a religious space on the grounds of a religous institution. It's beautiful and it's holy because God is reflected more clearly in all things bright, serene, and still. And my soul is more bright, more serene, and more still in this place. Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in. Breathe out.

Though my sense of geography tells me that trams rumble past less than 50 meters from where I sit -- I cannot feels their bustling aura. Though my sense of logic reminds me that I'm in the middle of one of the biggest cities of one of the most densely populated corners of the globe, I look up through the high bank of windows to see nothing but blue sky and naked tree brances swaying in the wind. Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in. Breathe out.

But I am not alone. Tragically so, yet usefully so. The blue-shirted janitor and the elegant woman arranging flowers serve as foils for my distractions. Instead of swatting the flies of ideas from within my own head, a part of me is allowed to enter its sacred place while another part of me stays with the janitor, the florist, the busy ideas of life. And as the janitor chisels away the wax residue from the metal altar, I chisel away the distractions from my consciousness. The flower woman puts the finishing touches on an arrangement of lilies, then quietly and dutifully exits so as not to disturb me any further. But the janitor keeps chiseling, and I start to become perturbed by his intrusion into my sacred moment. Chiseling turns to sweeping to mopping to vacuuming to the point of absurdity. But as the morning's chores are completed, the periods of silence grow longer. And soon I am left to complete serenity. Sacred stillness. Sanctuary. Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in. Breathe out.


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