when i think of temples, i think of death. peace and quiet— tranquility— the smell of incense. in my culture, a temple is a place to let go of the dead. so i wonder— do i go to a temple to mourn who i was before? do i sit in silence and contemplate what it means to not be her anymore? do i visit as often as those who are a part of the church? instead of sitting in a pew and confessing my sins inside of a box, i sit on my knees, rubbing my hands over my thighs, as i begin to feel the ache and the numbness from my own weight— and i remember: at least i am alive.
Leave a Reply