the temple was mine

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We climbed the temple, and Yoko beat me easily. The sun bore down on us. When we finally reached the top, I grabbed for my water and found the nearest step to sit on.

There were so many butterflies.

“God can take any form he likes,” Yoko said and pointed to the butterflies.

We sat up there for a while together. When we made it back down, Yoko turned to me and asked —

“Are you tired? We can see one more secret temple or go back — up to you,” he said.

“Secret temple, please,” I responded.

We walked through a construction zone and into the jungle.

Yoko pointed out where landmines once lay buried and shared how, years ago, he used to guide people through these same paths. The temples were the same, but the journey there looked very different.

The path dipped down.

“You go first,” he said, signaling for me to walk ahead of him.

I stepped through the clearing and stopped cold.

“Yoko!” I exclaimed.

There, hidden in the jungle, was the most beautiful temple I’d ever seen. It was untouched and alive. Swallowed by time.

Prasat Preah Palilay by Caroline

“Wow,” was all I could say.

Yoko was talking — but I couldn’t hear a single word he was saying. I was in awe.

Yoko kept walking, and I stopped.

“Yoko, do you mind if I stop and pray?” I asked.

“Of course, of course,” he said. “Please enjoy. Take your time. The temple is yours.”

When he said those words — the temple is yours — I dissolved into tears.

The temple was mine.

I peeled the heavy camera bag from across my body, the strap still etched into my skin from the heat and the weight of all my belongings — banana bread and chapstick included.

I sat down gently on the nearest rock and was overcome. I was so humbled. I knew I was experiencing something divine.

None of it made sense and then suddenly it all did.