A lost priest

The priest in the temple, the one situated at the lonely hill of the dead village, was less of a priest but more of a seeker. He seeked a purpose to live for, not that he wanted one, but he had to. He didn't know a god to worship. I mean, the god was his last resort when he figured out that he had nothing. For too long, his numb mind continued to remain blur and suggested nothing but a laughing  shallowness. How come, except him, everyone is so happy with what they were doing? How come he hadn't found anything to live for? How come he remained ideology-less and aimless? This made him restless. These thoughts and his self.

He had to roam and be a wanderer. He had to fight himself. So many days and nights passed. He did everything that came his way and the one that he brought before. He went many extremes and returned, often changing the roads. He was bored quickly. It couldn't keep him passionate for a life that count in years.

It started from nothing, the time when he kind of stopped seeking himself inside him. He was tired of talking to himself. He wanted a companion for sure, someone or something that stares back! May be that, that could share his ordeals. He didn't know when the indulging started and how the bond grew between them. The stone became him and he became the stone. The stone, his deity. He found it nowhere, but somewhere, very randomly, almost disinterested. 

It settled him down to a place. Not that the place found him. Neither he found the place. He just knew when to settle down. It was slow. He knew that not this stone but something inside him has became calmer, a non-seeker. Did he find a purpose? Did he find an ideology, a philosophy that sync with his kind? He did find peace. He could not utter it out exactly.

He could feel the air, his breath, the inhaling and the exhaling out of his lungs all the time. He knew how much his stomach needs to survive sustainably, never craving for more, not a bit, but less.

Now the sanctum sanctorum of the temple is a tiny square, a few feet long and a few feet wide. They exist together often exchanging the roles of the God and being the disciple. The old strange no look on his face is replaced by certain constant unaging sereneness, bursting into a near smile, his eyes half closed, even at sleep. 

They are now hosting the lost ones, his past selves, the near maddening, confused & lonely kinds... He knows what they need.