There was more to life than the sword. There was art, there was the bonsai and there was meditation. There were activities woven into his days, sometimes dominating them. It was meditation that felt like home, where the long silent moments told him how the heartbeat of the world felt and who he was in that moment. Not what he thought, not what made him yearn or shudder, but what the pattern-smoke of who he was felt like.
It drifted. His eyes opened in time to see a small lizard slip under a rock in front of him.
?Wonderful, isn?t it??
From where he sat back on his knees he twisted, looking up at his teacher with one eye because of the sun. Once he knew it was him, his gaze dropped to his teacher?s knees.
?Man does not like freedom, just the idea of it. That?s why the system works.?
He didn?t say anything, he knew that it wasn?t a discussion, but a thought his teacher wanted to muse out loud to something more satisfying than a wall. There were times he would ask what he thought, but that was rare. No, the moment was one being shared to him and he kept his eyes, like his shoulders, bowed. As far as statues went, he was one of the best, his breathing as imperceptible as a breath compared to a breeze.
?A man gets stressed when there are too many choices. What he should do. Who he could marry. Where he should live and what he should believe. People think that they want to decide it but the truth is that a man is an indecisive creature. The angst and responsibility of those decisions are crippling.? At this point his teacher moved, walking closer to Kusinage, his body stopping in front of him with his weight leaned to one leg, ?The men who are not told? They spend their days tortured, never knowing what they should have done and if they fulfilled their destiny. They wonder if they picked the right wife.? To the latter point, he chuckled. Kusinage wasn?t sure if the laugh was because there was a humor to that situation he didn?t understand or if it was because they never intended for him to have a wife. The story came and went with the same impact of a turtle meandering past them.
With better meditation, he wouldn?t have heard anymore of the monologue.
It was just was well, his teacher?s steps went away, ?You lead an intended life, one the free man tortures himself to find.?
That was all his teacher had ever had to say to him about the rebellion. About what it meant and what it would do to the world, socially. He pressed his palms to the ground like a prayer and pushed back up to his feet. His teacher was gone like an apparition, somewhere on the other side of the fence, minding his way on the path to home.
A small, sharp pain hit his foot. He looked down, seeing a line of ants marching in a straight line. One had strayed and found him. He nudged his foot ahead, causing them to bend around his big toe.
Softly, in a voice he hadn?t used for days, ?I want to interfere.?
It drifted. His eyes opened in time to see a small lizard slip under a rock in front of him.
?Wonderful, isn?t it??
From where he sat back on his knees he twisted, looking up at his teacher with one eye because of the sun. Once he knew it was him, his gaze dropped to his teacher?s knees.
?Man does not like freedom, just the idea of it. That?s why the system works.?
He didn?t say anything, he knew that it wasn?t a discussion, but a thought his teacher wanted to muse out loud to something more satisfying than a wall. There were times he would ask what he thought, but that was rare. No, the moment was one being shared to him and he kept his eyes, like his shoulders, bowed. As far as statues went, he was one of the best, his breathing as imperceptible as a breath compared to a breeze.
?A man gets stressed when there are too many choices. What he should do. Who he could marry. Where he should live and what he should believe. People think that they want to decide it but the truth is that a man is an indecisive creature. The angst and responsibility of those decisions are crippling.? At this point his teacher moved, walking closer to Kusinage, his body stopping in front of him with his weight leaned to one leg, ?The men who are not told? They spend their days tortured, never knowing what they should have done and if they fulfilled their destiny. They wonder if they picked the right wife.? To the latter point, he chuckled. Kusinage wasn?t sure if the laugh was because there was a humor to that situation he didn?t understand or if it was because they never intended for him to have a wife. The story came and went with the same impact of a turtle meandering past them.
With better meditation, he wouldn?t have heard anymore of the monologue.
It was just was well, his teacher?s steps went away, ?You lead an intended life, one the free man tortures himself to find.?
That was all his teacher had ever had to say to him about the rebellion. About what it meant and what it would do to the world, socially. He pressed his palms to the ground like a prayer and pushed back up to his feet. His teacher was gone like an apparition, somewhere on the other side of the fence, minding his way on the path to home.
A small, sharp pain hit his foot. He looked down, seeing a line of ants marching in a straight line. One had strayed and found him. He nudged his foot ahead, causing them to bend around his big toe.
Softly, in a voice he hadn?t used for days, ?I want to interfere.?