if he said that this was his last hope to salvage faith in his religion, it would be a lie. faith is not the issue. the presence of god, is not the issue. an odd case, in that he's seen the light. has seen what is waiting for him, on the other side. god is real.. yet, is he righteous? is he deserving of piousness? why is the man chosen by his hand to spread his word, forsaken to a life of loneliness? a life of praying for a mother long dead, each time he dresses in vestments for mass? for her sin of giving him life.. a sin indeed. each day buried beneath the ground, spiting his prayers for her health & safety. & knowing only two things in life, he toes the line. whip lashes on his back a dirty reminder of his faith's demand for penance, that he's never quite rewarded for. layers upon layers of his shame, each time he swallows a pill. each time he has an impure thought. each time he touches himself, earnestly in the dark. tears staining hospital grade & neatly creased sheets. wondering how he had once been so fulfilled by Him. by his faith. by the smiles of his congregation, & the words he spoke on the altar. words that he so desperately believed in. that he lived by, & that kept him afloat when the most crippling of his days were upon him. getting him through the disdain of the diocese, of being 'brother duke' -- of having his mother decline his letters, as an attempt at communication. through it all, he thanked christ our lord, amen.
a personal pilgrimage, one might call it. another priest looks after his church, which fills him with immense anxiety. his dirty secrets locked away in chambers & in desk drawers... nobody besides his clergy knows that he does not reside at the clergy house. yet not even his clergy knows what goes on after dark. & he is quite certain the aging father they sent to speak over his german congregation, was not one to snoop in places that are up more than five steps.
the first time he's stepped foot in germany since his early twenties. & even if it's not his village, he's never gotten the chance to experience the parts of his country that are most revered. he'd run away from the political turmoil, from the scrutiny.. the years it took to finally stabilize his native land. the country having faced an identity crisis, in all it's years. yet now that he's here, he's not sure how to feel. if he should feel happy, or if he should feel shame. it feels like he's facing what he's been avoiding, yet his visiting the Berliner Dom is deliberate. for if god sought the most opulent of his houses to monitor, this would be it. can you hear me? can you see me? -- can you feel me?
he walks up the massive rows of pews. dressed in his clerical uniform, yet it's slightly masked. cardigan sitting over black. denim even further disguising him with the civilian. he follows proper disposition when entering a church, as is now clockwork. imprinted like the military mind to their routines. dips fingers to font, blessing himself. & naturally, in seeking some favor from the Lord, he lights his candle. placed before sacred image, whilst bathed & basking in the warm light of the Lord. glowing against cream walls, with gold & maroon accents. the history of this building weighty, as it's touched by the city's hardships like no other. standing buildings in berlin a testament to it's resilience. the entombed another element of the experience. restoration of the building a televised event. such things he's been naive to. it's something he contemplates, as he enters the pews following genuflecting. formal, yet to him he needed this to be as by the book as he's always been. trying to ignore the swimming of norcos in the put of his gut, whilst he kneels. clasped hands clutching his rosary, & resting against the back of the pew before him. closing ocean eyes, as he begins his desperate plea..
