THOUGHTS IN PROCESS:
My window is an altar.
A remnant of colonial America and originated by the Irish Catholics, the practice of leaving a lit candle in a windowsill signifies safe passage, providing shelter and food for those who pass by.
It symbolizes openness — it’s an offering, willing someone to come.
Or return.
The candle is my prayer, and the window is my altar.
My doors are locked shut, but the candle is lit.
Perhaps it’s cruel — selfish of me to express desire without acting on it; extending this gesture for them to stand outside for me to watch, knowing they will never again be granted entry.
Is this desire, or a desire for revenge?
Why would I open my doors if I know what could come for me? What I want is no longer what I will get, but that doesn’t stop me from longing for it anyway.
Were the faithful not scared of what would walk through their doors?
Faith can only go so far — what happens if it was broken long before?
Were they allowed to kick people out or was there a rule like the one with vampires, where if you let them in, you would have to face the consequences of your actions.
I know I have.
They probably opened their doors regardless of whether or not they actually wanted to.
I wonder how many Catholics performed their faith. Nobody wants to be burned at the stake.
~
How long should my candle burn? Do I let it go continuously, until it fizzles out and dies? Or do I blow it out and relight it every night, refueling it and egging it on — coming back to it again and again and again.
Is it safe to let the candle burn on? What will happen if I leave it to its own devices? Will it take control, burning everything down and consuming all that I have with it?
Why should I keep going back to the candle when I know that the door is never going to budge?
If it all burns, there may be no house, but at least the door will have burned too.
My window is an altar.
A remnant of colonial America and originated by the Irish Catholics, the practice of leaving a lit candle in a windowsill signifies safe passage, providing shelter and food for those who pass by.
It symbolizes openness — it’s an offering, willing someone to come.
Or return.
The candle is my prayer, and the window is my altar.
My doors are locked shut, but the candle is lit.
Perhaps it’s cruel — selfish of me to express desire without acting on it; extending this gesture for them to stand outside for me to watch, knowing they will never again be granted entry.
Is this desire, or a desire for revenge?
Why would I open my doors if I know what could come for me? What I want is no longer what I will get, but that doesn’t stop me from longing for it anyway.
Were the faithful not scared of what would walk through their doors?
Faith can only go so far — what happens if it was broken long before?
Were they allowed to kick people out or was there a rule like the one with vampires, where if you let them in, you would have to face the consequences of your actions.
I know I have.
They probably opened their doors regardless of whether or not they actually wanted to.
I wonder how many Catholics performed their faith. Nobody wants to be burned at the stake.
~
How long should my candle burn? Do I let it go continuously, until it fizzles out and dies? Or do I blow it out and relight it every night, refueling it and egging it on — coming back to it again and again and again.
Is it safe to let the candle burn on? What will happen if I leave it to its own devices? Will it take control, burning everything down and consuming all that I have with it?
Why should I keep going back to the candle when I know that the door is never going to budge?
If it all burns, there may be no house, but at least the door will have burned too.