The Descent of a Monk.

On By Richmond Road

Just responding to a prompt from here, requiring inspiration from the concept of ‘unraveling’ ….. but resulting in just more self-indulgent rubbish from me.

What else can I say?

***

He was old now, and tired. He looked down from his position on the summit and saw the great mystery stretched out before him; oceans and islands and rivers and roads and cities and churches and jails and wars and thoughts and dreams of love and hate and sex and murder and colour televisions. Above him moons and planets and stars and solar systems and galaxies. In any direction forever inward or forever outward.
Everything seemingly in place for a reason, but in a pattern so complex as to be indecipherable. To unravel it would be to dismantle it. And to dismantle it would be to render it invisible. To ascend to heaven would be to lose sight of hell. But to lose sight of hell would be to be blinded by heaven.
The weight of ignorance bears heavily on the old.
Gravity has only one direction.
He took off his robes and slowly, one painful step after another, began his descent.

***

13 thoughts on “The Descent of a Monk.”

    1. Well, no. Not my obituary. But I take it from that suggestion that you have, at last, recognised my monk-like persona … my serene wisdom.
      But yes, you are absolutely right. Both heaven and hell rely on each other to define their own existence.

      Liked by 1 person

      Reply

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