Outside the temple gates..!
Robert Clements
Thursday, May 26, 2011 - She stood outside the gates of a church in Spain; I looked at her, saw eyes pleading for a few pesos; I felt a stirring within; I did not reach for my wallet, nor did I offer her coins which filled my pocket, all I offered was sly smile of lechery and lust. I saw her shake within, felt her gaze pull away from mine: For what she saw in me was not charity. I walked into empty, ancient church and my thoughts grew pious and sacred. I stood in front of stone statue of holy mother who had her son’s body on her lap, and as I looked at agonized visage, I felt tears pour down my cheek; there was anguish and grief on her face, and yet as she stared down at her dead son, I saw also a resignation for the will of God, who had willed her son dead.
“Oh Mother of Jesus!” I whispered, “What holiness I see in your grief.” And was it then the stone face turned and looked at me: I gasped, ’twas same face I’d seen at temple gate, same face I’d burned with waves of lust. I put my head down in shame and heard her whisper from the grotto where her statue was, “Bob, outside these walls you looked at me so differently!”
“Forgive me, I did not know!” I cried. “And inside you look at me with eyes so pious, so religious, worshipful and holy?” I felt a shame burn within me and if the fires of hell could have reached out, would have stepped forward to be swallowed willingly. “That Frenchman who ran naked from New York Hotel bathroom, excited when he saw the cleaning maid?” “IMF chief Dominique Strauss Kahn!” I whispered. “Could he not see a mother, a sister, a daughter in her? Or do you see such only inside the Temple gates?” I put my head down and tried to look away, but her eyes sought mine and her voice was sad, “You men who rape and molest, who entice innocent children of the fairer sex, and then like animals paw them apart, would you do such inside your church, your mosque, your temple?” Sobs shook my body, as I walked towards the Gates of the church. She was there, I pulled all the pesos that were in my pocket, all the notes in my wallet, lay it on the ground beside where she stood, and fled, trembling with grief, for beasts that we men were outside the temple gates..!
—Email:bobsbanter@gmail.com
“Oh Mother of Jesus!” I whispered, “What holiness I see in your grief.” And was it then the stone face turned and looked at me: I gasped, ’twas same face I’d seen at temple gate, same face I’d burned with waves of lust. I put my head down in shame and heard her whisper from the grotto where her statue was, “Bob, outside these walls you looked at me so differently!”
“Forgive me, I did not know!” I cried. “And inside you look at me with eyes so pious, so religious, worshipful and holy?” I felt a shame burn within me and if the fires of hell could have reached out, would have stepped forward to be swallowed willingly. “That Frenchman who ran naked from New York Hotel bathroom, excited when he saw the cleaning maid?” “IMF chief Dominique Strauss Kahn!” I whispered. “Could he not see a mother, a sister, a daughter in her? Or do you see such only inside the Temple gates?” I put my head down and tried to look away, but her eyes sought mine and her voice was sad, “You men who rape and molest, who entice innocent children of the fairer sex, and then like animals paw them apart, would you do such inside your church, your mosque, your temple?” Sobs shook my body, as I walked towards the Gates of the church. She was there, I pulled all the pesos that were in my pocket, all the notes in my wallet, lay it on the ground beside where she stood, and fled, trembling with grief, for beasts that we men were outside the temple gates..!
—Email:bobsbanter@gmail.com
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