- Overcome this pain you suffer, the cure you seek is just faith. Embrace your God even against you will, against you doubt... Praised well are those who go beyond their limited logic, their superfluous minds and turn their faces to the light that never fades.
A tall building shrouded in night stands at the top of the hill, many travellers gather here when the lighting storms strike with anger the woods. They find shelter and a place to sleep. A great gate waits in front of the dusty road, taller than three men, wider than a The King's Chariot.
Inside a gallery decorates the entrance hall, paintings of epic battles, legendary heroes and their armies in the battles that made them famous and eternal. The monks, "The order of the Sacred Fire" is known for both, their great mastery with the brush and with the sword.
A crying moan is heard across the cold air that fills this shrine, followed by some rhythmic yet chaotic chant.
- Om medere! tao mits tedem, hill hiaw sur tedem! Sang a monk with frantic agitation.
- Om medere! trial gut nuodem, hill hiaw mits tedem! Answered the rest at once.
Those words were written in golden scripture all along the walls. A kind monk, the one that opened the gates when I was calling, translated them to me.
- God burn! Your mighty flame, your will is the brightest sun!
- God burn! Embrace our hearts, your will is the only sun!
I heard each and every word very surprised of hearing an Hymn to the sun, knowing from local lore that this were people of the night, that darkness filled every corner of this magnificent construction.
- My son, don't be stubborn. Do as I say. You have no choice.
- Don't bother asking again, you already know how my heart works.
I fell asleep, wondering about this strange place that summons travellers hiding them in mist.
A tall building shrouded in night stands at the top of the hill, many travellers gather here when the lighting storms strike with anger the woods. They find shelter and a place to sleep. A great gate waits in front of the dusty road, taller than three men, wider than a The King's Chariot.
Inside a gallery decorates the entrance hall, paintings of epic battles, legendary heroes and their armies in the battles that made them famous and eternal. The monks, "The order of the Sacred Fire" is known for both, their great mastery with the brush and with the sword.
A crying moan is heard across the cold air that fills this shrine, followed by some rhythmic yet chaotic chant.
- Om medere! tao mits tedem, hill hiaw sur tedem! Sang a monk with frantic agitation.
- Om medere! trial gut nuodem, hill hiaw mits tedem! Answered the rest at once.
Those words were written in golden scripture all along the walls. A kind monk, the one that opened the gates when I was calling, translated them to me.
- God burn! Your mighty flame, your will is the brightest sun!
- God burn! Embrace our hearts, your will is the only sun!
I heard each and every word very surprised of hearing an Hymn to the sun, knowing from local lore that this were people of the night, that darkness filled every corner of this magnificent construction.
- My son, don't be stubborn. Do as I say. You have no choice.
- Don't bother asking again, you already know how my heart works.
I fell asleep, wondering about this strange place that summons travellers hiding them in mist.
No comments:
Post a Comment