The Descent of a Monk.

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.

***

16 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 3 people

  1. With age comes wisdom and that is something to be respected! Unless one is an alcoholic, not sure where that came from but anyway, personality’s just pop out sometimes…lol and even alcoholic have feelings, ask me how I know, better yet, don’t ask.

    I enjoyed the “And” mantra, it made it real and raced to what you were conveying, very poetic and mystical. I’m enjoying your space here Mr. Richmond ❤

    Like

    1. I’ll choose to assume that the alcoholic ageing reference is all about red wine then.

      Strangely though, your note brings to mind a memory from those cosmic days when I was surrounded by musicians and artists and lovers and lunatics. Friends of mine had a band which enjoyed brief success and the lyrics of one song come floating back to me ….
      Mr Music
      Won’t you play us a song
      About those days back then
      No one-liners
      It’s about the music
      Now you’re back on your feet again
      Don’t you know that everyone’s waiting
      Nobody’s laughing
      But you still say
      How can I be sure?
      I’m living on dreams
      That seemed more like promises
      But I don’t care anymore
      – so he sang. He sang away
      Like it was only yesterday.

      I don’t think the song was ever recorded, so nobody will know if I got the lyrics wrong.

      Like

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