dolorous interludes.

And so the Sunday went by as always they would.

i stood behind the wooden benches with my hands clasped, whispering to the Faithful One, "i have come, speak to me."Worship was lively, as always, but i stood almost so still it reminded me of two distinctly different places: China, where the terocotta warriors are; London, where the soldiers in red wear tall black hats. i was unmoved, and it wasnt surprising, really. a married couple taking their seats(they were late!) caught my attention for some minutes however; they were both dressed in similar shades- white and denim blue. upon being settled in comfortably, the man gently placed his arm over the woman's shoulders, lowered their heads, and said a short prayer together before immersing themselves fully in the presence of the Faithful One proper. that moment was perfected, truly, by the softer tones of the piano, the absence of the drums, and the flute accompaniment. 'How id want that for myself in the later years to come!' i breathed almost outloud. this simple exchange between the couple exudes a simple love so pure and pristine, and almost fragile, but their firmness and conviction in their faith was unquestionable. i looked up for a moment and saw the crucifix; it shone in a soft candlelight of sunset red. i continued to stare unflinchingly, and the red burned into my eyes(mephistophilean, mr purvis would say); the beauty of that cherubic cross was not reflected in my black-brown pupils it seemed.

"he hath a daily beauty in him that maketh me ugly", says Iago. sometimes, i think he best represents the devil in all of us.

posted by voyeur @ 10/05/2003 10:17:00 PM