Post by sporky on Oct 23, 2019 6:45:46 GMT -4
"Namu Myōhō Renge Kyō."
It was a common mantra, in Japanese Buddhism. One that the older woman chanted quietly to herself as she sat still within one of the inn's open gardens. The gentle sounds of a small flowing fountain filled the space and the faint scent of carefully kept flowers was carried in the breeze. Her chanting was not done without purpose, which one could find in her own position. Her legs were crossed in the standard half-lotus position her hands rested on her lap. Both with the palms up, one atop the other, her thumbs touching to form a closed shape. The Dhyana Mudra, for contemplation and compassion.
"Namu Myōhō Renge Kyō."
The chant itself was a manifestation of central tenants of the religion, and its purpose was simple. Through chanting, one engaged in a cleansing process of sorts. They sought to reduce the world's suffering, to purge out negative karma and feel the weight of their own. If only it were that easy, Dharmapala lamented.
The woman let out a light sigh, maintaining her position but opening her eyes. It was times like this where she felt almost young again, for all the wrong reasons. Her worries of old resurfaced in the knowledge that their world was still wrought with suffering in this age. As a matter of fact, the very reason she'd returned to Madame Ito's was in her efforts to stop that suffering from spreading further...
Weapons of war were being pedaled to those most in need of salvation and awakening, an act sure to spread suffering and misfortune far and wide if it was not stopped. It was times like this that Dharmapala found her old wounds flaring up, old anxieties never placed to rest. There was some solace, however.
As she set her eyes on the blooming flowers that the inn's proprietor so dutifully tended to, she was reminded that there was still hope being nurtured in this world. In the coming generations, like the one she'd recently helped train at this very inn in preparation for Shinagawa's trials and tribulations. Perhaps, the old woman thought, they might be able to bear some of these anxieties for her.
If only it were that simple, of course. Breathing in another sigh as she remained seated, the woman could at least find a more reliable comfort in her own faith, steadfast as always.
And perhaps she was not the only one.
It was a common mantra, in Japanese Buddhism. One that the older woman chanted quietly to herself as she sat still within one of the inn's open gardens. The gentle sounds of a small flowing fountain filled the space and the faint scent of carefully kept flowers was carried in the breeze. Her chanting was not done without purpose, which one could find in her own position. Her legs were crossed in the standard half-lotus position her hands rested on her lap. Both with the palms up, one atop the other, her thumbs touching to form a closed shape. The Dhyana Mudra, for contemplation and compassion.
"Namu Myōhō Renge Kyō."
The chant itself was a manifestation of central tenants of the religion, and its purpose was simple. Through chanting, one engaged in a cleansing process of sorts. They sought to reduce the world's suffering, to purge out negative karma and feel the weight of their own. If only it were that easy, Dharmapala lamented.
The woman let out a light sigh, maintaining her position but opening her eyes. It was times like this where she felt almost young again, for all the wrong reasons. Her worries of old resurfaced in the knowledge that their world was still wrought with suffering in this age. As a matter of fact, the very reason she'd returned to Madame Ito's was in her efforts to stop that suffering from spreading further...
Weapons of war were being pedaled to those most in need of salvation and awakening, an act sure to spread suffering and misfortune far and wide if it was not stopped. It was times like this that Dharmapala found her old wounds flaring up, old anxieties never placed to rest. There was some solace, however.
As she set her eyes on the blooming flowers that the inn's proprietor so dutifully tended to, she was reminded that there was still hope being nurtured in this world. In the coming generations, like the one she'd recently helped train at this very inn in preparation for Shinagawa's trials and tribulations. Perhaps, the old woman thought, they might be able to bear some of these anxieties for her.
If only it were that simple, of course. Breathing in another sigh as she remained seated, the woman could at least find a more reliable comfort in her own faith, steadfast as always.
And perhaps she was not the only one.
