SpunkyMunky

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Where to my friend?

Walking through the long corridor of railway tracks and high ceilings with the audience watching with dark, cold, stony eyes was nothing out of the ordinary. Yet this place where animals, creatures of bizarre fantasies created from an ancient gothic mind’s disturbed definitions seemed to be teeming with life; macabre and melodramatic. Every single eye was centered on his existence. He lived in a city where the norm was to be ignored, existence was ghostly. People walked on without a care, not even a glance at the myriad mobs meandering their individual insanities through the asylum of life. A sign ahead of him read “Death is just another stage of life”. He smiled wryly at its incoherent irony. The crowds swirled around him like a ballet performance by Sufi saints invoking the divine through their concentric circles. Without a moment’s pause the merry dance pulsed to a rhythm devoid of timing and irrespective of the limitations of space.

Baa Baa Black Sheep

‘The black sheep’ they called him. They screamed hysterically and mumbled obscenities as he came into range. Tongues wagged and eyes blazed as he approached. Whispers echoed in the echelons of his conscious. He walked on biting the bullet and swallowing the bitter pill with all the stoic he could muster. ‘Always keep death in mind’ he told himself as he walked on towards a better view. Every step he took brought him closer and closer to the fear that echoed in people’s minds. ‘Isn’t he the one? Look at him now!’ Like excerpts from classic literature and blurbs on a book cover the paranoid paraphrases stabbed at his innards with malicious intent. The scrambled schizoid sentences cut like a scythe as they slice zig-zigzagged across his soul.

He walks on. Never talking, justs keep walking…

courage

A Samurai must show courage and contempt for death.

The Samurai was on his way to the capital city of his Daimyo’s neighbouring country, carrying an invitation to the wedding of his master’s daughter. He had been walking on foot for quite a few days now, and was beginning to feel a bit weary after all this travelling. However, he felt that his journey was soon coming to an end, and felt light at heart and hurried his steps.
He trudged across a grass covered plain, when he suddenly spotted a large cloud of black smoke rising from what looked like a small cottage. He hurried onward, and soon realized that the cottage was completely on fire, and he saw a small group of people standing outside. As he came closer, he noticed a young woman, who seemed to be struggling for her life in the hands of a couple of men. He promptly ran over to the group and demanded to know what was going on, and why they were holding the woman.
“Her daughter’s still trapped inside the house, and she wants to go get her. It’s suicide we tell’er, but she won’t listen.”
“Is anyone in there getting her daughter back?” asked the Samurai, looking at the men.
“Well, no. Just look at the house! It’s too late, we tell’er! Her daughter is probly dead by now, anyway.”
The Samurai looked at the woman, who was screaming and thrashing, desperately trying to break free from the men holding her. He turned his look at the men in the group and he saw fear in their eyes. He mumbled some well-chosen words about the men, took off his backpack and his swords, and ran in through the open door into the blazing fire. Had had taken a deep breath before he entered the door, but the smoke still entered his lungs, making him cough and breath in even more of the smoke. While cursing himself for not having asked the men for the name of the girl, he kept shouting “Hello!” in case the girl was still conscious and alive and could hear him. A bursting flame suddenly set his shirt on fire, but he didn’t notice it in his desperate attempt to find the girl. He stumbled into the smoke filled kitchen, which seemed to be the room, which was least ravaged by the fire, and looked under the kitchen table. There he saw the small girl, a girl that couldn’t have been more than a couple of years old, lying on the floor. The Samurai noticed that she was still breathing, but heavily and coughing wildly. When he stretched out his arms she opened her eyes and cried out, pointing at his shoulder. Only then did he notice the burning shirt, which he quickly pulled off, but it still managed to burn his hair a great deal. Suddenly being aware of his fire damaged back and shoulder, he felt the pain from the heavily burnt flesh and skin. Nevertheless he scooped up the little girl in his arms and started off toward the exit, but he didn’t get far until parts of the ceiling in the outer room suddenly collapsed, turning it into an inferno of burning timber and furniture.
The Samurai looked around for a window in the kitchen, but none was to be found. He cursed himself again, this time for not bringing his swords, for he realized he would not be able to break through any of the still solid walls. Only one other option remained, and that was through the way he entered. He looked up at the ceiling, and the remaining beams seemed to be able to collapse any second. Still, without any other alternatives, he clutched the girl tightly to his chest, took a run and jumped over the burning wood covering the kitchen door.
The heat was unbearable, and hit him with full force as he landed heavily on the floor in the outer room. For a moment he feared that the floor would give, but luckily it only creaked loudly, but he realized that time was not on his side this time, and if he did not leave the house quickly, they would not stand a chance of surviving. He climbed over burning furniture and collapsed beams, desperately trying to ignore the hellish flames licking his feet and legs. He looked up, and saw that the outer door was only a few more feet in front of him. His heart raced, but by this time he had inhaled so much of the treacherous smoke, that his vision was getting blurred and his chest was becoming more painful than he could stand. Suddenly he heard a loud crash somewhere above him. He made a move towards the door, but a sharp pain in the neck stopped him, as a collapsing beam hit him straight in the back of his head. He toppled over, still clutching the girl in his arms, heavily to the floor, and he felt a large nail being driven into his back.
The Samurai lost consciousness for a moment, and he had trouble re-orientating himself, but the flames all around him quickly reminded him where he was, and he moved his head with great difficulty to check on the girl. She seemed to have survived unscathed, and small eyes filled with fear met his. He tried to stand up, but the large wooden beam was still on top of him, and an intense pain in his back told him the large nail was still imbedded in him. Large flames were closing in around them, and the Samurai realized he wouldn’t be able to move without ripping open his back. He looked out through the door and saw the group of men looking at the burning house from a safe distance. He thought about his alternatives and quickly came to a decision. With the force of desperation, he strained his legs and arms, and managed to lift the beam a few inches. With his left hand he grabbed hold of the little girl and heaved her forward through the open door, where she landed a few feet into the open air. One of the men in the group saw the girl and ran forward, snatching her up and running off again to her awaiting mother. Then the Samurai could no longer hold himself up, and fell forward once again, driving the nail deeper into his back. He looked up through the smoke, seeing the mother clutching her daughter, with tears streaming down her cheeks.

Clean Slate

Wiping the slate clean has long been synonymous with starting afresh or beginning a new era. Ancient monks used to symbolize the dawn of their spiritual journey with a clean pate or a bald head. The shaven head signified a baby or an innocent on the path. In today’s world however most bald men you meet would be a sad story of early hair loss!

I just wiped out a few hundred blog posts without hesitation as a response to an impasse I face in my life today. As a writer I wish to resurrect and revisit the early days of my writing (kindergarten i.e.) and start from there. In a Zen scenario I have before me an empty canvas and a brush dipped in black ink at readiness.

The pen is mightier than the sword; it is said. I however do not agree. Such an assertion would tip the scales in favour of intelligence of the mind over that of the body. As such this being the ruling of the day causing more of us to ignore the physical plane entirely and seek growth only via the mental plane. I seek to balance the two in my life towards a harmonious existence. This would be akin to the ideology of the ancient Japanese Samurai warriors who were well versed in the killing arts whilst also being proponents of fine arts such as calligraphy, painting and poetry.

I begin my journey with this prologue. I don’t know where I’m going but I’m on my way.