The Temple

She stood, proud and defiant in the centre of her sacred chamber.

Her eyes burning wildly, jaw set firm even as she spoke,

“You do not get to speak to me of vulgarity.¬†You who count your wives among your possessions, guarding jealously, pushing your daughters into modesty and shame.

You do not get to tell me what the holy wants from me. Your temples reek of hypocrisy and greed.

You who spit at me and shout your shame into my face. You know nothing of the work I do. You know nothing of the sacred and profane.”

The intruders steeled themselves against their fear of self realization, not willing to back down and lay their fragile egos on the line.

But still, she spoke, with a strangely gentle conviction,

“I will not bow meekly down into the service of your King. I surrender my body to a higher calling. This is a place of sanctuary, and your forcefulness is not welcome here.”

This had been her home, her oasis. She had touched the tendrils of many weary spirits there. She had enlivened, emboldened, healed and revealed with the energy that ran through her flesh.

But one man just would not open himself up to the source, and had become fixated on her as a means to such radiant energy that he could not get for himself.

Now he was angry. He had not expected to be spurned. He was not about to allow anyone to deny him his claim.

She had never known danger like this before. Her skills were disarming, her diplomacy was extraordinary, but this was a new territory.

Now her very way of life was seen as an insult by a very sour man who exerted a great deal of control over her people.

She had watched them feeding off each others fear, lashing out, wasting away ever more since his rise into power.

Now he was getting desperate, and she was not sure how she should stand her ground.