Holy Apostles Soup Kitchen

My Personal Shrine

In Prose on December 18, 2012 at 4:22 pm


Once, when I was a teenager, I was wandering in Prospect Park in Brooklyn. I came upon a strange little hut by the lake. I decided to sit there and gaze at the water. Then it occurred to me that the place was extremely filthy and littered with old leaves, beer cans, and cigarettes. I was suddenly seized with an overwhelming desire to make this place my personal shrine.

That is exactly how I thought of it in my mind. It was no longer a dirty little hut in the middle of Prospect Park. It now assumed all the exaggerated proportions of an outdoor temple in Tibet, where hundreds of pilgrims came to pray and make offerings to Lhasa. To see the Dalai Lama.

I could smell the incense, see the prayer flags waving in the wind, hear the chanting. It was now almost a civic duty to take care of the hut and return it to the place of sanctity it had once been.

After that day, I never returned to the little hut in the park, but I will always remember vividly that little imagined hut.

Ronnie Eisen


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