One of the things I love, and which brings some reassurance to the soul, is seeing places of worship in the cities of the world, and of different cultures and religious beliefs. It makes me feel that there are guardian angels who have visited these places, and blessed the good that comes from them, and prevented evil if it could come out of them. They all have the same scent of coolness, and they are a place of faith if faith has letters of light or a drizzle of Kawthar or tranquility cast into the chests.
Therefore, places of worship are places that attract the cognitive tourist, due to their connection to history and its events, the passage of time and the development of man. They are always the spear of resistance, its fortress, and the first thing to shake if the feet of enemy soldiers set foot on its land. Places of worship have that waving from afar, which guides the footsteps of the traveler to it, because they are areas close to the heart; warm, and full of spirit. You approach them and feel that awe has settled in your body, and that something of reassurance has crept into you, but you do not know what it is, except that it is the ray of that faith that those cold walls leak with piety and prayers for good for humanity.
Often… and always, places that have the quality of religion, faith, and rituals of worship stop me. They make me feel that they are a refuge for human panic when things and places around him become wild, and a haven for human helplessness when doors are closed, distances are narrow, and injustice is still nearby. Places of worship in all places, and of different sects and religions, do not let me pass in front of them quickly, but rather require an hour of contemplation, questions, and touching the secrets of their walls, and the weight of their doors, and urge me to enter with bare feet and a uncovered turban, for some places have their sanctity that they have acquired over time, and acquired it through what the chests have preserved of narratives and tales that have continued to grow in them, and deposited in people’s heads.
Buddhist temples and holy places entered lands saturated with the teachings of “Buddha”, in India, Sri Lanka, Nepal and the countries of East Asia. As for the existence of similar and similar ones in some European countries, the matter began there, as if they were artificial, and did not have extended roots as is the case in their original homeland. Each one of those temples in the Far East was different, and they were united only by that calm and cool tranquility, and the smells of oud and incense. The first thing I looked for when I entered such places was honesty, honesty in the eyes, and you can feel it in speech, in the hearts, and in the treatment. Perhaps what is equivalent to those Buddhist temples are statues of “Buddha” in different positions and sizes, made of gold, stone and wood. Some are giant standing the size of a mountain, and some are in a relaxed and sleeping position along a rope. Some live in caves, and some overlook cities. There are manifestations of theatrical scenes, and rituals of worship accompanied by the rhythm of large, pounding drums, tongues of flame and sparkling candles, and shaved heads. The barefoot, and that saffron, orange and red color, of robes that wrapped the melted bodies of ascetics who preferred to fast for the whole life, and bodies filled with the health of donations and gifts brought by faithful people from their simple villages as offerings, and baskets filled with food and drink to please the teacher, only that ascetic who was on top of a mountain at the point where the sky touches the earth, near his small stone temple remained in my mind, because he vowed death there, and would never come down, and I have no doubt that after those long years he died fasting, leaning on his sandalwood crutch, yes I saw that ascetic Buddhist worshipper in the belly of a mountain that is easy to climb to, but difficult to descend from.. and tomorrow we will continue
#entered #barefoot #bareheaded