The scripture rested upon the lectern, while the woman bent over it, reading in quiet concentration

Woman reading script — Woman Reading Scriptures

In the heart of Taipei stands Xingtian Temple, a perennial stop for visitors to Taiwan. Even on weekdays its courtyards are never empty, filled with people praying for prosperity in business or protection from misfortune. There, on one of the wooden benches, I noticed a woman with a thick scripture open across her lap. From behind, I leaned ever so slightly to glimpse the pages: they were dense with Chinese characters, the black print covering the paper almost without margin or pause. To an untrained eye, it was nothing more than a merciless array of ideographs, yet for her it was surely a daily anchor of faith. Though I understood nothing of the text, I could not help but feel, absurdly, as though I myself were brushing against enlightenment—an illusion born no doubt from the charged atmosphere of the temple itself.

What fascinated me most was the movement of her fingers. They traced the words with remarkable lightness, gliding along as if she were a master storyteller reciting a well-rehearsed tale. Perhaps long habit had ingrained the scripture in memory so deeply that she could almost chant it without reading. Her posture radiated serenity, yet the spell was undercut by the click of a tourist’s camera nearby, a reminder that solemnity here was constantly being rubbed against the mundane. Does one come to the temple to seek enlightenment, I wondered, or simply to confirm one’s own image in a passing photograph before returning to the world outside?

Whatever the case, in the midst of Taipei’s noise and bustle, the sight of a believer absorbed in her scripture at Xingtian Temple seemed to embody the peculiar mingling of the sacred and the ordinary that defines the city’s landscape.

Xingtian Temple on Google Map

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