Wayward Monk: Vengeance Bound; Deliverance Found

Nonconformity

His arm snapped from the intertwined blankets into nothingness, throwing his shoulder out. His vision sprawled around the room as his chest heaved.

“Still battling yourself, Johnathan.”

The blanket constricted as he spun. A closed fist hammered down directly to his side. The sound of skin smacking skin was swallowed by the large community room.

“Just because you are able, does not determine if you should.”

Johnathan closed his eyes and cleared his mind, snatched his fist back, and attempted to slow his breathing.

“A communal sleeping arrangement is evidently grounds to invite perps.”

“What one might call a perpetrator, another would define as friend.”

“Just stay away from my shower,” replied Johnathan with a huff as he rolled over.

“Don’t drop the soap,” came the dry voice.

Johnathan flopped and scrambled, as he fought the blanket and then stopped, cursing about her lack of understanding humor, and finally glared at the young woman indignantly.

“I’m up, if that was what you were after. Isn’t there some meditations you are supposed to be doing at this ungodly hour?” Johnathan raised a hand pausing her before she began to speak. “What is ungodly to one is godly to another… I know.”

She smiled.

“So, to our meditations then?” Johnathan rubbed the sleep from his eyes, and gave a jutted thumbs up in response. “And you used to be so grumpy,” dryly commented the girl as she returned the stool to the wall.

“Again, if you don’t understand something, don’t attempt to do it. That would be like me trying to step on a kid’s skateboard and believing I could do an Olly.”

“People say that humor breaks the, as I’ve also heard, ice. Did I say it at the wrong times? I believe I observed the appropriate applications,” replied the woman with a puzzled look.

Johnathan now slumped his head into both hands and this time he dragged them down his face.

“Just stop… For all you believe to be holy, please stop…”

“Are you ready to go now?”

“Do I look ready?”

“It is hard to say. You never wear the appropriate clothes here.”

“No Delilah, I am not dressed. So, no. I am not ready!”

“Shout a little louder. If you wanted the whole monastery to hear you, you haven’t spoken loud enough, and about you not being dressed, well,” She looked around the room. “, no one is in here, because you sleep well past dawn, so why not get dressed?”

“You always act like me getting dressed in front of you is normal…”

“Would it help if I turned?”

“No. I thought you might float up to the ceiling.”

She looked up at the ceiling.

“That seems quite improbable. Wait, was that supposed to be sarcasm?”

“Turn Delilah, or get out!”

She replied with a thinking face just before turning.

Johnathan pulled on the blanket and then growled as he was now fully engaged in battle with it.

“It sounds as if you are having trouble, have you tried unbuttoning them first?”

“Stupid woman, I am not trying to get my pants o—“ his voice was cut off as warmth flooded his ears and his jaw screamed at him. He looked at her with wide eyes before jerking his head away from her dually extended fingers. He rubbed his jaw, glaring at her as she stepped away again.

“Do not call me stupid. I may not get your erratic emotions, but I am far from stupid. I came here of my own fruition to learn of your stupid emotions. You came here because you destroyed your family and career.”

She spun on her heel, again facing away.

Johnathan kicked his feet free, flung the blanket from his sleeping pad, and turned to pick up his pants. As he went to slip them on, he noticed his button, glared at her back, and unsnapped it before slipping into them.

As he stood, he stepped forward, finishing his belt.

“I’m dressed, now where am I supposed to go now?”

“Interesting. You sleep in boxer shorts, and an undershirt and that is inappropriate outerwear, but simply putting your jeans on makes you dressed?”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Ironic since the undershirt is known as the wife-beater and I’m dressed like the perps I’ve arrested in these very same outfits. I’m not a cop anymore, so it doesn’t matter.” He paused, rolling his eyes. “And I was accused of beating my wife, but I never did touch her.”

“Interesting,” Johnathan looked back at her, with her head tilted to the side like a puppy. “You don’t think I matter to you, yet you disclose your insecurities to me.”

“Let’s go. Where are we supposed to go to do our meditations?”

Delilah dropped to sitting on the floor.

“Of course we aren’t actually going anywhere.”

Johnathan lowered himself with a groan, while Delilah replied with, “There is no need to go anywhere specific. One can meditate anywhere one happens to be. I don’t want you to get the presumption that you have to go to a specific place or room.”

“Yeah, because I’m still at my own apartment and I’m doing this in my living-room. Yeah, I’m not lifting my legs onto my thighs like that. I’ve told you too many times, my body doesn’t move like that.”

“Try sitting on your butt. Can you manage that?”

Johnathan knelt down, bracing with his hand as he sat.

“I’d think you were being sarcastic, but you don’t even know how to be. So great. I’m the stupid one.”

Delilah opened a single eye that she’d just closed.

“Are you saying this because you don’t even have means to pay for rent?”

“Let’s just meditate, silently, yeah? Don’t look at me like that. I can be silent.”

Johnathan made a rude face at Delilah’s closed eyelids, and then rolled his own, before assuming the position of crossing his legs, and placing his hands on his knees, more to keep them there than any true meditation position.

***

“Doe! A deer! A female Deer! —” belted a group of monks at a nearby table as Johnathan sat at the empty one nearest the door.

“So funny,” grumbled Johnathan as he began eating the vegetables on his plate and looked indignantly at the green swamp water in his mug.

“Still holding reservations against tea?”

“What is so wrong with grilled meat once in a while?”

“What is so good about killing one for another’s benefit?”

“Some say the killing is merciful, because this world is cruel, and their sacrifice is considered sacred…”

“Or, you just miss the taste of the juices dripping off of a seared steak…” replied the adjacent monk with a jesting gleam about her eyes as she too sat.

“All things must die, and all that live must consume another. For instance, you killed this poor strawberry. But that’s okay because you couldn’t hear it crying,” remarked Johnathan, while chucking it into his mouth.

“Some that are consumed were designed as such for a means of zoochory and so this doesn’t hurt the plant, but rather is the very means by which they disperse their seeds.”

“I know what it is…not that I came here to learn about gardening.”

“You came here to learn about yourself, and to do that, you must learn about the universe, which inevitably made you and is a a part of you, no matter what your thoughts are on the matter.”

“Seems like a bit of fascist indoctrination of superstitions to me.”

“I’m not discrediting beliefs. I am simply pointing out their similarities.”

Johnathan eyed her with a cocked brow as he brought the mug up to his lips. Her face contorted into an attempted smirk, as his contorted into a dampened convulsion.

“If anything this will make me into an ogre.”

“Drinking swamp water won’t turn you into an ogre, the stereotype is that they live in swamps.”

“Please don’t try to smile again. Yes you did get the timing somewhat right. It was a bit soon. And Tah-mah-toes, too-may-twos,” retorted Johnathan.

“No, those aren’t the same things,” corrected Delilah as she finished her plate and began sipping her tea. Johnathan moodily scooped up a mouth full of greens. “Respect, if not given, shall not be received.”

Johnathan rolled his eyes and huffed, almost spitting green bits, but otherwise didn’t respond for the duration of his meal.

***

Urgent screams filled his mind, panic flogged his conscious thought, sweat began beading on his hairline, and then there she was with his barrel pointed at his brow. His eyes flew open at the flash. His breathing heaved as his now exhausted body collapsed.

“Meditation is supposed to rest and recuperate the meditator. Yet with you, pain and anguish are the only things found when you close your eyes. You must learn to find peace within yourself.”

“So you keep saying.”

“You find the forest calming, let us go there and walk.”

Johnathan didn’t look pleased, but obliged.

“I can still hear the traffic.”

“What is it that brings about the desire to emphasize the negative? Try noting three positive things?”

“Why, because that is a holy number?” jived Johnathan with a snort.

“No, because four may be outside of your ability,” his mentor replied dryly in turn.

Johnathan paused, looking at her and then rolled his eyes and stepped forward again.

“The birds are singing, bees are buzzing, and harps are playing.”

“Sarcasm about the harps? Because there are none, but those birds do sound lovely.” Another glare was his only reply. “What is the point of you being here Johnathan?”

“Its Johnatan,” he indignantly reminded her. “— and we’ve gone over this so many times I— one, would think you’d at least have it memorized, let alone be nauseous at the mention of it.”

“I am not talking about that fateful event Johnathan. I am wanting to know WHY YOU are here.”

“That is ridiculous. You know why I am here.”

“Do I?”

“I’m not doing this stupid dance.”

“You aren’t?”

“No! I’m not!” shouted Johnathan as he broke off of the path, climbed the railing, and shoved his way through the the bamboo trees.

“That isn’t the way back to the monest—”

“No dip! I’m going to the sandwich joint down the street!” he added profanity, over his shoulder, about what specific kind of burger he needed and if she desired to follow him there too, before he stepped out of the line of trees onto the busy street.

She looked after him for a moment, and then continued her walk, contemplating why he was expressing such a cross mood.

***

Her hands were wet with sweat and her eyes snapped around the room.

Only this room makes me feel this way. Why does this happen? How does it happen? What is doing this to me?

"What are your worries of? Remember he isn't the only one who came here to learn something."

Her eyes blinked coolly and looked at The Mother, as she entered her office.

"I understand, but he isn't trying. I am doing everything I'm instructed to do."

"Because you trust me and believe what I tell you. What of him?" She asked as she sat down behind the simple, table-like desk. Her finger ran along the rim of her plain, barren clay mug.

"There isn't a person in this universe that he trusts," came the emotionless voice.

"Then maybe it is not a person he must have always at his side."

"You wouldn't allow one in here..."

"I would make an exception if it was for a service."

She didn't give the conversation another contemplation before turning her attention to other matters.

Delilah stopped at the door, and turned, gaining a questioning look, as The Mother blew across the surface of her tea before taking a sip from the mug.

“Why him? He is disagreeable. Rude. Says horrible things, and thinks probably worse. Why do I have to trail him?”

“You are not trailing him. Are you with him now?”

“No. He went to get a burger. With what money, I do not know.”

“Do you believe he is above stealing?”

“Based upon his words alone, I would guess that is a yes.”

“Interesting. So evidently he will be gone long enough to earn the money to buy a burger. Which in turn, will be a sweet and sour experience. I presume he is about to have a quite unpleasant time of that when he gets back, if he makes it that far.”

“You think someone will poison him?”

“No, but has he had meat in the two months he’s been here?”

“No,” she replied with a puzzled expression.

“Then he will have a rough time. You are not the puppy I want you to introduce him to. You are the mentor, and he is in turn your own mentor. You teach him control, while he teaches you the range that emotion can be held.” The Mother raised a hand. “I am aware that this is neither scientific, nor guaranteed, let alone politically correct. But I do not know of any other means to help you with what you seek. You do not act simply on thought, you go by what is socially acceptable. You don’t do it because of the feelings that the majority do it for, but for the purer reason of wanting to belong to the collective. So I am not seeking to do this to make you normal. I am instructing you on this, to help you with what it is you desire. Perhaps some self-reflection will help you with these concerns.” She nodded in thought, before looking again up at Delilah and taking a sip of her tea.

Delilah bowed, and left the room, which was as equally minimalistic as any of the others at the monastery.

***

“I can feel you judging me,” snarked Johnathan as he spit the remaining bile from his mouth. The figure simply handed him a glass of water. He swooshed, and spit again. “Are you going to just keep standing there like a perp?”

“Why speak when your body is saying everything one might even think to say?”

“I wasn’t drinking again, not that it would be out of the acceptable assumptions.”

“I know.”

“Then what do you want?” spat Johnathan angrily, slumping before the basin before him.

She slowly lowered herself down into a meditation state. Johnathan rolled his eyes

“Go get your own stall to think in.”

“You didn’t vomit because you are drunk.”

“What took you so long to come to that conclusion.”

“You vomited because you ate meat after two months of abstaining from it. Your body is rejecting it.”

“That is total bu—” Delilah peaked through her eyelid at him, cutting him off. “So, now I can’t even eat a proper meal?”

“What constitutes as proper? Anything we consume that gives our bodies sustenance is proper.”

“Yay, you found text books. Goody me,” came the retort right before he held the glass high away from the basin, as his face dove for its edge, retching with everything his gut could muster. He spat, and swooshed, before spitting yet again. “Karma hates me.”

“Karma is a believed phenomenon that affects the believed’s next life of an individual, not their current one. This belief in instant karma is relatively new age.”

Johnathan simply glared at her, before leaning over the bowl again.

“I am currently indisposed of at the moment, so just imagine my response.”

“Based upon previous behaviors, you would be flipping me off, and cussing me out.”

“Good girl,” clapped Johnathan on the side of the porcelain bowl. “Want a cookie? No? Then shove off, and go stalk someone else, perp.”

“I was told to accompany you. I am supposed to teach you things and you in turn me.”

“Good job, so you have accomplices that are using you to act out their criminal needs. Good job perp, you just graduated to grunt.”

“I am not a grunt. I am simply doing what I was asked to do.”

“So grunt, are you done yet, or is there something else you must ask or do?” There was only a rhythmic deep inhale, a pause, and then the smooth exhale in response. "SERIOUSLY? Fine, take this stall." He struggled to his feet, wavered for a moment, and then stepped over her. When he shoved passed, a jutted elbow snapped out and back. He fell to the floor, the glass broke, his face ground across it's tiles, and his voice spouted obscene profanity as his hands clutched at the oddly bent leg with it's swelled thigh. She did not move again outside of her breathing. Once the muscle spasm subsided, he stood to leave, raised a single finger in her direction, but then snapped his hands to his mouth, and bolted for the stall next to his previous one. He didn't make it, green tea mixed with pureed greens and chunks of soft meat sprayed between his fingers, all over the toilet, and the stall's walls. Another bout struck as his knees jarred against the tiles and his filthy hands clutched the sides of the porcelain throne. The water splashed and his ears deafened with his own retching.

"Karma does not need to be enacted or called upon. She is a mischievous mistress and revels in her work."

He spat as his stomach calmed.

"I thought she wasn't a pronoun, let alone a being."

"Karma isn't, but such is the way we rationalize unimaginable things."

He glared at the wall of the stall, raised both obscene fingers from each hand, waited, and then stood. He walked over to the sinks and began to wash himself up.

As he finished she walked from the service closet with mop and bucket in hand.

"Oh what I would do to be rid of you."

"That is an abstract way of thinking of it, but sure. What did you plan to use this time around, your shirt, jeans? Surely not your undergarments."

Johnathan snatched the mop.

"Gladly if it meant I'd not have to listen to you pestering me constantly."

Delilah nodded and then gripped the mop, pausing for affect, and then yanked it out of his hands.

"Proof is required. So far, you have yet to prove you have the wherewithal to do whatever it takes. You have yet to complete a single session in all of the time you've been here, and yet you believe you can do such a task as to simply be rid of the one person who will tolerate you? By all means, show me, don't tell me."

Johnathan stood there, blinking and then began to shake, before he punched the mirror, shattering it.

“You do know what is said of breaking mirrors, correct?”

"Yes, bring on the seven years of bad luck! It isn't like the last was any joy," he sneered over his shoulder, storming for the door.