A happy priest is not a herdsman of sorrow.
A happy priest does not chase after followers, attempting to convince them that his repressed feelings of guilt and loneliness is a treasure for his followers to worship. Although his guilt and loneliness is cleverly cloaked by icons and scripts, the shadows will ultimately wear him down.
He lies alone in his bed, drunk and delusional as the energetic windows of his distorted priesthood loops around in his mind, feeding on his broken character.
It was so easy at times, in the little cities and towns around the world, because the people always looked for someone to give their power away to. They listened to him speak of God and love, they admired his knowledge of the scriptures and the women secretly admired his charm. But no matter where he lived a life as a priest, his loneliness would haunt him. The admiration of the masses could not save him from the shadow of isolation, not even secret affairs with women, nor a high salary, not a shiny castle with his name written in gold on the entrances, nor the achievements within the hierarchies of the church, could free him. Life after life, his search for escape from loneliness became increasingly dark, through poisonous drinks, greed through all levels of materialism and energetic predation through exploiting the faith of the people.
He was so broken that he could not stand to see his self-judgement. When darkness offered him the false protection of blindness, he sold the eyes of his heart and received blindness in return.
But still, life and love is eternal and there are innumerable paths towards the home of love.
The energetic windows of the distorted priesthood did initially get the better of him, and yes, he was not allowed to work in yet another church, because of affairs and alcoholism. One morning, as he woke up form a deep sleep, something dawned on him. Why not create a little church by the road? He felt a loving presence and a loving attitude towards himself, for the first time in many years. He could remember his loving mother, that always saw the best in him, no matter what sort of mischief he and his brothers were guilty of, she would never punish them. He could feel her cheek next to his, and he could smell her too, he could smell newly baked bread and peppermint candy, he cried and released some of his guilt, and transferred the forgiveness of his mother into his own heart.
He was an old man these days, almost seventy years old. He had been drinking for the past decade, after being fired from his job. He got out of bed and started to search for old plastic bottles, they were all over the house, and many were in the attic too, so he collected over twenty bottles. He washed them thoroughly, and then he went to the store to buy lemonade and ten bags of coffee.
Although this man was marred by scandals of the past, he was actually remembered as `The Happy Priest`, towards the end of his life. Some thought he was like a clown, he always smiled and preformed jokes and odd comments, while others found his presence very soothing, even healing, and deeply appreciated the old man.
He used to sit next to the pavement, he had a little plastic table full of bottles of lemonade and four big cans of freshly made coffee. There were plastic cups there too, so people could drink as much as they wanted, and eat the crackers and doughnuts he bought freshly made from the baker, every morning from Monday to Saturday. He had a lot of money to spare, because he had stopped buying wine and beer in order to numb his self-judgement.
He did not repeat and preach the scriptures anymore, but enjoyed the day to day conversations with all sorts of people, neighbours and strangers too. He did not chase after followers, but enjoyed the advice from people, men, women and children of all ages, shapes and colours, as he was always willing to hear their voice. He learned a lot from all the conversations with the people. He cried together with the ones that shared stories of pain, and he rejoiced with the people that shared their achievements and joyous occasions. Some had lost a dear one, others had passed an exam, some wanted to share a memory, and once, a little boy showed him a tooth he had lost, and when he smiled to the happy priest, and showed that one of his front teeth was missing, they both laughed so hard that they could hardly breathe.
The happy priest learned so much from the people. For so many lives, he had forced distorted scriptures on them, so he could cure his loneliness, but now they all shared and learned from each other, because all the people are happy priests and priestesses, through the compassion and play of an open heart.
The happy priest sat there by the road for nine years, until he was too weak to move around. Despite the fact that he had no living family members, over two hundred people attended his funeral.
He got his last wish, as he wanted something original to be written on his gravestone;
`Here rests the Happy Priest of the church of coffee and lemonade. `
His spirit dwells in our hearts.