I walked inside the temple and it was gorgeous. There was a cantor and a choir behind him.The choir was singing beautifully – while it lacked the soul and fervor of a baptist choir – it was soothing. Still I was uninspired.
Was I numb to my religion? So why did a spark hit me on that Friday night in London? Was it Celeste who I was ignited by, rather than my identity?
Lonely teardrops falling within, so as not to be revealed. In a crowd I am alone in a party of misery.
An overwhelming extravagant celebration filled with hedonistic needs, acts of cannibalism being fulfilled and embraced.
I don’t belong, I don’t belong.
Where do I belong?
FS Zalta 