My Temple lies within

My reflection day. A warm day. More precisely, hot. So hot that I keep on moving into the shade, my autoharp in tow. After dinner, still searching for the right melody, I notice fluorescent tops. Is Amy afraid a car will hit her on her walk? And why is Swami Satyananda running? And then I become aware of the distinct smell in the air. It is not the burnpile.

I hear something about the tipi and the firebrigade and go back home. I don’t want to be in the way. From the deck I watch the beach. The smoke coming from the trees. The fuss of firehoses and pumps. Somehow I am not that touched. This can happen on a hot day. This is what all the firedrills were for. But then I look again and see the flames, and realise. It is not the tipi or the trees around. It is the Temple.

The Temple Swami Radha dreamt about as a child, the Temple we chant in every night, the giant tortoise, holding us all safe in her belly. And now I am touched, and afraid. And so I chant, for all the firefighters and support, and all the water of the lake to extinguish this fire.

But as I chant I begin to realize that even though the Temple can burn and the ashram can vanish, horrible this might be, the teachings are right here, inside of me. I can rely on the mantra, the divine light invocation. I can gather the facts and do a straightwalk. I can take a walk with my senses or have a cup of tea with Divine Mother. The fire serves as a reminder. It is not about the outside. My temple lies within.