Temple of Time-- offering gratitude to a suffering community

T E M P L E

O F

PA R K L A N D & C O R A L S P R I N G S F L O R I D A

•

T I M E

MSD STRONG

Seventeen suns rising in seventeen bedroom windows.

Thirty-four eyes blooming open with the light of one more morning.

Seventeen reflections in the bathroom mirror. Seventeen backpacks or briefcases stuffed with textbooks or lesson plans.

Seventeen good mornings at kitchen breakfasts and seventeen goodbyes at front doors.

Seventeen drives through palm-lined streets and miles of crammed highways to Marjory Stoneman Douglas High School at 5901 Pine Island Road.

The first bell ringing-in one last school day on February fourteenth, 2018.

Seventeen echoes of footsteps down hallways for five class periods: algebra, poetry, biology, art, history. Seventeen hands writing on whiteboards or taking notes at their desks until the first gunshot at 2:21pm. One AR-15 rifle in the hands of a nineteen year old mind turning hate for himself into hate for others, into one-hundred fifty bullets fired in six minutes through building number twelve.

Seventeen dead carried down hallways they walked, past cases of trophies they won, flyers for clubs they belonged to, lockers they won’t open again. Seventeen Valentine’s Day dates broken and cards unopened. Seventeen bodies to identify, dozens of photo albums to page through and remember their lives. Seventeen caskets and burial garments to choose for them.

Seventeen funerals to attend in twelve days. Seventeen graves dug and headstones placed—all marked with the same date of death. Seventeen names: Alyssa. Helena. Scott. Martin—seventeen absentees forever—Nicholas. Aaron. Jamie. Luke—seventeen closets to clear out—Christopher. Cara. Gina.

Joaquin—seventeen empty beds—Alaina. Meadow. Alex. Carmen. Peter— Seventeen reasons to rebel with the hope these will be the last seventeen to be taken by one of threehundred-ninety-three-million guns in America !

Seventeen Funerals

BY RICHARD BLANCO

T E M P L E O F T I M E

PA R K L A N D & C O R A L S P R I N G S F L O R I D A MSD STRONG

There is always the need to carry on.

Marjorie Stoneman Douglas

Dear Temple Crew When I first heard about this project I wasn’t sure what to expect. All I knew was that a bunch of strangers were coming to my home and creating art that was supposed to erase the hurt a little.

I arrived at the build site about two weeks ago, having never used a saw, staple/nail gun, a level and I definitely hadn’t heard the phrase DBS before.

In the past few weeks you all have given immeasurable amounts of patience, guidance, kindness & advice. I have lost a lot of family in the past few years and this last year has been incredibly challenging.

I have been searching for a way to find peace in this world and in the small time we have spent together, you each have shed some light on the path to finding peace.

Like everyone of those goddamn little pieces of wood that have been glued into the floor boards an the alter, you have all given me a little piece of our hearts. I cannot thank you enough for the love and light you brought into my life and I truly hope to see you all again.

Thank you for your time and for what you gave to my community. I am forever grateful for this experience.

All of my love Rachel Schapiro

A Letter to the crew: This is my Mantra in my journey of grief: We build something that people, all people, can use to help their healing process, the forgiveness process‌ a kind of release, or at-least, just one step in helping that release, in that journey of many steps.

There is no right way or wrong way to grieve, no time table for how long it takes. Grieving can take many forms, anger, desperation, sorrow to name three out of too many to count…

Always hold grief in two hands— Sorrow, irrevocable change in one hand Love, wonder and gratitude in the other..

Helping to heal others is helping to heal ourselves.

Together we build something… We call it a Temple— Temple of Time Built with intention, sharing knowledge of building tools, artistic insights and the soft light of the quiet understanding that we all share grief together.

We are artists, we are makers, we are builders, we are humans.

And we care deeply.

Grief is something we all share, no matter philosophy, religion, politics, moral codes, dogmas we all walk this journey. For a brief moment we do it together. For that moment there is an empathy and understanding, there are no words for it, but the grandmothers, children, truck drivers, first responders, parents, anyone who comes, gets it without explanation.

In a sideways world, there are only a few things that can bring optimism. Here is one.

I’m not saying this should be anyone else’s philosophy or trying to create a dialogue….

I’m only sharing mine.

To this group of illustrious humans… I love and cherish you all very very very much… and it has always been my honor to work beside you. See you in Florida!!!

Much love to you all, Dash

I am so Sorry this world could not keep you Safe May your journey home be a soft and peaceful one But our empty seats will never be filled and our empty hearts will never be filled “Love people man. nothing to it. just love those around you. it will really make that much of a difference in your or anyones life.” Joaquin Oliver “Dreams and dedication are a powerful combination.” Jaime Guttenburg Be the change you wish to see in the world.

Those who died yesterday had plans for his morning. And those who died this morning had plans for tonight.

Don’t take life for granted. In the blink of an eye, everything can change. So forgive often and love with all your heart. You may never get to have the chance again.

Pain is a terrible thing and you cannot avoid it.

But it comes with a choice as to whether or not it makes you a better person… And if you let it make you a better person, you’re already one ` `step closer to healing it 17 BE Positive Passionate proud to be an EAGLE

MP, JB, HB, LA, EK

We all felt it. But didn’t know yet what this Temple would be.

The city of Coral Springs called and asked, we need a name for your Temple.

We were thinking— Temple of Healing?

Maggie and David called me

“You lost a daughter, you know the difficult feelings around the anniversary, what do you think of the name, Temple of Healing?”

I could feel my reaction immediately. NO!

We can’t offer healing. We can’t tell, suggest, offer, advocate, propose to someone who is in the rawest hardest time of grief how to grieve.

Think about it, get back to us, we need to have an answer by today.

I thought back to the temple we built in Ireland in 2015.

45 years after the Troubles but still festering in the hearts of the divided city.

A city with one of the highest suicide rates in Western Europe.

An artist, a director of plays, outside smoking cigarettes at the local bar, Sandinos challenged me:

You these guys who are building that Temple. What is it?” He demanded and before I could answer he continued. “People come here every year offering us their religions and ideals, who are you to think you have the right to try to heal us?Anger, Frustration, Resentment and a kind of ancient sadness were distilled in his voice.

We are a group of artists, a group of people, building a Temple on top of that hill. We’re out there in the snow, sleet, rain, drizzle and mud building this thing. It’s a gift, just a beautiful thing for your town, for you.”

“We’re all artists here! Look around these tables, musicians, poets, painters, actors. You don’t think we’re artists? you don’t think we can take care of ourselves.” Pints of Guinness, shots of whiskey, music, laughter, some kind of golden light around the bar, yes who are we?

“I don’t know that much really. I know my grief, I lost a daughter, a 20 year old amazing beautiful girl, an amazing artist. I’m here because of her. I’m not telling anyone how to grieve. Just offering something beautiful for you to place something that you might need to let go of. It’s there if you need it, or want it.” I felt his anger which at first felt intimidating, but under it there was something raw and incredibly real. He was offering me a glimpse of his pain.

He waves his hand in a final declaration.

You watch a friend get murdered and tell me about it!” and he stormed of into the rainy night.

His friends apologized for their friend. I waved it off and went back inside.

Later in the evening he returned and found me.

I want to say I’m sorry for how I reacted to you. he said.

We held eyes.

You do not have to apologize to me, I said

Still I had no right to say, he paused unable to finish his sentence.

Honestly, It was my honor to hear you, to feel what it is to live in your city, really, an honor that you could tell me those things.

We embraced and called it a night…

Hey! he called out.

I turned to face him. Rainy windy night, street lights reflecting light off the angles of water.

I’m very sorry for the loss of your daughter. Truly. Bless you brother!

So often when anger thrown as a dagger the common reaction is fight or flight.

Grief anger is a different kind of animal, wounded and asking for help not knowing how to ask for help and not wanting help all at the same time.

I learned something this night that changed a lot of things.

Who are we to tell people how to heal?

Shots of Ireland Temple

So not Temple of Healing Temple of Hope Temple of Compassion Temple of Resource Temple of Unity

The first year, the year of first‌ so easy to trigger grief into anxiety and anguish.

Then David suggests Temple of Time.

Soft, Symbolic, Meaningful, a name that doesn’t sound religious or pious, a name that can evolve with significance as we approach the time of the 1st year anniversary of the murder of 14 children, 3 teacher, wounding 17 other children, and two towns that are still in shock and PTSD for what happened on February 14th.

Trepidation David came back from his second meeting with the town and the pressure that the town was feeling. He told a story about a woman that came up to him after a talk and told him that she did want the memory of her daughter to have anything to do with something that would be burned.

She explained that her grandparents were burned by the Nazis, That her sister was burned in a car crash when she was a child. David came home reeling and concerned how is this going to happen‌ He felt crushed. He shared the story we all felt this weight.

Would the families accept this Temple? Would the kids of the Marjorie Stoneman Douglas High school accept it, the communities? Would they see this as something meaningful, a resource for healing or would they be offended by some kind of presumptuous Burning Man inspired artist group.

They asked us to come and do this. We made our plans, we made our reservations.

We build temples. We are not a Burning Man group, we are not some right wing gun club… Either sides of that vast spectrum— we do not take sides. We have no agenda but to build and share a process and listen to stories that are shared and share our stories. If questions are asked answer thoughtfully. If someone doesn’t know how to use a tool be thoughtful and considerate. Who knows what brings them When we were invited to go the the Smithsonian I felt so excited. Washington DC, Smithsonian. I have to admit I was excited to tell people. Posted on social media, called my family, told my friends. But I felt so quiet about this build, about this project in Florida. It felt so tender and vulnerable, as if we announced it in a wrong context, even in a small conversation out loud could butterfly affect this into something unreal. We didn’t know Quiet mind. No expectations. No agendas. No affiliations.

Temple mantra: We build this temple for one person.

The dictionary defines Bodhisattva as: A being that compassionately refrains from entering nirvana in order to “help” others….

I practiced no expectations no agenda. Bodhisattva vow.

I tried to visualize a perfect scenario-- The first day no one showed up… just us. Sorting out our tools. Going over materials and tools. Scribing the lines for the layout of posts and structural elements. Setting up work stations. Then a few people would show up, a few kids after school might come by and help.

Each day a few more people would arrive. Slowly gaining momentum. I tried not to imagine conversations or dialogues. Just a smooth transitions of people arriving to help us build and relationships that would forge by the comradely friendship of building something significant together. I looked forward to slowly learning about these communities. By the last day as we opened there would be community all around us. Supportive and connected. The last day would just be us and as we opened the temple on the 14th there would be this wonderful flow of humanity arriving to leave something, write something, feel something at this Temple we were going to build.

Gold Leaf

by Julia Belson-Gal All of our crew members have career specialties and life-skills in which they excel. In his working life, Bac is a expert craftsman who does high-end faux finishes in the homes of Bay-Area legends. When he comes to work on Temples, he teaches us how to gold leaf, something David loves to add to the spire and to elements around the temple. It’s time-consuming, expensive, detail-oriented, physically-stunning, but most importantly, shows people how much we care.

Bac, who came here on a boat from Vietnam when he was 9, was brought up in Sandwich, Cape Cod -- a place settled in 1620 by the Pilgrims. It’s a place I also love and one we connect over. Bac is used to working alone, doing incredibly detailed work with expensive materials--leaving little room to mess up. Because of the focus needed, he prefers quiet.

When we were doing gold leaf for the Temple of Time, it was pouring rain and the wind was blowing, a stressful situation to say the least. We parked vans around our tent to baffle the wind and David blocked off our area so we would be left alone. We needed to concentrate.

But soon a few other crew members, and then their family, and then a few hard-working volunteers and curiosity seekers started to drift over. How could we not let them help? How could I not engage in conversation, wasn’t this why we were here? It was hard to concentrate with the distraction, but gold leafing was happening -- in a messy, imperfect, let’s-make-this-work, kind of way. It was a reminder that we weren’t here to demonstrate our abilities, we were here to share.

While I guided volunteers in and out of our tent, making sure a variety of people had a chance at this experience, Bac started teaching. It was wonderful to see him share his expertise and to see how excited volunteers were to be allowed into this part of this process. what his favorite thing was to do and he excitedly told me scuba diving! I asked if he had ever explored wrecks, which I knew took special training. He lit up and told me he was taking that class next weekend. And so the discussion began, about apparatus, ways to prevent the benz, and where he wants to dive in the future.

Later someone told me that he had just taken his first diving class that weekend.

Someone else mentioned how terribly sad he looked. I don’t know if that was just the beginning of his diving exploration, but I know that he was excited about it.

I also can’t possibly know how sad he was, but I witnessed a teenager who had been through great trauma, who was engaging in life and exploring new worlds.

To sit together telling stories about the underwater world, brushing gold leaf onto glittering spires --one to memorialize his friend and 16 more to remember the others who were killed--was why we were here. I love that David has the foresight to know the importance of gold leaf -- in both its beauty and its process -- and understands that bringing out Bac, with all his expertise, makes our crew more whole.

And ultimately, I’m so glad we are able to work with and learn from our friend Bac. thi

Alice was one of the first volunteers to show up. She lived near the site and immediately showed us that the community was going to be very supportive. We crossed paths a few times acknowledging each other. There is work that we do by using the drop outs of the pieces of intricate plywood to glue onto 4 x 8 pieces of plywood as an intricate mosaic to be laid down as the floor.

Our conversation was that thing you do, Florida weather, how many temples have I built, what a pleasure to be working together… Alice in her sweet way wanted to invite our group over to her house for dinner one night… She was describing where she lived just a block away…. In the middle of our chatting a siren sounded from a distance and as it approached our area I watched Alice. She froze in mid sentence. The siren got louder as it drove past the site and then at the intersection turned and the sound disappeared into the distance. She was still frozen mid sentence.

Her eyes seemed to gloss over, not teary, but glassy. She wasn’t shaking, but she didn’t seem solid. It took her a small moment to gather herself.

“I apologize.” she said looking at me.

I didn’t understand exactly what was happening “ apologize? You don’t have to apologize for anything.”

“I still have PTSD when I hear sirens,” she said rubbing her eyes as if to clear smoke. “On weekends it’s not so bad as I know there is no school.”

“Ahhh, yes yes,” I said trying to validate and hold a comforting space for her.

“That day there were so many sirens, so much confusion. It was like it would never stop!”

She paused..

“I’m going to give you a hug?” I said as a question and opened my arms towards her “Yes.” We held the moment. I felt the presence of something significant, I felt the reason why we had come to Florida. Whatever Trepidation I had arrived with had now been irrevocably erased.

Ray was wearing the burgundy color Tee #MSDSTRONG on the Front and the Marjorie Stoneman Douglas fierce eagle on the back. He was tentative when we first met. I invited him to help me on a project. One of the things I love about building the temple is that so many of the jobs are repetitive. Not that anyone loves repetitive, but as we learn the process of something it begins to make sense. We need 20 columns, there are four sides, there are frames, there are cuts, there are angles. 20 times 4 times 4 times 4 = 1280. It can seem daunting the first few go rounds, finding dimensions, materials, fittings, tools, correct size screws, nails, staples, timberlocks‌. The first piece might take 20 minutes for two cuts. Once you figure out the materials, tools, and what the hell you’re trying to make, you start to see short cuts. Different ways to cut, different order, use a template, use a block, cut 4 at once, turn and stack repeat. What starts as something that seems awkward, time consuming and pointless, slowly turns into a well formed thing and the making of it a kind of dance.

Hi, my name is Dash.

“I’m Ray,” he says looking downward towards his tennis shoes.

“You go to Stoneman Douglas?”

“Yeah.”

“ Cool, kinda been a tough year I guess?” I ask trying not to pry

“Yeah, pretty tough.”

“ let me guess how old you are? “okay.”

“hmmm, not 13 hmmm maybe 15… are you 15?

“I’m 14” Ray smiles. It is a good smile. He looks straight at me. The only thing I ever want to do with a young person is validate them. His smile makes me smile. His eyes look up

“ha ha I knew it was 14. You act like your 15. What are you into?

“Swimming.”

“I bet your good at it. I grew up surfing. I love swimming. Do you surf?”

“I wish!”

“What’s your stroke?”

“Butterfly.”

“Dude! your kidding that’s awesome. That’s a tough stroke.”

“Yeah.”

“Are you good?”

“Hmm I don’t know, but I swim with kids that are 15 and 16.”

“I can tell you’re good! No wonder I thought you were 15.”

We both laugh. The smallest bonding has just occurred. There is feeling in this moment that I feel accountable for. I know he has gone through a great tragedy of epic proportions. I do not know his story. What did he see, what friends or siblings did he loose, how is he doing a year later? But it is not my place to know, nor do I need to know, nor need to intrude, or ask him to recount an epic trauma. I lost a daughter ten years ago. Even now people always want to now how she died. What is that story. The only story right now is this small laugh between us.

“Have you ever used a high powered Nailer or Stapler connected to a compressor?” I hold up one of the nail guns. They are called Nail Guns. We have decided that the name “nail guns” may be too reactive of a term, so we’re calling them nailers or staplers. It’s good tool for a young kid. It’s easy to put in a staple that is strong enough to hold up a temple with the pull of a trigger. It is very empowering.

Empowering with smiles and building something with integrity with people who are cool and you enjoy being around can be an earth-shattering experience for a young kid. I saw this in the Temple we built in Ireland. Kids who had never worked before arrived with nothing but attitude, living off the dole, but at the end of our build had been transformed. The smallest realization that can change the trajectory of a life. When you are building, creating, doing, something you love… work can be more than fun, it can be meaningful. I hand Ray to Stapler.

“Put these every 12 inches…..”

After a while Ray has used a stapler, a framing gun, an impact driver, a skill saw. We are moving in harmony. He is athletic and intelligent, witty and charming. I totally love this kid!

We are smiles and have a great rhythm going. We have our dance step going where each part we know our place. A routine, we already have half of them done. Ray is beaming with pride as we break for lunch.

Ray goes off and hangs out with some of his friends. A young woman, attractive, mid 30s, sits down across from me with her plate of pasta and salad that Maggie has prepared for our lunch.

“Hi I’m Alicia I’m the art therapist for ShineMSD,” she says smiling. “It’s so cool see you working with Ray,” She goes onto explain about the group and what they do. ShineMSD was created for the MSD kids to nurture healing through the Arts. Ray is in her group.

“Yeah, he’s an awesome kid. I really like working with him.”

She leans forward and kind of whispers, “I’ve never seen Ray so happy. He is all smiles today.

I can’t believe it.”

“Well he is enjoying himself. I’m enjoying working with him. It’s kind of contagious.” I wave towards the build. Small groups of people formed around different project. It is like a beehive of activity.

“Really, there is nothing else like this,” and I add not for the first time nor the last time. “Helping to Heal others is a powerful way to help heal ourselves.”

After lunch I find Ray and we start working together in step again right where we left off. The good feelings continue. David Best walks over with a young girl and says to her… “ Here you can help here.” He looks at me and I nod.

“Ofcourse!” I tell David and the young girl.

“I’m Dash,” I tell her.

“I’m Brianna,” she says so quietly I have to ask her again to get the pronunciation. “Brianna.” she repeats glumly.”

“Brianna, got it,” I say to her. There is a little attitude, or a little something that I notice, a small edge, I don’t need to name it but I recognize it, a little spectrumish. I may not get a smile from Brianna.

“So how you doing today Brianna?”

“Alright I guess,” she says still looking downward.

“Alright, just Alright.” I say trying to sound jokingly light. “I know alright. Yesterday I had to spend the entire day in my hotel room because I was too sick to work out here. Yesterday I was totally Miserable! Snot all over yech! So today I’m just alright too! I’m looking for Good though. I’m going Miserable, Alright, Good and then Great. First lets try to get to good.” I’m sounding like a camp counselor and play acting a little. Ray knows me well enough to know I’m playing. Brianna looks a little stunned. I give Ray a thumbs up, he gives me one back. I look at Brianna and give her a vigorous thumbs up and she grimaces and gives a half hearted thumbs up. But it lands kind of cute and timid and it make me smile. “Awesome. that’s a good start!”

Ray and I have already been working together for a few hours and I want to include Brianna into our project without make her feel uncomfortable.

“So here is the deal about working,” I begin. I tell this story a lot to people who newly come on board.

“Here is the trick to be a good worker…. Watch what we are doing. See what tools we are using. What pieces of materials we need. What screws or staples were using. What templates and pieces that help hold or measure things. There will be a moment when the person you’re working with needs something, and as they are looking around you just reach forward and have it in your hand when they need it…. that’s when you become part of the team. That’s what makes a great worker. Watch, pay attention and be ready. I’m a contractor back home… and if I hire someone and they are this kind of person… believe me I want them on my team! That’s a good employee.” That is my pep talk.

We go back to work and I have Ray teach Brianna how to use the staplers and were moving pieces of plywood and framing. I have cut a three pieces of of plywood into a shape that is the exact measurement of what the frames should be. We use that to hold the frames in place. We have to use a more powerful framing nailer (nail gun) and I’m doing this part.

We’ve been working together for about an hour and we’re just beginning to get the team work figured out. It has been a rain day, with periodic moments of rain. A couple of times it has rained so hard we’ve had to seek shelter and cover our tools. We come back to our spot. I gather up the tools and start working. I’m looking around for something I need. I’m not really sure what it is actually, I’m just looking around a little disoriented.

A hand thrusts forward. No spoken word. Just a hand thrust in front of my face holding a piece of wet wood that we have been using for spacing 2x4s. It is exactly what I was looking for. I didn’t even know what it was and then… bam… I’m staring at this piece of wood in front of my eyes. I trace the hand back to elbow, shoulder, face and smiling Brianna. A kind of pride in her eyes, a joy in her face. In this moment it so much more than a piece of wood she is offering me. A take the template from her.

“ ha ha… Yes! Perfect!!!” I turn towards Ray he is smiling also. I gets it. I can’t really explain this, but in this moment I get a swelling of emotion. It is raining, we are wet but it is not cold. The three of us are together. The temple is in the background being made by friends and wonderful people of the community. The three of us are having a moment. I am feeling so grateful. My doubts about the build, about what were are here for, even about my own grief for my daughter, my own awkward relationship to wisdom, doubts, insecurities fears. In this moment I am feeling Brianna’s same feelings. Ray’s same feelings. I have goosebumps.

“Oh my god, I’m feeling so emotional…” The kids can see I’m tearing up. “So Brianna how are you feeling now, still just alright?”

We all laugh. She’s looking for the right word. “Yeah, I’m good.”

“ Yeah, me too. I might even say Great.”

“ Ray, how about you?”

“Great!” he says “Brianna?”

“Yeah, Great.”

The rain continues and so do we. Later Brianna goes and joins her mother under the tent and helps make the parquet floors. During the build, she was one of the kids who always showed up after school, she loved being around. We didn’t work together on any other projects, but anytime I’d pass her way I’d sneak up on her and ask…

”Hey Brianna, how are you today?”

She’d always answer deadpan “Alright.” and then add a late smile like I know what’s going on here.

Then I’d say “just alright?”

She would answer “okay…. Good.”

“Not Great.”

Then she’d look at me and cock her to the side a bit and say “hmmmm maybe…”

On the final day before we finished on the 13th and we would open the Temple to the public. I tap Brianna on the shoulder and we go through our little alright to great routine.

“I wonder,” I say. “If it goes miserable, alright, good and then Great… I wonder what would come after great?” I try to sound perplexed and sincere.

Brianna looks at me thoughtfully, pauses and then exclaims in a loud strong voice.

“MAGNIFICENT!”

Portraits by Jules

David introduced a couple to me, Ruthie and Joey. Here you can help here.

They were a husband and wife. She did most of the talking. I’m the artist and he’s the builder. He looked bewildered at the description.

We were busy on the last phases of construction. Head down and pushing hard for the deadline to finish before the anniversary. Sometimes it’s so much easier to just push hard into the project rather than take time to teach a person how to use a new tool and get them aligned with the task at hand.

I was feeling a bit impatient, feeling the stress to finish on time. I gave them what I thought was clear instructions and they both imiediatly took off in different directions. Even though they had said they had skills, they truly had none. Their faces were pink and sweaty and their bodies were out of shape.

Their clothes were tacky even for Florida. They could not, or would not follow directions. I was frustrated and about to ask them if they wouldn’t mind to go the the tent and help over there in a more non technical fashion. I found myself judging, impatient and feeling frustrated.

A feeling on compassion suddenly grabbed me like I was some kind of tool, which perhaps I was. Suddenly I became intersted in who these people were, why were suddenly working together?

Hey, I said, lets stop for a second. Do you have kids?

We have a son, the wife spoke up.

How is he doing?

Not well actually. He wasn’t shot, but he was talking to a girl and as she turned to walk away he watched her get shot. He ran for cover. It was the hallway where the heaviest carnage took place. He hasn’t been well. Hasn’t really been able to return to school this year. Lots of kids haven’t.

How are you two doing?

I’m okay, but truthfully Joey’s not doing so well.

I looked over at Joey. His face was now red and sweat dripped off his forhead. He looked like he was on the verge of a panic attack.

Joey has PTSD, Ruthie whispered.

Joey looked up at me. He started to sob. He spoke through the emotions.

I wanted to know what our son had seen. The police showed me the film they have of the hallway. I wish I had never seen that. I can’t sleep. I can’t focus. I can’t even talk about how horrible it was.

I suddenly saw these two people in a completly different way. I felt absolute tenderness. We fell into each other’s arms and held a family hug for a few minutes. The light seemed different, the day felt easier. I explained how a railing needed to be nailed and somehow this time they got it....

They worked the rest of the afternoon. Two other people joined them. They worked slowly and handled the nail gun like it was an expensive piece of china... but it didn’t mater. They were smiling.

I came to lunch late. David was sitting next to a person who had arrived earlier that day. We had spoken briefly our about her son who had graduated last year and talking about colleges in California.

She says to David.

I have not smiled in a year. This is the first time. I am smiling so much that I am scared my jaw is going to be sore tonight.

“You both have tattoos for similar reasons,” David Best pauses looking at both of us, “You should meet one another. Dave meet Mitch, Mitch meet Dave” He says gesturing towards us.

Behind us is the temple we are building, ornate, statuesque, shining like a beacon in the afternoon light. Mitch has his family with him, wife Annika and his son Alex. It is his youngest son’s sixteenth birthday. Tomorrow is the anniversary of the murder of his eldest son, Nick. Alex was also wounded with a bullet grazing his head.

Mitch introduces himself with a firm handshake. His voice has a youthful quality, a kind of optimism hidden between his words, but I already know his story, the one we share with our tattoos, so I also know that the lilting positivity is also a practiced cadence t keep strangers at a distance. A voice that says, I am strong, don’t grieve for me. We’ll be okay. I’ll just be on my way now.

Near us someone calls out to him to what is meant to be a kind gesture, something to break the ice. “Hey Mitch, what do you think of the Temple.” I felt my heart drop as I can feel his do the same. Such simple words. Yet his brave persona— the muscular stance, his synthetic sport shirt with proud running logo, his fit body, short athletic haircut with muscular arms. A body that could run miles, save lives, hold his family together during turmoil. In this brief moment after the question lingers unanswered, he tries to gather his reactions of how the grief of his son, murdered among sixteen others, how this unsettled reality, one day from a year, could possible understood, possibly held in the frontal lobe of the mind, observed, illustrated with obsolete nouns and verbs. He stutters. The practiced voice hesitates. Words stumble out like ancient pebbles that land with no sound. The sentences that were practice and the sadness I heard in a voice that was gifted to make people feel at ease and validated falters

“Yes, yes, I guess… It is beautiful. I guess I’m not sure, I really know what to say, yes it is great. We are so grateful. yes, thank you thank you.”

His wife stares blankly, his son looks hot, his daughter is looking for shade for their dog. This is an awkward moment. He was here to protect them. I delicately put myself between them and the questioner and put my hand around his shoulder and guide us into a circle. I whisper.

“I know what just happened.”

Suddenly Mitch just looks exhausted “I know I know,” I say. “I want to say I”m sorry. I know how people do not understand, how they say I’m sorry and cry and pat your shoulder and ask your opinion about the temple. I know the paper bag with two slits for eyes you have to wear to exist. How great your grief is, but how you have to in a way heal the others before yourself.”

He looks at me, his eyes show bright. There are emotions, almost tears beginning to form. He looks to his wife to acknowledge and finds himself again.

His wife and son excuse themselves, it’s hot and ryan is hungry, there is food by the shade structure.

I ask and Mitch shows me his tattoo. A swimmer in full stroke, showing grace and strength. Marjorie Stoneman Douglas Highschool is the place where the children and the parents took a stand. A polictical one. The kids spoke up. Mitch is one of the parents who has spokent the president, been on 60 minutes several time. Spoke to the senate, the president and a room filled up assasin dark suited laywers. He’s a total bad ass but he is also cherubic, freindly, incredibly humble.

“It’s true, we have to hide our feelings,” Mitch says “There is no place to go,” I say “No there isn’t,” “There is no church, no service, no words, not a place at the right hand side of God….”

‘No, I’m still numb,” Mitch says.

“Well, I’m angry!” Alleka says. “It’s all bullshit. There is nothing to believe in.” She looks at Mitch for some kind of reassurance.

It is a hot day. Clouds move in circles constant change all around us. Alex comes up and says he’s hungry and Alleka uses this as her way to leave with him.

Mitch and I keep talking. As we stand there facing each other a strange thing happens. We are sharing stories about Phoebe and Nick. It has been common out here to be talking about the loss and grief around these murders and again I begin to feel the goosebumps traveling up my arm. This time something strangly different begins to happen. The goosebumps start to warm up. My arms stiffen and the the heat and vibration begins to move up and down the length of my body. My feet are still on the ground, but my body begins to feel weightless. It feels like we are two magnets flipped into opposing force and and both our bodies are frozen and vibrating in an electrical field.

Dude! are you feeling this?

What the hell is happening here Dave?

I shrug, I can’t explain this.

I think Phoebe and Nick are here.

Without a doubt!

Dave and Eric are so tired. A 12 hour day, but almost our last day. We both share something that we wish on no other, but it has bonded us with the closest freindship imaginable. Our two daughters are both spirits. We love and support each other. Sometimes we choose our family sometimes the family chooses us. Here we are bone tired, so relaxed. There is not a thought in these bodies. There is only goodness. There is only exhausted satisfaction and profound careing.

This man Crowe! A year after this photo was taken he has left his body. We are all so sad. We build these temples to help offer a small door towards gratitude. Crowe was a force with a tool in his hand. He worked fast and efficiently. But he also worked with joy and love. We miss him. He was a warrior. He also is the reminder of how much we love this group of people who show up with out pay to build something so beautiful and signigicant. He was part of our family. He is a reminder of how blessed we are to have each other, to have each other’s back, to hold a ladder or hold a heart. Love you brother!

The police and the firemen of Coral Springs show up. These are the strong core of a town. Yet after the murders in the school the year before they are humbled.

Vulnerable men and women…

One of the Police man apologizes to me.

We would have been here to help y’all build, but one of our men’s son committed suicide last week and we had that and other funerals to attend to.

They arrive and I can feel the comradarie between them all. They seem so grateful to be here. They are proud to staple their badges onto the alter.

I am proud to help them.

The first responders carry way more than they ever get credit for. In this moment I can feel their sadness and wounded hearts.

This is Noa, a bright and shinging human. We cross paths during the build.

One day she is with a friend. We meet in the corner of the Temple and being to talk about the build. The conversation is thoughtful and sharing. Out of the blue Noa asks... Can you tell me what magic is?

It’s such a good question. I don’t rembember ever talking about magic. But every day while I’ve been here I have felt something that is beyond my comprension. Maybe Noa is a mind reader, or maybe I was talking about it and she overheard something.

“Someimes it’s just something that is so beautiful and suprising it is just too impossible to explain.... How did this happen? I pause. “Like this behind me, everytime I look at the sky there is a cloud formation with a hole in it!” I turn around and there are back lit clouds with a large hole in the middle of it.

The girls go awe and we laugh.

“Everytime we are in this temple and we stop and feel what is going on around I get goosebumps.” I hold out my arms and I get goosebumps. The girls hold out there arms...

Oh my god I feel them too..

Oh my god I just got them.

There is so much energy here. Magic is just those things we can’t explain with the words we are used to expaining things.

Noa’s frien suddenly begins to cry.

She is sobbing and starts to appologize. “ Sorry sorry sorry, I’m so sorry.”

Don’t appologize. Tears are such a beautiful thing. You feel things so deeply.

You have so much love in your being. We’re talking about magic and feeling energy here. I’m sure it provokes a lot of feelings. Always remember that when you cry if you go deep enough your tears are always about love. I lightly place my hand on her chest.

We turn around again and the sun is shining brightly in the sky. It is breathtaking. We are all silent.

When you go back and you’re at home and when you think about this day. When you think about magic and what this temple means to you. Don’t be afraid of your feelings but just take that time to breath.

It dawns on me that it will be akward to just leave this corner and go back into our worlds.

Lets take a moment and practice that breath. It is a spontaneous idea... but it as we take this first deep breath we close our eyes. The world seems calm. The world seems a place filled with love and intention. The world feels signigicant and so are we.

We finish three breaths.

Did you feel that?

Yes now I really know what magic is.

Noa took this picture of me.

Brianna Cont

We finished the building The Temple of Time on time. Always seems like a miracle that we can actually pull this thing off. Yet we always do (knock on wood). The opening is remarkable, sweet and touching. We were there for a few hours in the morning. I got a message that Brianna’s mother was trying to get in touch with me. So I gave out my number and I got a message on the 15th, the day we were leaving, from Brianna’s mother. Brianna was very sorry that she didn’t get to see me on the anniversary and would it be possible to get together before we left.

The crew was had made plans to go out to the beach, soak in the ocean and have a nice lunch and then get taken to the airport. I said of course I would love to meet them. Her mother added that Brianna had a special friend she wanted to meet.

At the temple I’m watching the day after the crowd move quietly around the space. Writing, reading, contemplating...

Brianna walks up with a stroller and we hug and she shows me her bunny, Rosco. We hold it. We don’t have much to talk about. It is nice being together. Her mother is on a phone call, but I think she understands it is better for Brianna to meet just the two of us. Brianna asks if I’d like to hold Rosco. I am honored. I taught her how to use power tools, she is teaching me how to hold this small soft furry animal. The light in the temple as it filters through the intricate shapes is soft and heavenly.

People come up and want to touch Rosco. A crowd gathers. I give Rosco back to Brianna. I watch her stand in the Temple, a small piece of ownership and pride. Grandparents, mothers and fathers, kids from the highschool all are gathering around her and the bunny.

My friends are at the beach somewhere, there are many places on this planet that are beautiful. But none as touching as this place right here. A small animal and a young girl offering love and healing by just being who they are.

3 Months later we return to Florida to burn the temple

This is the moment when the Temple is in full flame. As the temple burns it is a transformational moment. She is made of structural lumber and intricate CNC cut ply-wood and In the interim of being finished has been filled with prayers, tears, memories, artifacts, photos and thousands of names and words. The flames are engulfing the entire structure.

The patterns within the the intricate designed are outlined by flames, glowing orange-gold against smoldering black contrast, stark image of flame and darkness. Smoke swirls upward spiraling towards the heavens. Ignited embers glowing, dance in patterns against a dark sky ascending upwards as they are iridescent and alive. I picture each name as an ember turned angel, released into a transcendental ballet towards a heaven I can only dream about. No matter who you are, or what you believe, this spectacle, this fiery-part of the temple’s final piece of importance, is mesmerizing, inspiring and connects everyone who is there to experience it.

And it is magnificent. Temple of Time is not too big and not too small, yes, she is just perfect in size, grand and intimate at the same time. She is tender enough to speak to each person as an individual and she is strong enough to hold us all as a group. I film her. I film the crowd. I know how much this community needs this moment. I know how much the new friends I have made have looked forward to what this magic a temple burn really is. Dreaming of Closure and Release from the PTSD hell they have endured this year. You can feel the oohs and ahhhssss. Hear the fire crackle and pop as the temple burns bright.

There are two ladder fire trucks and the hoses are arcing into the air like poetic parenthesis reminding us they are here for our safety, to ostensibly keep the sparks from igniting anything, wetting the grass and the space around the temple burn. The raging fire has been in full glory for about 20 minutes. I am expecting the spire to collapse any second now.

The Temple burn happens in stages. The spire is the first thing to collapse, some times it leans to one side, sometimes it does a small curtsy and twists and sometimes it falls straight down the center. It is the first signal that she has been engulfed and fire is going to win the battle of impermanence. It is the first moment that everyone simultaneously gasps and that sound is breathtaking as everyone feels something profound in their bodies, all hearts and voices collectively release something in that moment.

I’m filming now. I’ve already decided that I want to do some kind of book to commemorate this Temple of Time in Coral Springs/Parkland Florida. I am anticipating the spire’s collapse at any moment. I look at the time 3:00 minutes and counting. Any moment. I can feel it. A tension in the air. I don’t breath. Nor the person next to me.

4:00 minutes and counting. 5:00…

Then I notice‌ there is a shift in the angle of the hoses. They are no longer aimed at the perimeter with an arcing protective spray. The hose has been funneled into a blasting force and directed on the temple specifically at the spire.

Sparks are extinguished, flames diminish, not slowly but with tragic suddenness the golden glow turns to a cloud of grey smoke billowing from black charcoal structural wood. It’s like watching a movie where the reel suddenly stops and you watch the celluloid melt and then turn to utter darkness and silence.

The Coral Springs/Parkland Fire department put out the fire.

I am speechless and disoriented

The friends next to me are speechless.

The firefighters are on a mission now and they are into action mode every move is for one purpose only. The high power hoses move in closer to collapse the charcoaled skeleton. She is still sturdy and fights back to stand stalwart. I can tell this is going to take them the rest of the night to clean up.

The crowd begins to disperse.

As the Temple Crew we gather together. Shock, speechless but also tying to be philosophical and not bitter.

Someone says that is such bullshit in an angry voice Someone just shakes their head and says they feel stunned Someone says well I guess that is just the fire department doing their job they must have seen something we didn’t.

Someone says I think they had an agenda to not let it burn from the beginning.

Someone says glibly… Well I’d call burnus-interuptus for sure We all laugh at that remark and that breaks the cycle of dismay.

Maggy reminds us that dinner is being served at a italian restaurant nearby. Some drive, some walk. My knee is aching and I feel very confused about how I feel. I am tired and drawn out. I sit down and tell everyone I will meet them there‌ I sit with my thoughts and replay the course of events.

On returning to Burn the Temple of Time Sunday 3:45 pm Fort Lauderdale Airport. Walking Briskly no time to spare to get to site, They close it to public at 5:00 burn it at 7:30. My knee aches. Limping the pain is almost unbearable. I’ve been busy, bad knees anyway, it didn’t help tripping on a pallet and pitching forward off the edge of my dump truck, deciding to leap to save summersaulting onto my head, sacrificing my left knee as I landed on it with all my weight. It didn’t help that a dear friend of mine had just died of cancer a few days earlier and some late nights with friends. It didn’t help that I had been up Friday and Saturday helping and celebrating my brother’s wedding. Arriving limping, emotionally spent, hungover and with just a few hours of sleep the last four days. Better late and delirious than not showing up at all. I wonder if that is actually true as I limp briskly and trying hard not to grimace and sweat.

I arrive at 4:55 to the site‌ Volunteers in the area are kindly asking the last few people to leave. A good size crowd has already gathered around the outside perimeter where a small chain link fence has been put up. I am known as one of the builders so I remain after the last person has left. The temple has weathered surprisingly well. Rains most days, she has greyed and mildewed a bit, but the pieces of memories, words, photographs have taken on a life of their own and in this late afternoon light The Temple of Time has a shining presence. I sit in my corner taking a few deep breaths, a few photographs and mental notes. There is no physical poetry more poignant nor touching than entering one of these temples after everyone has been asked to leave and you stand alone in this place as a witness to such gratitude within grief.

There are questions that are always asked by us builders. Will the weather behave? Will she light easy, will she ignite too slow, too fast? Will she catch on fire and burn quickly but not get out of control. Will she burn in a kind of triumph and beauty that will match the sweet power of her gift to this community? Will there be some kind of closure and release for the families and community that have gathered here? But there is another question— Will the fire department on site understand how this works? Will they react to a fire of this magnitude with all their equipment standing by and all their senses taught for only one thing‌ FIRE we put fires out!

I find my crew. David Best asks me to be a part of four to be at the lighting to help facilitate/support in any situations. I have had the unhappy honor to have lit one of our temples. I understand the privilege to hold the flame and touch a corner of this building. Thousands of people watching, emotionally involved. The

huge silence that looms around the site. A kind of anticipation a feeling of being bonded together through this journey of grief. I know the emotions it can trigger, the vast sense of loss and sadness. It is a privilege to hold this flame, but the reasons we are holding are sad and tragic and that can never be forgotten. I also know that after all the torches have lit the containers of kerosene in the respective corners, once lit, it get hot fast, I man real hot, real fast and you find yourself walking away much faster than you would imagine. Yes it is a good idea to have people there who have experience and know what emotional and logistic things that could happen. So yes this is an honor for me. To walk with these families and people chosen from the community.

We are asked to gather with the perimeter between the temple and the fence. The fire chief explains the details of how the burning will take place. Four groups for sides, stations and positions, timing. He is clear and speaks slowly and precisely.

He says that they believe the fire will take approximately 20 minutes to burn. I think to myself‌ This fire is going to take longer than 20 minutes to burn. 1st red flag. We will take all precautions if the fire takes too long or shows any signs of getting out of control we will put it out. 2nd red flag. He introduces a colleague, “This is James Wright and he is charge of only one thing. He has one job and that is only is to judge if the fire is under control or not. If he says the fire is out of control or any area is in immanent danger, I will signal immediately signal to put the fire out with any questions. 3rd red flag. James Wright steps forward introduces himself. My only impression is that he and I would never drink a beer together he seems that stiff and conservative. 4th red flag.

The fire chief says he will call the people into their four groups. If you are not called you do not belong here. He calls all the names for the group. Ours are not called. The groups are dispersed and we stand there looking at each other. The fire specialist from burning man who is in our group approaches the Fire-chief and asks what about us who are there to shadow and assist the people lighting. The Fire-chief ignores the question. Our specialist asks again and again he is rebuked with a wave of the hand and a curt. Those are the only people allowed for the lighting and he walks off. Our fire-specialist is visibly upset, red faced and silent. 5th red flag.

It is night. My friends have left for the Italian restaurant. They have shut down the location for the night and giving us a private evening. I’m too tired to want to participate. Emotions— sad, disappointed, upset. I have been conditioned to always be philosophical in moments like this. Look at all the sides and perspectives. I am too tired to be angry to exhausted and wrung out to be philosophical. I sit there watching the firemen do there clean up. Close my eyes. Images move across my brain like a slide show. There are no judgements or emotions attached just acknowledging, validating their existence in my world. I’m too tired to feel lucky or unlucky, despondent or excited, sorrow or gratitude.

The first day on the temple, the individual faces of those I became to know, Mitch and I standing together, placing a photo of Michelle inside, the rains where we all huddled together, the food we ate, the late nights building and then sitting together till midnight on a park bench, Maggy falling and breaking her wrist, the hugs good-bye when we left. The burn tonight; the beauty of it and the disheartening of it.

I make a point of not claiming any perspective or value‌ I will just put it in a box and look at this carefully after I land back on earth. I will refrain from putting a story around my feelings. I walk the long three blocks (blocks are long in Florida strip mall streets). It is nice to see everyone. Not in the mood for pasta and alcohol‌. but I make a go of it.

What is the Temple Really.

After the burn I talked to many Temple Crew friends. Pretty much everyone disappointed. Something interrupted in the middle of a process. burnus-interruptus. Also, the fire department was just doing their job. It was a burn in a city.

The city therapist who is working with the PTSD of the city and who talked to us as we arrived sat next to me after the burn.

“Oh my God, I’m so glad you sat here… I need a therapist. How do I process this? I was feigning a bit but it still felt good to lean against her a drop my tired head on her shoulder and ask for help.

She seemed to already have her answer prepared, which took away from the value. “No one here knew what to expect. They saw it burn, they saw the beauty of it and felt the significance. No one knew that it was supposed to burn to the ground. Your disappointment is because your expectations have more experience.

Someone seeing this for the first time wouldn’t know. I was at a circus the other night with my kids and the trapeze artist made a mistake but we didn’t even know it was a mistake… you know what I mean?

I asked Mitch and he explained it like the Coral Spring Fire Department is this award winning Fire Department. They take putting out fire’s very serisouly. If they felt it was a threat they would not hesitate. It was still beautiful and he felt so much gratitude for what we brought to their town.

I texted Noa on Instagram, her answer caused me to serisouly reavaluate what it the Temple really.

I asked her how did she feel about the way the Temple ended.

I guess I felt closure was her answer.

If the burning of a temple does not burn does that mean that the temple is a failure... ofcourse not.

We always explained the temple as a place to release your wound, find forgiveness, get closure. But truth those are big jumps. More like symbolic images to go with the spiraling flames like angels into the night sky.

I realize very clearly now. It is even more poetic.

Grief in it’s early and most raw phases is an anxiety, anguish painful shot to the gut. The total sadness is disoritnting. Anxiety creates panic attacks, fear, shame, depression. But there is a place that grief changes, there is a place where a thin slice of reality shifts grief of anxiety ( and as in the trauma of Coral Springs/ Parkland) grief with PTSD, shifts to something else.

The temple offers lessons in gratitude. The biggest discovery in my journey of grief is in the lonely darkness of the burnt out failed burn of the Temple of Time. It didn’t create closure for Noa. She was trying to be kind to me to make me feel good about what we did...

What we really brought the town and the people who came to help build or watch 30 minutes of a beautiful fire that was put out by honest courageous fire fighters....

Was Gratitude. The Temple shifts grief of anxiety to grief of gratitude.

Sorrow and Love equates Gratitude. It becomes a new kind of journey filled with magic and mystery.

I can live with that.