The Tao Mountains

"Air is the element of freedom. The Air Nomads detached themselves from worldly concerns, and they found peace and freedom." - Uncle Iroh, ATLA

Being a Buddhist monk's apprentice, all my life I had been sent up these mountains every year, in the hopes of grounding myself and expelling all the worries of the outside world.

Having emerged from my older self, a modern man of science, it had proven difficult to forget about my old life. These monks, up here, safe in their mountains. Nothing to worry about. They didn't know what bills were, what electricity meant. They were lucky. They had escaped science's rise.

So here I was, sitting down underneath a large willow tree, on a grassy pot, the highest point I could force myself to climb. The temple lay a few stories down, but I much preferred this place. I had made this spot my own.

Everything was quiet, save for the faint whistle of the wind and the swaying movements of the willow tree. There was no snow on these mountains this time of year. The mountain tops were the colour of soft brown soil, and blossoms, white, purple, blue, sprouted everywhere, and encircled me in a vortex of sweet smells. The perfume was uplifting, and helped me concentrate more.

Sitting in the usual position, courtesy of the goddess Quan Lin, my spiritual benefactor. My hands were clasped together, like I was cradling my own soul.

No birds flew this high, which was a shame. I always imagined birds making the space all the more peaceful, a paradise. But no chirping graced my ears. Just the wind, which echoed inside my head like a great humming sound, getting louder and more consistent.

My trappings kept me warm; the traditional orange and brown togas with a string of black prayer beads wrapped around my waistline.

The tree above me sheltered my fragile soul. Its power was old, ancient roots running like veins through the mountain rocks. Tree magic was an ancient type of magic, an unlimited source of energy which, if known how to, could be tapped into, and used for one's benefit, or for others' detriment.

Master Shiro had been my master for years, ever since my training began, and he had been master of the temple for generations. It was unclear how old he was, but Taoism was a way to achieve longevity in life, so it was only natural to assume that he was quite...aged.

And then it dawned upon me that these were exactly the thoughts I had spent years trying to control.

Focus. Think of something, a large black hole, and it is my own personal wastebasket. Throw everything in it. Everything. Nothing matters, none of it matters. It is just you and the mountains and the flowers and the trees. They are your friends. They can help you. They are older than you and everyone else. Draw their energy. Borrow it. Give and receive.

My eyes closed, I could slowly feel the energy from the plants, from the earth, from the very air, diffusing out of them and entering my own body.

Opening my eyes once more, I felt complete.

In an instant, I could myself becoming lighter, being lifted off the ground. My feet and legs no longer touched the ground. I was open. The atmosphere and I had become one. I was perfect.

My body was stiff yet comfortable. If ever there was a moment I felt fragile, this was it. But the willow tree protected me. Great Mother Willow, as I had come to call her. She watched over me. She was Quan Lin in another form, in any form she wanted to be.

© 2014 Mr. Misanthrope

Author's Note

I still remember writing this, in a Biology class, and my friend sitting next to me, who enjoyed reading whatever crap I could think up, would get flustered that everything I ever wrote ended with TBC.

Written 3 February 2010.

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Eliza Radley

I actually really liked this. The cultural accuracy combined with the character's unusual thoughts and musings made for an interesting read. You write very fluently :)