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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/2093693-Untitled
Rated: E · Non-fiction · Spiritual · #2093693
unfinished...

         The boy walks into his master’s room, head hung down and without a concern for knocking. Expecting mockery and a long winded lecture to be thrown his way, only to fly past his ears, the master simply stands from his cross legged posture. Even to the master, words of insult are flying around his own brain, but he can hear the boy’s breaths. Each inhale was as if the oceans waves were being pulled out to sea, each wave smashing through jagged rocks, and each exhale pushed backed to the shores but not far enough to where the water was contented. In its mind’s eye, the water felt as if it were being dragged through the desert and being thrown off a cliff, only to be dragged out again.
         The master walks up to the boy, and puts the palm of his hand onto the boy’s forehead. Minutes pass, the boy does not look up, and the master does not take his hand off of his forehead. The ticking tocking clock watches the interaction between the two as if it were in a classroom waiting for the time to pass to go back home. Both the master and the boy began to synchronize their breathing, and their pulsating energy seemed to interact with every object in the room. Now the room breathes. Life is created and destroyed through the little boy’s inhales and exhales. He feels it. His cloudy mind starts to race through the storm, and an adventure he is now on. Lighting and thunder is seen through his eyes and the master begins to worry. Putting both of his hands atop the boy’s head, encapsulating the boy’s brain. The boy starts to open his mouth. Two inaudible words are muttered and leave from the boy’s mouth, and now he looks up. As his mind pushes through, his vision of the world returns. Colors surround him and he sees the liveliness of it all. The rhythm. The tension and the release of everything that he is seeing. The interaction of the trees and time and the sun’s rays. His vision starts to blur and he stumbles, only to catch himself with a bookshelf. Sweat burns into his eyes and life burns into his heart. His master stares at him for quite a while before saying,
         “I have nothing to say to you, no advice to give, or no guidance lend, it is futile. Because you have learned through your own experience, and although it seemed as if I created you’re the energy that surrounded us, I simply guided the energy from your soul to be produced, I was simply there to make sure your soul never left you.”
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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/2093693-Untitled