The Life of a Cathedral

A cathedral on a hill. Six different rays of light. Dust in the shadows, dust in the light, dust filling the air, flitting off the walls, the ceilings, the floors, with only one thought: Pervade their lungs. Together they might be able to send them away, the intruders, they would cough their way out, out into the surreal, sun-blinded world, away from this place, to leave it in its harsh grey.

Peaceful, quiet, forgotten grey.

All feelings of loneliness had faded over the years, or rather, had been coated in dust just like the rest of itself. But now, now they came with their tools and their voices, uproariously unsettling all that once was; uncovering memories in the removal of the dust.

No. It could not be. The old cathedral sent its croaking voice, aged, cracked, monotonous as it was, out into the daylight, and caught the wind. The wind who had been its only companion all this long while, fleeting and fickle though it was, came, knew, and wordlessly fought. It called the dust, raised it, spun it, filled the cathedral. The muffled voices and the clanging metal against the cold stone continued to echo amidst the swirling dust. The wind rushed and blew, more powerfully than before, longing to help its old friend of the hills. Selflessly slamming into the stones, the people, the metal. Anything and everything was disturbed, hit by the wind.

All peace was broken.

Suddenly everything went quiet. The people had fled, but this new silence did not bring peace. All seemed lost. The cathedral silently reminisced in the emptiness. Years had gone by. It hadn’t heard voices in such a long time and when they finally came it was too sudden, too… alive. No preparation. The cathedral fought them away, tried to close them out, destroy them, anything. Anything… but now, now they were gone, gone with the peace, the wind, the light.

The desolate cathedral moaned. Too much remembering, old dreams, faded and frayed that had been worked out from under the dust now shone through the cathedral like lost, pure sunlight. Nothing could be done. The cathedral was alone again, alone all except for those excruciating memories. It saw itself now, this cathedral. Saw itself for what it was, bleak, weary, deteriorating. No. This lifelessness scared the cathedral, and nothing could be done… Wait for the dust to settle down once more, the cathedral wanted to tell itself.

Days past, the dust did settle, but the stupefied cathedral did not feel at all that way. It continuously tried to forget the pain that life brought, the warmth, the light, the noise, the company. But the cathedral became worried now, wondering if this lack of life may just be worse. The cathedral didn’t realize, however, that even though those who came carried hearts of metal only to demolish, it had once again been noticed. The pain was so acute, it deprived the cathedral of all hope.

Then one day with a creak of the door, a sliver of light, came a patch of flowing white muslin. A modest gasp followed by a patter of bare feet. The wind whistled by with the scent of a meddler, but became still. Waiting, watching. The cathedral was at first flustered, then quieted as the feet promptly stopped. Stopped in the middle of the cathedral. Breathlessly, softly, heavenly, the girl began to twirl, to dance, laugh, slowly and gently at first, then faster, louder, gloriously. The beauty of it all, this new feeling made the cathedral exhale, breathe out all the old dust, and everything it covered. This feeling was lovely. Brilliant. Glowing.

It was life.