The Temple of Rain
My footsteps splash softly as I enter. Rain falls from the rafters and pools on the dark, tile floor. The water is warm and my aches recede as it soaks deeper and deeper into my body.
The temple is always empty. The solitude I experience here is sacred.
As I bask in the deepening pool, the air grows thick with steam. I am seated, cross legged, in the rising water. My legs and hips are slowly submerged. I see them rippling under the surface. My breath comes steady and relaxed.
As always, I offer a prayer:
"God of Rain,
Thank you for this sanctuary of peace and reflection. Thank you for the life I have been given. Let these waters nourish my tired body and mind and replenish my spirit. Water guide me so that I may see your force, grace and tranquility and emulate it to the best of my abilities." In this place, my mind is clear. A multitude of warm droplets beat rhythmically on my lowered head and clasped hands.
Time passes ambiguously. My lungs, cleansed in steam, release a slow deep breath. To overstay ones welcome is not polite. The temple is only a temporary refuge.
As the door opens, gusts of cold wind chill my body. The steam pours out behind me. The sounds of the temple fade as the door creaks shut.
