I was familiar with the place, having visited many times over the years. And now I was being called again, as if by a sweet, mystical voice, carried by the wind. So I made the journey to the temple. I was not greatly interested in the ancient building though. I knew why I was really there.
I could not go directly to her, though. I had to allow my being to prepare itself first. So I sauntered around, admiring the old stone sculptures; tapping some of the delicate, hollow stone columns that ring like chimes; pausing with a smile in the hidden corner of the crypt where once a lover and I had copulated.
Eventually I was ready. The being was integrated, calm and receptive. So I went to her. I went to the old frangipani tree.
All frangipani trees are amazing – I have commented on them elsewhere – but this tree is even more special. Her trunk is as gnarled and twisted as the oldest of olive trees. She leans at an alarming angle. She is the grandmother of frangipani trees. Yet despite her unfathomable age, she is still producing a host of delicate, fragrant flowers, afresh every day.
She is the real temple in this place. To be near her is to be at peace. To touch her is to melt into existence. And as I do so, she lets go of one of her beautiful flowers, which drifts to the ground by my feet. Thank you for the gift, beloved one!
