Every temple has a shrine. And every shrine, an idol.
The temple awaits the arrival of its idol. Patiently, lovingly. Without the heavenly shrine and the idol, a temple has no essence of its own. Without the shrine, the temple cease to exist.
The temple has to endure the pain of a long and endless wait for his destiny, his shrine and his idol. During this time, the temple has to journey through the seasons of mists, drought, snow and hailstorm in search of its beloved idol. The pang of loneliness looms over it with each step it takes. But it cannot stop searching, that would mean death for the temple. So it must go on, it must follow its destiny to live.
With each step towards the fabled land, the temple bleeds. It bleeds as it passes through the no man's land.
Then one day, when the temple wakes up from a deep slumber, it finds that the weather has changed into Spring. And standing in front of him would be his destiny, his idol, the mother of his shrine, the woman the possess him, the woman that owns him!
The temple holds her within himself. It stands tall around her, with all its grandeur. The shrine impregnates him with her idol. And then the temple, the shrine, and the idol embraces each other in divine love. Entangled, entwined within themselves in blissful ecstasy.
Come, sit beside me. Feel the blisters on my hands, the wounds on my heart, the bitterness of your separation in my soul. I have been waiting for you, forever. Let me hold your hand, let me touch thy feet. Sit beside me, cure my wounds, heal my soul with your blissful kiss.
Let me worship thee, my idol, with my mind, my body, my soul. Let me worship thy mind, thy body, thy soul, thy skin. Let me worship thee with my lips.
[To Ms J, the most beautiful girl in the world]