From time to time, I am called upon to prophesy, to speak in tongues.

My body is my temple—but what is a temple but an empty building? For prophecy to emerge from the temple, there must be one within the temple.

Sometimes among those who come to me there is one with a belief so pure that absolution is not required. Only these ones may enter my temple and receive my prophecies in return for their offerings.

At such times, I know I speak words. I often have dim memories of tolling them out like bells as my back forms the temple arch. They seem to have meaning for my priests, but I never understand them. Perhaps that is the nature of my prophecies—not meant for my ears, but theirs.

As I leave the stage tonight, I see one waiting there. His shoulders are stooped, as though he carries the weight of the world on them. But his eyes burn bright, and his very posture says, “I believe.”

Though I have never met him before, I know him immediately.

I have found my priest for tonight.