Some Temples

Some temples are cluttered. Everywhere there are wrathful-playful-sexual-vengeful- gesturing-carousing-beckoning- ascending-descending-riding- weeping-flying-singing, or just sitting around Gods. The congregation ride luggage carts in the dead of night, sing drunkenly, slam doors, or watch HBO with the volume way up, That was a hotel in Muncie Indiana. A temple I shared with a rumba dancing Shiva and a bottle of Jim Beam but the vibe was the same. When I finally nod off, I dream of wearing Day-Glo Speedos in an elevator while reading the Kama Sutra. One level up, the Tallahassee chapter of the honorable order of Shriners, surrounds me with their juiced-up joie de vivre. I rise with them to the seventh floor where at last I find my omnipresent self.