The cathedral sits amongst the bustle of the city, creamy stone against grey concrete tiling. The clouds speed past the steeple carried by a strong westerly wind.
A bell calls the faithful to mass. Constant and regular it chimes. Like a heartbeat.
How long have these people been a part of this body? Is the regular chime like a heartbeat to them. Life bringing. Life affirming.
Is the chime a new kind of music?
I am not drawn to the body of the church, but the steady sound of hammer on metal reminds me that a few days of escape are coming to an end. I have been in hiding for two days, but the steady chime of my family heartbeat calls me back.
Do St Patricks' parishioners ever run away from the obligations their commitment to their family has placed them under? Their obligation is no less a choice than mine.
Although having some insight into the mind of the faithful, I know walking away is possible. Sometimes easy. Sometimes inevitable. And sometimes necessary.
The chimes call us back. Like a heartbeat. Some bodies can be left. And some can't.
No comments:
Post a Comment