I clasp my sword, feeling its familiar weight settle back into place. My heart pounds as my rage swells. I am angry, I am scared, I am angry again. My vision blurs, and every part of me screams to unsheathe the forgotten blade. I hesitate. I look around, searching for someone—something. I don't know who. I don't know what. But I know only they can save me.
I look around—nothing but darkness. It's just me and the blade. I can hear it calling, a low pull that rattles my bones. My ears ring until the ringing becomes screaming. Warm blood trickles down, but my eyes still see nothing. My skin feels cold, almost dead.
I tighten my grip on the blade.
I want to unsheath it. Maybe if I do, the warmth will come back. Maybe I'll smell something again. Maybe I'll feel like someone again—not this hollow thing I've become.
I decide.
I'm going to unsheath it.
"No!"
The word slams into me. A hand reaches out— I still can't see anything, but I can feel the touch. It's the voice of a child, the touch of a child, yet his palm is rough. His hands tremble, but they're warm.
The voice is familiar, though I can't place it. I turn my head toward the warmth, straining my eyes to make out anything, but everything remains shrouded in darkness.
My conviction wavers.
Is this the person who's here to save me?
I loosen my grip on my blade. Maybe I can find warmth without it. As my fingers relax, my vision starts to clear; the darkness begins to lift, though the world stays blurry. In the middle of the haze, I can make out a silhouette. It's not defined, but there is someone there. A child, yes— but someone I can cling to in this lonely state.
I loosen my grip once more. I can smell again—not the scent of iron, nor of copper, nor of steel, but the air itself, the fragrance of flowers, the smell of nature. I feel the breeze brush my skin, the warmth of an embrace—but the screaming sword persists. It wants to be wielded. My hand trembles. Should I grip it tighter? I hesitate, then take a deep breath. Finally, I decide to let the sword fall.
As soon as I do, my vision goes dark. For a breath, I hesitate. Did I make the right choice? Then bright light floods in. It's the sun—the beautiful sun. I can see again. I can smell again. I can feel again.
I raise my hand to shield my eyes from the intense sunlight and turn to take in my surroundings. It's a forest. I search for the child, my savior, but he is nowhere to be seen. I am alone once more.
My sword swings at my waist, a tassel dangling from its hilt. I look down at it and hear a whisper. I ignore it. My gaze drops to the ground, and I see a shade. The sun beats down relentlessly; its warmth grows, and the heat becomes unbearable. I contemplate seeking refuge under the trees' shade. Then I notice—those trees, that bush, everything has a shadow. Except me. I don't seem to have one.
Where is my shadow? Am I dreaming?
The whispers from the sword grow louder. My hand grazes the hilt, and for a fleeting moment, I see a shape form—just for a moment—before it vanishes.
I flinch at the scene. Should I unsheath the sword? The question returns, nagging. As I try to orient my senses, a toad hops near me. Green with dark spots, it croaks with vivacity—I think it's a mating call. The sound pierces my ears; loud, annoying, yet somehow better than the shrill pleas of the sword demanding to be unsheathed.
Another toad responds to its cries. I watch as the two creatures find each other—it was indeed a mating call. A pang of envy rises within me. When the toads meet, a faint mist seems to escape their bodies. I am fascinated by the ritual, but I look away. This should be an intimate moment between two lovers.
I blink once. I feel my breathing slow down. My whole body calms. The shrieking cries become muffled, and the colors of the leaves, the trees, and everything around me grow vivid. The croaking of the two toads feels musical, elating, as if I've glimpsed a secret composition they are playing.
I feel the urge to sit down. To take the lotus position. Before I know it, I am already down. I blink again, and when I open my eyes, everything around me dances to an unfamiliar melody. Soon, the sound of the toads fades. The blazing sun disappears. There is light, but it does not come from the sun—it radiates from a glowing statue.
The statue is seated in the same position as I am. Made of gold, it emits a warm energy, one that feels profoundly familiar.
"You are here,"
I hear a deep, feminine voice. I turn my head toward its direction. I see the toad again, but this time its green skin is shifting through colors—sometimes yellow, sometimes red, sometimes purple, sometimes blue. It pulses with a gradient of hues, the waves of color are flowing across its skin, bouncing in and out of existence.
I blink slowly once more. This time, a door stands before me, illuminated by an unseen source. My eyes drop to my own skin—it is golden. Across from me sits a dark figure, small, almost insignificant, a third of my size yet somehow commanding attention.
"Pick a door," the deep, resonant female voice speaks once again, as the toad grows to an enormous, almost unimaginable size. Doors materialize around me—one to the north, another to the east, one to the south, and another to the west—each glowing with a distinct light.
I am not sure which to pick. Before I can fully grasp the essence of the question, my eyes close unconsciously, and immediately, a stream of shapes and colors fills my vision. My eyes aren't open—at least, I don't think they are—but I can see colors. I can see shapes. I feel as if I am traveling through a collection of light, shapes, and color toward something unknown.
Slowly, I see a wave pulse faintly, sometimes ascending, sometimes descending. It is following a rhythm. The breath of the universe.The toad returns, except—no. It's not a toad. It is many toads, merging, stretching, fusing into a colossal figure shaped like a woman. Her form flickers between the boundaries of creature and goddess. I don't know what she is, but she gestures—and I understand.
The pulsing light unfolds, and instantly I know what I am seeing. I see my joy. I see my sadness. I see my wishes. I see my failures. I see my current life, my past life, and all the versions of myself that have ever existed, dissolving into something beyond comprehension.
The woman continues guiding me through a kaleidoscope of shapes and colors, within a space of wrenching unfamiliarity. Yet, the more we move through it, the more familiar it becomes. I feel myself drawn toward some kind of unity. I am connected to something.
We become one, moving toward a flowing stream of… something. The shapes grow more abstract as we advance. We dissolve together into the stream, into the shapes, into the space itself. The world melts into us, or perhaps we melt into it. It's hard to tell. Our energy penetrates the entirety of existence. From the smallest grains of sand to the grandest mountains, from a tiny pool to the vast ocean, from the faintest embers of fire to the blazing stars, we are connected. Everything is us. We are everything. We have dissolved.
The words continue spilling onto the page as your gaze follows the stream. You are eager to learn, to understand the world, to understand the self. The universe is inconceivably small, and yet infinitely vast. There is everything and nothing, all at once.
At the end of the movement, there is no "I." There is no "we." There is no "you." There is only existence. There is only compassion. There is only love—the love of a mother for her child, the love of the creator for its creation. An ineffable, boundless love.
The origin spills forth, weaving everything onto the canvas—an author writing a story within it, an artist drawing upon it, a musician playing through it. There are only vibrations. The vibrations of everything, the vibrations of eternity.
Then there is a ripple. Eternity descends as something spills back below. The movement of the speck moves all, in accordance with the grand design of everything.
The brilliant light slowly fades as the speck takes form. It gains its being once more, as the fading light connects with its vibrations. It takes shape again, emerging into existence.
I am the speck.
I feel myself descending from that state of transcendence—the state of being connected with everything, the state of seeing my life crafted by someone's hands. I feel eyes piercing through existence, gazing upon me once more. They watch from another plane, another layer of reality, but it doesn't matter. They are like me—part of the origin, and thus part of everything. I hear the vibrant voice of all things slowly calm itself.
I pass through the various versions of myself stretching into infinity, meeting each incarnation of my existence, savoring every moment before I finally come to rest.
Darkness folds over me. Then a book appears.
Two words gleam on its open page:
Right View.
Right Thought.
Memory rushes back. I remember who I am.
"I am truth… and illusion," I whisper, the words rising from a place deeper than i know.
My eyes open.
The colors vanish, replaced by familiar furniture. The scent of blood and medicine hangs heavy in the room. A woman sleeps beside the bed, her head resting on folded arms.
Night presses against the window.Bandages wrap my body.
I remember the plunge of the sword—but I am not angry, not mad. I feel serene. I rise slowly, my body aching, and walk to the window to gaze into the night sky. The moon is beautiful silvering the world with its majesty.
"Master Chen… you're awake," Rouyan's voice trembles behind me.
I turn.
Her eyes are glossy with unshed tears.
"I'm sorry that—"
But she doesn't let me finish. She rushes forward, throwing her arms around me, holding me as if afraid I'll fade away again.
"Welcome back," she breathes, voice cracking.
Her warmth pulls me fully into the world again.