Breathe slowly,
Taking in the peace of the moment as you see the figures gather at their respective points.
Nod to the little form,
All scales and robes,
And see it return your gesture,
A look of distant sadness on its face.
Its kind are always a little sad.
How could they not be?
Stepping back into the rain,
Out of the shelter of this little space,
Notice that your companion under this canvas has begun steeping the tea.
With the cool droplets bouncing against you,
Approach the thirteen shapes and see how they have settled,
The deep mournful calls emanating from behind those heavy shrouds,
The enrobed hands clutching at porcelain masks,
Take in how they hide themselves,
Shuddering,
Crying.
Steeping now,
They all face inwards,
Creating a ring,
Heads towards the central slab.
Take in the thing upon that rock,
Aged,
Decrepit,
Though not decayed,
Naked against the elements,
Simply laying there,
Ancient,
Withered,
Yet in those edges around the eyes,
Notice that faint hint of amusement,
Of familiarity in this shape,
Even as it lies there,
So distant from you.
As the wailing grows,
Take a deep breath and close your eyes,
Breathe in,
Out.
Feel a different kind of nervousness approach you.
It has been so long.
Opening them,
See a fourteenth figure,
Standing at the edge of the slab,
Cold,
Confused,
Shivering against the rain,
See them as you remember them,
Even in fear,
The dancing eyes,
The playful amusement that could be there at any moment.
Feel yourself smile from the edge of the mourners and see the person you came here for return that smile,
Even in fear.
As they take those steps,
Past the shrouded forms,
Take their hand and walk out,
Back towards that umbrella,
A shelter from the rain.
Feel them resist a moment,
Still uncertain,
Then follow in your steps,
Cautious at such heavy changes.
See the little scaled creature wave at you both and offer tea,
First to the figure behind,
Then to you,
As the three of you sit,
The storm swirling around and sipping your drinks,
Offer out that sacred lemon you collected.
The scaled one amiably slices the sour fruit and shares those pieces as you carefully set your unbaked cookie next to the fire.
Not a perfect oven,
But it should be enough.
Take your own slice of fruit and bite,
Enjoying the mix of sweetness and sour,
Something divine,
The subtle moonlight remembered in every drop of juice,
In every piece of rind.
Watch them as they eat as well,
Memories held in the nectar,
Revealing themselves as distant glades and whispering trees,
Those thoughts visible on their face.
As you sip your tea and your eyes drift closed,
Feel the warm peace of the liquid as it crosses your lips.
A remembered time,
So distant now,
That first time you sip this tea,
Think back and remember that fear,
That pain,
Now so long gone,
And in those memories also find what wonders you have seen,
Such peace,
Such impossible things.
Not every challenge brings only hardship.
Open your eyes at that startled gasp and smile as the little piece of shortbread begins to shimmer and twist,
Writhing until it bursts and takes flight.
Watch their eyes as they trace the path of the fluttering moth,
Awe and wonder filling them as they reach for the little life.
Watch as it settles on their finger,
Instinctively sheltering from the rain outside.
Feel your smile widen and watch them return that smile,
For the first time feeling peace as well.
The rains here never fully relent,
The tears of the world ever falling.
Yet they do lessen,
And as it settles,
The last drop of tea finished,
Bid your unspoken farewell to the little form still warming itself by the fire,
Then rise and take a step into the drizzle,
Carefully followed back towards the cavern.
There is so much to show them,
So many places to go,
And yet as you stride back,
Hand in hand,
A moth carefully sheltered,
The journey you both face doesn't seem so difficult.
You endured so much to be here,
But now those challenges are behind you.
Now it's just a quiet walk back.
This has been the Quiet Walk Back,
The last of the Blue Path Meditations of the Fatal Neutrinos,
Stories of histories that weren't,
Futures that mustn't,
And places that cannot be.
I hope you enjoyed this little journey.
There will be more stories,
But the Blue Path is at an end.
If you'd like to know a little more about it,
There's a special track on Insight Timer that discusses it in a little more detail.
Let me know what you thought.
This is Easton,
And I'm back.
