Thresholds of Divinity #1559

Thresholds of Divinity (Temple of Unequal Souls) In the shadow of sacred halls, where whispers of divinity brush the air, poor men kneel outside the temple, hands outstretched, eyes lifted to the sky, mirroring their empty bowls. Inside, opulent chandeliers cast golden glow on rich men, draped in robes of affluence, bowing heads in silent prayers, pleas adorned with incense, burdens masked by polished marble. The sacred threshold, a line drawn in dust, separates humble cries from gilded whispers, as if heavens themselves demand a toll for entry, a fee the poor cannot afford. Here, in this holy divide, beggars' hymns rise like smoke, twisting, reaching, yearning for the same grace, the same redemption, that the rich seek behind closed doors, supplications cushioned by privilege. Outside, the poor man's prayer is raw, a chorus of needs unmet, hopes unspoken, faith a fragile flame against the wind, flickering in the face of cold stone walls, their sanctuary the open sky. Inside, the rich man's prayer is rehearsed, a symphony of wants disguised as gratitude, faith a shield of polished gold, gleaming in candlelight, their sanctuary a fortress of tradition. The temple stands, silent witness to the gulf between hunger and excess, a monument to the paradox where poverty and wealth kneel side by side, yet worlds apart, each begging for different salvation. Oh, temple of unequal souls, when will your walls crumble? When will your gates swing open wide, to let the poor in, to let the rich out, to let all men stand together, not as beggars divided, but as brothers in the sight of the divine? Written by Steven G. Lee (May 30, 2024)