Temple Out of Place
The iron bell hangs,
a relic from faraway Japan,
a temple bell out of place,
a museum piece now,
a relic more history than spirit,
more art than soul.
That was the premise
when the cast iron bell was unleashed
from its original mooring,
packed and protected,
and brought here,
when the architects and curators
designed a space to receive it,
display it, a near recreation of its temple home,
properly homogenized for Public consumption
in this city by the sea.
The bell rings no more,
and yet, for the hungry soul,
its ancient resonance still radiates
About this poem
I love holy places. Churches. Cathedrals. Places like Stonehenge. Oriental and Hindu temples. To me, they radiate the faith of the people who worship there. You can feel their faith in the relics, statuary, and walls.
Even in museums, I feel the faith and rejoice. It is not uncommon for me to simply sit and soak in the spirit of a place, and pray. Even when I am far from home and sit in a strange church, I am home.
There is nothing holy or even particularly good in me when I go and sit. It is a need, a lack, a place that needs constant filling. I find my God in those places, where ever they are.