The Temple

I stand in the middle of the Nevada desert holding the hand of my dear friend Carsten. Thousands surround us as we wait and listen in silence while the flames at the base of the Temple begin to lick higher. The Temple. A giant wooden effigy erected in the middle of a dry desert lake bed. A temporary confessional where for the past week people of all walks paid homage to their own humanity by adorning her walls with their hearts. Small tokens of remembrance and surrender. Photos of loved ones lost, of children, friendships or lovers. Declarations, apologies, forgiveness, love, longing, sadness, rage, anger, shame, regret. All flavors of emotion are expressed within her walls and she takes it all. She listens to the stories. She hears the prayers. She catches the falling tears and braces herself against the fist. She holds it all in her sweet gentle beams and floorboards like a treasure and swells with the weight of the past.

Tonight she burns, and with her goes all the pain. All the stories. I stand in the middle of the Nevada desert holding the hand of my dear friend Carsten and tears stream down my face as I watch it all go up. Smoke fills the air with prayers and release and I feel the shift in the space. Complete reverent silence, save for a distant electronic drip. Poignant and perfect.

Carsten squeezes my hand tightly and flames reflect off the tears that roll down his gentle face as we share this moment of love for our species. For our people. The Human Family. Being alive takes great courage. It takes such immense courage to maneuver the maze of the human experience. The losses, the failures, the pain that dips us into valleys and canyons of darkness. Yet we always rise, like unwavering Phoenix lights we always rise and walk forward. We carry the weight of our unique paths and smile anyway, although our hearts are deeply fractured.

As the flames from the burning temple glow across the desert and the smoke bends in whirling twisters upward into the midnight sky, I feel the world exhale a great release. She takes it all away and up. She burns it all.

It is hauntingly beautiful. Sacredly beautiful. I stand in the middle of the Nevada desert holding the hand of my dear friend Carsten, watching a temple representing the sorrows of humanity burn and I feel one with all.

My Therapist

Driving home last night my head bobbled up and down and side to side with wild thoughts of doubt and perplexity. Looking to the past for clues on how to approach a budding relationship rarely delivers, and the future is yet unspoken, so its wisdom and insight lies unseen. All there is to do is be calm, as the central point of entry for the pebble dropped into the rippling water of a life scenario. Plop. The circles radiate outward and I want to chase them to and fro, to figure it all out, but instead I sit. There are tactics for dealing with such ripples to maintain inner sanctum. I turn on the classical music station. The rain-like dripping of a piano solo takes the edge off. Suddenly, I know exactly who to speak with: My Therapist.

I exit the freeway and head towards him. It’s late, but I know that even unannounced he will greet me warmly. I haven’t been to see him in years, although he is always there, awaiting my arrival. I pull into the parking lot and my headlights flash on many pairs of large doe eyes. The horses.

I greet them with a pat on the nose as I walk directly to Noa. My Therapist is lying down in his stall slumbering. He sits up and watches my approach as I walk over and sit down in the dirt beside him. With golden mane and his pale yellow coat he looks like a unicorn in the moonlight. I hold his velvet face in my hands and breath in the smell of comfort. The smell of horses. He gums my hands playfully and sniffs the smells of dog from my clothes. I scratch and massage him all over like the fat king that he is and he basks in the attention.

Behind him I kneel and drape myself over his huge belly like a polar bear cub and he lets me. A visit to my gigantic, beastly therapist was all that I needed to set my heart alight again and free my little sparrow spirit from the confines of confusion. With gratitude for his presence in my life I hug him goodbye, and exit his office. I visit his associates before heading back to my car: Cracker Jack, Sierra, Trouble, Cloudy and Sassy. They all greet me with equal warmth and playfulness.

Nothing soothes my heart like the presence of horses, and it never fails, no matter where I find myself. From Colorado to Mexico, Switzerland and China, I have always, always found peace near them.