On the Blessing Way: The Priest

Originally written October 16, 2006

In the jungle heat of the mid-afternoon sun, while sleep has taken its hold on you a world away, I can be found wandering the streets and back alleys of this city.

I have wined and dined with the elite classes on this island, and I have sat on crates talking life with the homeless. I have never felt safer. The island is filled with souls, seven million living on top of each other. Every day I listen to their stories, learning their routines and responsibilities. How do they go from the youth we now possess to the monotony of what we can only expect? Listen closely and you hear they still have that dream.

My travels brought me to an Indian priest clothed in the regal appearance one would reserve for the royalty of Kensington High. I found this man on the way to through admiralty. As the sea of Asians sprawled out in every direction along the path, the Indian stuck out as much as the gwuilo walking towards him. I introduced myself respectfully, and extended my hand expecting a friendly gesture of a handshake. The priest, whose name could only be pronounced by masters of Hindi, grasped my hand with such a force that he nearly pulled me in to him. There was a light in his eyes I have never seen before.

As if the man hadn’t seen another person in years, the unspeakable excitement of the occasion.

We must have talked for over an hour on that busy street in admiralty. We talked about his faith, and how he had been sent here by his master to teach the masses about… whatever he believed. I respect the man who holds beliefs so passionately that they will go to the ends of the earth to carry them out. The significance behind the words is slight compared to the passion that gives you the encouragement. In another lifetime, my priest could have a leader of the masses, he spoke with a fire that his believers would follow anywhere.

Throughout our conversation, I challenged his beliefs, I made him question whether he was doing his lord’s or his master’s work. We talked about his training, the years he spent in solitude, in service of his faith.

My priest was the most real person I have ever met, he existed, he was here in front of me, and he believed that he could change the world. I told him I want to believe…that there was something greater than what I was doing, that all the chivalry, all the fighting and scheming, that it meant something, that it would change world just as he thought he could make a difference.

The priest took my hand once again, and without looking for my reaction, placed it inside his book of scriptures. He looked up the heavens and said words I would know again if I heard but could not begin to describe. He prayed to his master, he held my hand in his and gave me his blessing; that my life would be long and healthy, that my family and friends would always be by my side, that the wealth I seek would come to me in time.

I was blessed by a holy man who believed he had the power to give the world away.

I want to believe…