15 for 15 Contest --- Closed

Sad

This temple was like an oasis in the bustling city. I had been desperately seeking the serenity I had left behind in Tibet, when I stumbled across this holy place. The low stone buildings encircled a massive courtyard that was filled with an abundance of plants and flowers. With the exception of the buildings’ European architecture, everything else bore the mark of the Oriental way of life. A number of monks strolled through the garden, wearing their simple robes, occasionally they would stop before one of the many shrines to pray.

It was like stepping back in time. Jake just stood there with a peaceful smile spreading across his face. “Did we take a turn and end up in heaven by mistake?” he asked.

I laughed. No, but I think this is as close as you’re going to come. Do you want some time to be alone?”

“Yeah, that’d be great.” Showered and bedecked in his new clothes, Jake looked like a country gentleman, out for his afternoon constitutional. All he needed was a top hat and a walking stick. He certainly looked lighter than the tormented man in my hotel room. Some, not all, of his sadness had been lifted when he walked through these garden gates. I wanted to give my new friend plenty of space, so I left the compound, heading toward the center of the city.

As I walked along the busy city streets, I wondered at the irony of it. Less than 24 hours ago, I had been ready to end it all. Instead, I had found a measure of salvation in a dirty back alley. And, just as Jake had been my salvation, now maybe I could help him. We were two wounded soldiers. Together, we could try to make it across the battlefield of life. I chuckled softly. I was talking as though we had more of a connection than mere kismet. Fate had brought us together but he would be gone soon enough. Everybody left me eventually.

I stopped to sit on a park bench near the Palace. I watched some older gentlemen playing checkers and a group of young mothers keeping an eye on their children. On the perimeter of the playground sat a ragamuffin girl in a tattered t-shirt. The girl was only five or six years old, but from all appearances, she was alone. Every feature of her face was weighed down by gravity and a deep sadness that I knew only too well. It was the sadness of loss and I was as familiar with it as I was with the freckles on the back of my hand.


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