Gateway to the Temple:
Homage to Lahaina
~ Flint Sparks

At the entry gate of every temple, a great bell
waits.
When struck, a deep resonant call is sent
out,
A powerful sound, but something closer to
gravity,
Invisibly pulling us across the threshold into a
sacred space,
Toward the promise of the perfected love we
secretly long for;
A divine love which is equally terrifying
As it beautifully consumes and nourishes us.
On that Summer day in August there was no
bell.
No call was sent out;
No signal, no warning announcing the
impending destruction.
Only the savage wind,
Tearing down the dry, ragged slopes
Carrying one small spark
Which would destroy a town.
And now we gather in safety at the blackened
boundary,
Not able to enter, although we long to help,
Not able to turn away, even though the
bearing witness is awful.
Instead we find ourselves at this thin place
between life and death,
Called by the resonant silence of those who
are gone
And the compassionate cry arising from our
own hearts.
But isn’t it always like this for us?
Hesitating to enter the frightening places
which could save us.
Pausing, unable to move,
Knowing we have to go there, to do what we
have to do.
Crossing the turbulent threshold where love
and loss collide.
Like the powerful winter swells pounding the
shoreline,
Impossibly rearranging mountains of sand,
Over and over again.
Life heaves itself into being, in all of its wild
beauty,
And then inexorably sweeping it all away,
Only to offer it all back, again and again.
Maybe this is what the temple bell is
signaling:
The willingness to carry on, even knowing the
disturbing truth of impermanence and
uncertainty;
The faith to continue to care for each other,
even when we’ve been emptied and
discouraged;
And a boundless hope which holds firm, even
as everything changes without warning.
The temple gate is now in ashes,
The great bell is silent.
Can you hear it?