Flicker

A faint flicker of light dances through the darkness from the direction of the hospital's temple catching my attention this morning. My curiosity takes me there. It's before dawn and I see little stirring within the temple walls. I see the source of the light that brought me here. A large metal bowl of oil with a long lighted wick. A sign tells me the flame always lives as the bowl is continually replenished.

Near the back, there are curtain-drawn rooms for the priests. I see a young priest (the same one who visits our cottage every day with an offering of flowers on a banana leaf) emerge from a room, yawn and stretch. Our eyes meet and we share a namaste. I continue my walk through the temple--my bare feet loving the cool stone floor. Watching with complete reverence, my curious heart observes an older chubby priest as he chants poojas in monotone for healing. Simply clothed in a white linen loin wrap and orange shawl, he sits cross-legged on the ground, and his body sways as he feeds the fire. An older couple sits and prays with him. A lone man also prays with them and struggles with the smoke coming from the fire, coughing and blinking his eyes. More people gradually join the group and then the kirtan begins.
 
All these people, coming with hope for healing whether it be for themselves and/or their loved ones. So much heart and faith. I say a prayer for healing for them, myself and Mahesh. On my way out, I pass the light that drew me here today and gave thanks for the lessons learned. May we also always have oil in our lamps.