In Their Footsteps (A Reflection On My Time in Turkey)

There was never yet an uninteresting life. Such a thing is an impossibility. Inside of the dullest exterior, there is drama, a comedy, and a tragedy. ~Mark Twain

During my time in Turkey, I had the opportunity to take in an extensive amount of history, to walk in the footsteps of the ancients, the footsteps of the moderns, the footsteps of the remembered, the footsteps of the forgotten, the footsteps of the famous, the footsteps of the common.

I walked in the footsteps of Byzantine rulers through the immense doors of the Hagia Sophia, doors through which the only people deemed worthy of passing were the ruling class. All others had to enter via smaller, adjacent doors, ordinary doors for the ordinary man and I wondered, if I was that Byzantine ruler that believed he was a god, would I have been a benevolent god or a demanding god, a forgiving god or an exacting god.

I walked in the footsteps of Sultans, walked along the stone path designed specifically for the Sultans royal feet in the Topkapi royal palace, the stone path that passed through the harem where the harem girls cast their eyes upon the Sultan perhaps hoping he would choose them for a night of pleasure, perhaps to plant his seed allowing them to a ascend the ranks of the harem girls. I walked in the footsteps of the sultans, their sons, thier daughters, walked in the very places were schemes were hatched and intrigue unfolded, in the very places were alliances were formed and betrayal plotted, in the very places where life was granted or life was taken away.

I walked in the footsteps of the artists and engineers that designed and decorated the great sanctuaries, the sanctuaries that attempted to become holy artifices as they reached heavenward toward God, attempted to know God, sought to enter the presence of God, sought to bring God into their presence by creating perfection on earth, by creating a place worthy of the magnificence of their God, always in the hope that their creations would be deemed worthy by God thus God would bless them for the ages.

I walked in the footsteps of worshippers when I entered the holy places known today as the Blue Mosque, the Hagia Sofia, and many others for whom I know no name or who's name has been erased by time. I walked in their footsteps, felt their awe thousands of years later as I looked to the heavens while standing in these holy places, as I looked into my very heart hoping it reflected the presence of God.

I walked in the footsteps of the underground people, the tunneling people, the people that built the immense underground cities, engineering marvels with ventillation shafts, communication shafts, enemy traps, bedrooms, living rooms, school rooms, worship rooms, walked in their footsteps through the narrow passageways that led deeper and deeper into their subteranean kingdom, deeper into their lives, deeper into their psyche and there I shuddered just contemplating a life, my life, any life hidden from the warmth of day, hidden from the caressing rays of a sun rising above the horizon in an explosion of fire.

I walked in the footsteps of the fairy castle builders, the people that created vast cities in the sides of hills and mesas and canyon walls, the people that painted intricate frescoes in the ceilings of caves, caves carved into solid rock with hand tools, caves that were the early Christian churches, frescoes depicting the life of Christ, the life of Mary, the stories of the Bible, many roomed cities, multi floored complexes with columns and balconies, rooms connected by tunnels and staircases containing places to cook, places to congregate, places to worship, places to lay the bones of the deceased.

I walked in the footsteps of Caesars on the marbled, processional street cutting through the heart of Ephesus amongst the towering, crumbling buildings, pillars, and statues, walked in the footsteps of Paul the Apostle at the ruins of Ephesus, a significant New Testament city, and imagined him prostelytizing the Gospel, reasoning with the people out of the Old Testament Scriptures, outlining the many passages pointing to, proving that, Jesus was the Christ, was the embodiment of the promised Messiah, proving that Christ rose from the dead, imagined Paul in impassioned debate, imploring all to accept the light that is Jesus and enter eternity at Jesus' side.

I walked in the footsteps of the devout during a powerful rain when I visited the House of Mother Mary, the home where Jesus' mother once lived, in the footsteps of the pilgrims who have made and continue to make the journey from the four corners of the earth to visit the shrine where, they believe, Mother Mary will answer their prayers in no matter which language they utter their petitions, where they drink water from deep springs which, they believe, has the power to heal the aches and pains inflicting mondern man, where they write their prayers on scraps of paper and hang them so, when they are no longer physically present at the shrine, Mother Mary will continue to intercede on their behalf.

I walked in the footsteps of the ancients at Priene, Militos and Dydyma, walked amonst the ruins, amongst the carved stones, the erected pillars, ran my fingers over the proclamations of politicians etched in marble with an ancient script, walked in these places built during the glory days of the Roman empire, days they believed would never pass into history, days that were erased as easily as my footsteps on the sandy beach with the next rising wave.

I walked in the footsteps of slaves, the people that weren't considered people, the people who were not permitted to lift their eyes and gaze upon royalty under fear of death, the nonpeople on whose backs the palaces were built at the behest of kings, on whose shoulders the pillars were raised to support the magnicient domes of the cathedrals, the people's whose ravaged feet dragged the stones to build the temples to give glory to Gods they did not believe in, the expendable people who built the colliseum's then entered those same arenas and had their blood spilled upon the sands for the entertainment of the Roman mob.

I walked in the footsteps of modern man, in the footsteps of today's Turkish, was blessed with the hospitality of people I did not know before arriving, people who took time out of their busy schedules to show me the ancient and modern wonders of their land, people who made me feel like royalty with their attentiveness, people who made me feel loved, people I now count as friends.

Most of all, I walked in the footsteps of the common man, in the footsteps of the people that built history yet, by her fickle nature, have been forgotten by history, in the footsteps of the every day man upon who's back society thrived, the family man that hunted so his wife could eat, that struggled so his children could thrive, who bled that his family may live, who took up the mantle of suffering on a daily basis in the belief that his legacy would make a difference in the circle of his family and that their lives would go on and, hopefully, be better than his own, walked in the footsteps of common man who is remembered only by the dusty trails created by his footsteps while walking over the land which sustained him, the land that created and recreated him for millenia.

I, a common man myself, stand on the shoulders of all those commen men that forged a life in this world by their sweat and tears, men whose daily, ordinary activities built the foundation on which today's civilization stands allowing me to look into the past, to see the present, to glimpse a future. I, a common man, hope that I live a life which builds upon the foundation so many have died to create, a foundation forged on hope, a life on which the next generations can launch themselves into the future. I, a common man, hope I live a life worthy of the common man, the unsung heroes that blazed the trails long before I walked in their footsteps.