Step forth to the temple steps. Stand in awe at the large marble columns, the overstated majesty of history, the delicate details that dispel questioning thoughts of genuine tradition. Bow your head in reverence, for the building alone has been touched by the miraculous inhabitants, has felt the clip and the clop of light footwear across its hard floors, has heard more than you dream possible. Bow not to the skilled craftsmen who fashioned this heartbeat of your town, for they are normal, like you. The temple is not great for its aesthetics or materials; the temple is great because of those who reside within.
Do not fear when such a priest takes you by the right hand, begins the ceremony, shakes it with more force and more gusto than necessary. You may fear his smile, his white teeth, the creases near his lips, for they have meaning.
Walk slowly but purposefully through the large opened doors. You must not appear rushed or nervous, for they smell fear. Try not to look out of place as you slip past others who know the rites, their uniforms uncreased and fresh, their faces clean, their hair stuck in place. They possess all the power and they know it.
This great hall, this anteroom, emphasises the power and privilege, showers you in wonder and enchantment, feeds your doubts and subservience to their great God. At its centre, defended by the large circular desk, sit the gatekeepers, their disinterest and formality serving as a reminder of who holds the power. You must not shy away, for you have the key in your possession. You will feel the urge to touch your trouser pocket, to feel the outline, but believe me when I tell you the price of the key has already been paid. If it were different, the great priest would not be by your side. He is your key now. He holds the answers to the questioning gatekeepers. He is able to speak their tongue, converse in arcane language, nod at the right times. It is he who allows your safe passage past the gatekeepers and further, into the inferno.
Tread lightly up the hard steps. Notice the echo of this odyssey clash against your ears, adding to the echo of others, some like you, some not. It is easy to feel alone in the temple, to feel the weight of history bearing down upon you. Realise that many have stepped through those doors and that you are nothing, a nobody, a normal. They will remind you of this at every occasion. This is their duty. To elevate themselves above you they have a choice: rise higher in faith and knowledge, lead the way in ethics and morality; or subjugate and push down all others, show them how little worth your soul possesses. They speak of the former while acting upon the latter. It is their way.
Do not let the dome of light blind you from above. It exists to reinforce the notion of a higher power, the same power the priests pray to, that all pray to. On the outside, away from the temple, this God is treated with a distant reverence, with restrained respect. But here, deep inside the heart, it is given prominence above all other Gods as the only thing separating us from the savages of the past, the necessary ingredient for a modern society. So the priests tell us. It is, after all, their raison d'être.
You are close now. Stand outside the altar room, by the frosted glass doors. Make yourself comfortable, for the most influential spells the priests cast affect time itself. Every utterance from their spellbooks are to this end. Do not expect this to go quickly. Be ready for delays. Learn patience. Then learn it again. For normal minds do not comprehend the glacial speed of a priest at work. You will return to this temple again many times. It will feel that the ritual is going backwards, that time itself reverses its course. You must change the way your mind works, alter your understanding of progress, for they will not change their ways, and they hold all the power.
You will be tempted to steal a rest in one of the uncomfortable chairs, to take what you can before others remove the opportunity from you, to stake out something of your own. It is not necessary: the priests will ultimately have everything of yours, everything of value, including your spirit and eternal life-force. The others know this. You will learn it soon.
Much later you will enter the room. You will feel shocked at the modesty, let down with the lack of grandeur. You will wonder if the simple wooden furniture and the plain, straight walls exist to lower your expectations, to give them the upper hand. But it is not so. For they have you now. You are in the heart. This is where they are strongest. They have no need to suggest power when here, more than anywhere, they possess it.
Do not take notice of the large symbol on the wall. You will think it is where they get their power from, given only at the symbol's will. It is a trap! They have power because those before them had power. They hold onto it tightly, protecting their place in the world. For you see they write the rules. They are the ones who truly govern. It is them and their brethren who allow and deny, and by their laws entrench power.
For now you must do as you are told. You will wonder why. They would tell you with fast words that this process whereby you are struck silent is the only way to avoid a future of slavery, where you are told when to drink and when to eat and when to speak. You will wonder how this is different. They would tell you that here, you voluntarily do as commanded. It is your choice. Whereas, if you do not win the battle for your body, for your livelihood, you will perform as commanded by force. You may still be unable to find a difference. They will not care.
The ritual will begin. Do not pretend to understand the ritual, for knowledge comes only to the chosen. Feel grateful for any crumb that falls your way, that flows from their hallowed lips across your shaking body. Their rules will seem arcane. Because they are. Their rules will seem arbitrary. Because they are. They will not speak of their God to you, insisting it is their own hands that are tied. If they could pray directly to the God, to express the truth of your predicament, then where would that leave us? In chaos! If just anyone could lay themselves before the God then tyranny must naturally follow. No, they will say, we must follow the rules for the rules are everything. If that means gambling for your life, then that is what must be.
One priest will rise above all others, will sit at rest with long, flowing hair. His garb will confound you. He will preach to the room for formality. He will preach to the other priests, for they are who his words are truly for. He will preach to you with contempt. He will look sternly upon you, look through your eyes, stare into your soul, poke through all your past sins and leave nothing to mercy. For high upon the throne, the head priest feels the power, knows his mastery over you.
Allow your own priest to pray indirectly to his God. Allow him to speak in his own language. Allow him to lay you prostrate before their God, before Justice, and hold you up to the face of twelve others, twelve like you, normal. But feel their power. Notice their expressions. Guess at their thoughts. Know that your fate is in their hands. Pray to them deeply with answers, with hope. Believe in yourself the way you want them to believe in you. For this is the only way. This is civilised society. This is humane. This is democracy. This is Justice.
© 2012 Ben Safta
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial 3.0 Australia License
