Lovely Lungshan
On one of the days that Colin was at his conference, I decided to go to Taipei’s oldest temple - Lungshan. I wanted to explore a Chinese temple since my Kyoto temple-overload already had worn off.
The first difference was blazingly obvious. Lungshan is an ornate, intricate mass of gold and colourful enamel. Roosters caw at fire-breathing dragons, which hover by deities. Each glance felt as if I was pulling back yet another fine layer of a visual onion. Once pure colour hit me, I recognized the figures. Then, I noticed more and more details. The terracotta tiles; the gilded ceilings; the carved, bamboo window bars; the painted beams; their flower emblems; the intricate, iron incense holders; the regal orchids; the brilliant food and flower offerings; the bubbling red candles.
And the people. So many expressive faces. Some were wonderfully, wrinkly, ancient and others were fresh, taut, young. What struck me the most was how so many different ages were there, or coming and going. I could feel a definite ebb and flow in the crowd, but I also sensed the anchors. Some people just hung about. Lungshan was their resting place. Another big difference. Old women paused from their prayer beads to eat noodles in the shade. Children sat with their parents. Nuns positioned themselves carefully in order to read from lengthy prayer books.
After walking about and snapping lots of (analog) photos, I still wasn’t ready to leave the temple’s fabulous energy behind. I decided to stay too, and found a shaded step to escape the strong heat.
The sweet scents of orchids and lotus flowers mixed with the clouds of incense. Wooden, red slivers clacked comfortably on the stone floor. And one child couldn’t stop staring at me. He had an incredibly severe face for someone so wee. None of my waves, smiles, or funny faces could break it. I was strange to him and that’s the way I stayed. I came to respect his resilience.
