Tuesday, July 6, 2010

The Way

Written in May of 2007. I'm skipping posting a lot of the REALLY BADLY WRITTEN stuff I have from back then, and only posting the "ehh, this might be worth reading to someone" pieces.

Every direction looked the same. White to the left, white to the right, white before and behind. He cast no shadow, he left no footprints, he made no sound. With every step he took, he was painfully aware of the fact that he was alive. He only knew because he could still feel wracking pain coursing through his body.

Life is suffering.

He knew that there had to be something he could do to make it stop, something that made it hurt that he could get rid of. Try as he may, however, he could think of nothing that would cease the pain. All he could think about was what he was missing right now. He should be at the party, lounging in a luxurious hot tub with other rich kids, talking about the money that they all had.

The origin of suffering is attachment.

He stumbled; over what, he did not know, because there was nothing to stumble over. His knees hit the hard ground, and he put his hands down in front of them. The ground was hard and cold, smooth like marble, and very, very real. His breathing became more and more labored as the pain shot through his legs, up toward his chest, and then out to his fingertips, finishing at the crown of his head. He shook himself. Stop it. STOP IT. Stop hurting. His head screamed, but his voice seemed to disappear into the endless expanse of white. Everything was so bright. So white.

The cessation of suffering is attainable.

He slumped back onto his calves, and looked upwards. It was punishment. That was it. It must be punishment for something he did, something he was supposed to have done. Something. There was no other explanation. He felt like a child being scolded by his mother. Without knowing it, tears began to well up in his eyes. As they ran down his cheeks, they burned his face. He brought his hands up and covered his eyes with them. Everything was so bright. It was then that he heard a voice. The first thing he had heard in this place. He looked up, and in the distance, he saw the silhouette of a man. He was built lightly, not underweight, but not normal. The voice continued to call out. It was calling his name out. He reached forward, his arm shaking, and shut his eyes. Save me.

The way to the cessation of suffering is the Eightfold Path.

When he opened his eyes, the silhouette had taken form, and was holding his hand. Awaken. Cease your attachments. Live free of life. As these words echoed through the white void, the familiar yet distant man smiled, and began to fade away. Everything began to get darker. He felt a jolt through his chest, and then another.

Suddenly he opened his eyes. He was in the back of an ambulance, his coat thrown somewhere, and his shirt pulled back to expose his chest. The EMT held two paddles in his hands. "Clear," he said, and one last jolt brought him back to reality.

Was he really that miserable? He lived alone, with nothing to comfort him but his money. Maybe, just maybe, that silhouette was on to something.

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