Poem: The Temple

And the Seeker said,

“Tell me of the place where one is made new again,

where the traveler lays down her burdens

and steps beyond the dust of the road.”

And the Sage answered:

You have walked far,

and the journey still lingers upon your skin.

Your feet remember the softness of the dunes,

your hands remember the weight of the climb,

your heart remembers the longing for a place

where longing is no longer needed.

And now, you stand before the temple.

It is not carved from marble,

nor does it rise to the heavens in grandeur.

It stands as it has always stood—

not to be worshipped, but to receive.

Its walls are the color of the setting sun,

dusty rose, like a memory not yet faded.

It is neither old nor new,

for time does not pass through it—

only those who seek.

And within, there is no throne.

No priest to offer blessings,

no scripture to recite.

Only a bench, waiting without question,

and a bowl of water, still and knowing.

And beside it, a cloth, brown as the earth itself—

a thing that does not shy from the weight of touch,

that does not turn away from what must be wiped clean.

And the temple does not ask what you have brought.

It does not measure your burdens.

It does not call you by your past.

It only asks:

Will you sit?

Will you wash?

Will you lay down what no longer belongs to you?

And so you lower yourself onto the bench,

not as one who waits,

but as one who has already arrived.

You take the water in your hands,

and it is cool, patient, forgiving.

You wash your feet,

for they have known the weight of sorrow

and carried you beyond it.

You wash your face,

but only the right side—

for the left still clings to its knowing,

still resists the touch of something new.

And the temple does not hurry you.

It does not command completion.

It only watches,

as the silver sun watches from afar,

as the trees in the garden wait without expectation.

For cleansing is not in the water alone,

but in the choice to return again.

And so you sit.

And so you breathe.

And in the silence,

you remember—

This temple was never built from stone.

It has always been waiting within you.