On the opposite corners of Pine Street and Fjord Avenue stand two churches. One is greatly bigger than the other but each hold to their ground with solid foundations of stone and concrete. The smaller of the two is covered in pine planks painted a clean egg shell white. On either side of the simple doors are two towering cedar trees. In the spring they sprout new sets of needles that emerge otherworldly green and fresh flowers will be planted at their trunks. The black tiled roof matches the black pavement of a now unused parking lot, and each will fade to a dull gray in time. It is a subtle and humble building singing a song of it’s time. A dozen rows of scratched and polished maple pews make up the only furniture, save for a simple pulpit and even less ornate alter. Bees wax is now in abundance and candles burn upon the high table often. In the sweltering days of late summer, the scent of lavender or chamomile clings to every surface and the congregation leaves dripping sweat and oil.
Across the way from the effortless church is the other house-of-worship. Its many walls have heard the sermons of several faiths and the voices of countless practitioners. When it was first built, it was much like the white church but was made of ruddy red and mottled brown bricks. Pews of walnut and maple studded the floor and a dais was erected for priests and priestess to address lay women and men. The ceiling was much higher than that of its cousin; three times its height and vaulted. It is no longer like this thought. It was the first place for the towns people to seek divine wisdom and as such required an expansion in due time. This was before the white church and well before Pine Street and Fjord Avenue were the official names of a dirt road and a goat path.
No, the first church, or temple as it should be properly identified as, is if nothing a shifting and changing building. The clergy and towns people tore down the first bricks and built in its place a tower with a ziggurat for roof. A narrow set of stairs wound its way around the square building till it reached the top where rafters were constructed. From the rafters was hanged a chandelier and bowls of rose and lavender water. Occasionally a band of traveling peoples would pass through town and exchange citrus fruits and fragrant spices for meals, shelter and a story. Some of these precious spices, herbs, and rinds would be placed in these bowls as well. Newly initiated acolytes would light the great hanging fixture and refill the clay vessels.
As the town grew so did the temple. This time instead of tearing down the structure and ruining the work of their progenitors, a new addition was made. This time a circular room was constructed with white clay found at bottom of the river which lay the edge of the town. The Great Hall, as it would be called, was then painted with thick blue lines which depicted the waves and currents of the river. Here people would come to celebrate the thawing of the snow and rejoice in the flooding of the river. This was before it took the lives of so many and the people prospered because of the river. The room with the ziggurat for a roof was then given the name Tower of the Ancestors. The pews were moved to the edge of the room and some went into The Great Hall. The alter moved to the center of the room and a larger alter was constructed on the dais and the towns people came to morn their loved ones. Gone were the scents of flowers. Replacing them was the smoky and resinous pine pitch.
Finally a third building was added to temple. This one was larger but not nearly as splendid as the other two, but not nearly as tall as the tower. From the outside it was a simple square building of yellow brick. Glass-work had become a skill known to a few craftsmen and craftswomen and large cloudy black glass windows were placed in the additions walls. The simple exterior was nothing compared to the feat of engineering inside. The room was a mess of tiers and cloisters. Ladders connected some levels to others. Brick stairs lead into single rooms emerged from the tops. These cell like structures, connected to one another by various means, were the rooms of priests, priestess, those who wished to become one with their choice of deity or ancestor, and the occasional holy traveler. The rooms were caved into the earth and rooms were built deep below the ground. They tunneled below The Great Hall and Tower of the Ancestors. This habitation center became The Beehive.
But this evolution of the big church on Pine Street happened so long ago that it some had relegated it to legend or delusional thinking. Construction and demolition of the various rooms happened in later years and by this or that religion of the century. It was said that the small church on the opposite corner was built to counter the heathen and pagan activities done in the depths of The Beehive. These clams are even more far fetched then the tale above and those who claim it’s truth are bitter, jaded, and wounded by the events of the last few years. What ever the truth is it does not matter as much as what is in the moment and a plural history is better than one that claims to be the one and only.
What probably happened is a town was settled near the river and through it’s economic prosperity a number of people form a number of faiths traveled to bask in it’s booming success. In time the temple had to expand and architecture was choice by the residing religious tradition. The Beehive was probably a monastery and the Great Temple was probably room in which dances could have been held; it’s circular design conducive towards a twisting chair dance or familial jig. Even I who came to this town by means of following the stars and believed to be guided by spirits, or gods, or astrological whims have a hard time swallowing the parts about the Beehive and it’s cacophony of chambers.
