Meditation
Written: 09/05/02
Meditation
Disclaimer: I don't own YnM, the lyrics or the stuff in the afterword, the seed of the plot was nicely planted by Shanti's X fic "Bright Shadow"
Warnings: Slight OOC(?)
Meditation: A technique of focused introspection.
Sometimes
It's hard to hold on
So hard to hold on to my dreams
It isn't always what is seems
When you're face to face with me
I know I've been so hard to you
I know I've told you lies
If I could have just one more wish
I'd wipe the cobwebs from my eyes
"Ozzy Osborne & Lita Ford "Close My Eyes Forever" "
Moonlight poured through the windows gracing the office the lone figure was standing in, the lights where out, the only illumination coming from the monitor of a single computer and the moonlight. The man moved away from the darker area of the room towards the computer and sat down, turning ice blue eyes to the figures on the screen. Columns and rows of numbers paraded across it in an orderly fashion; normally they were a welcome distraction. Not tonight, tonight the silence that was normally a blessing; was more a curse. The lack of distractions also something to usually be craved for, was proving to be just as much a curse as the silence was.
"You hated to see her cry, you hated even more that nothing you seemed to try could halt those tears; but you eventually did halt them, ne? Quite possibly the same way, I 'cured' my own 'mother's' insanity. Of course, you don't like to think of that do you, which would be the reason you left Tsuzuki-san alone..?"
"You were afraid history would repeat itself.."
Lips curled slightly in a silent snarl, he pushed himself away from the desk to stalk towards the window. Those damned words wouldn't leave him alone. Crossing his arms over his chest, he stared silently out the window. ' He doesn't know me as well as he claims if he thinks I could ever hurt...Tsuzuki. '
Turning away from the window, he moved back towards the desk. The work wouldn't do itself, he knew what was the truth was; he shouldn't allow Muraki's words to upset him like they had, especially since he had most likely designed them to do that very thing. If he actually allowed them any further under his skin, the bastard would win.
Nodding once to himself, he unfolded his arms and sat back down, turning his attention back to the figures on the screen, picking a nearby pen up at the same time. It wasn't until he felt something snap and felt a wetness run over his fingers and wrist that he realized that he hadn't calmed down as much as he had thought. Giving a disgusted glare at the two pieces of the pen in his hand, he tossed them into the trashcan beside the desk and stood up to head towards the restroom.
He walked into the lit room, moving to stand in front of one of the sinks. Looking down at his hand, he froze, eyes widening faintly. Carmine liquid covered his hand and wrist, staining the edge of his dress shirt a pinkish color.
A knife made a dull thud against the woven mat lying on the floor. The tide of blood grew, spreading out towards him as if reaching for the one who had freed it from its prison. He stepped back, wide blue eyes watching the crimson stain the brown mat a deep rust color beneath the small form that laid sprawled on top of it. He felt something wet drip onto his bare feet and looked down to see the same carmine color staining his own hand. He hadn't wanted to do it; he loved her after all. But she wouldn't stop, no matter what he did; nothing halted those cursed tears.
Snapping himself out of the memory, he turned on the water with his clean hand, rising what ink would come off in the hot water before picking up the soap and scrubbing at it silently until the last trace of red was gone from his skin. Giving himself a brief glance in the mirror, Tatsumi turned away and left the bright room for the relative comfort and safety of the darkness in the office.
Sitting back down again, he briefly turned on a lamp to make sure the ink hadn't stained any of the papers he had been working on. Assured of their safety, he turned the light back out and returned his attention back to the work on the monitor.
"I am made of all those dark things you felt when you were alive and ruthlessly repressed when you became a shinigami. You shunned it so hard, so viciously that it became aware, eventually to the state you see before you. I am separate from you, yet I am not. I can not die, because you are already deceased, so until you die as a shinigami, I must remain as I am."
He sat back, removing his glasses to pinch the bridge of his nose silently for a moment, clearing his mind of the words that had thrust themselves into his mind again. Replacing the glasses, he raked a hand through his hair and glanced over at his work. At least he had made some headway into it before he had been distracted. ' I'll prove you wrong; just wait. You are nothing but an insane killer and I will show you that you can be destroyed just as simply as you destroyed the others you have touched. '
==============
Afterword
==============
Jung distinguished between meditation practiced in the East or in traditional Western religious exercises, and its use as a tool for self-understanding, particularly in the realization of projections.
If the ancient art of meditation is practiced at all today, it is practiced only in religious or philosophical circles, where a theme is subjectively chosen by the meditant or prescribed by an instructor, as in the Ignatian Exercitia or in certain theosophical exercises that developed under Indian influence. These methods are of value only for increasing concentration and consolidating consciousness, but have no significance as regards affecting a synthesis of the personality. On the contrary, their purpose is to shield consciousness from the unconscious and to suppress it. [The Conjunction," CW 14, par. 708.]
When meditation is concerned with the objective products of the unconscious that reach consciousness spontaneously, it unites the conscious with contents that proceed not from a conscious causal chain but from an essentially unconscious process... Part of the unconscious contents is projected, but the projection as such is not recognized. Meditation or critical introspection and objective investigation of the object are needed in order to establish the existence of projections. If the individual is to take stock of himself it is essential that his projections should be recognized, because they falsify the nature of the object and besides this contain items which belong to his own personality and should be integrated with it. [Ibid., par. 710.]
Meditation
Disclaimer: I don't own YnM, the lyrics or the stuff in the afterword, the seed of the plot was nicely planted by Shanti's X fic "Bright Shadow"
Warnings: Slight OOC(?)
Meditation: A technique of focused introspection.
Sometimes
It's hard to hold on
So hard to hold on to my dreams
It isn't always what is seems
When you're face to face with me
I know I've been so hard to you
I know I've told you lies
If I could have just one more wish
I'd wipe the cobwebs from my eyes
"Ozzy Osborne & Lita Ford "Close My Eyes Forever" "
Moonlight poured through the windows gracing the office the lone figure was standing in, the lights where out, the only illumination coming from the monitor of a single computer and the moonlight. The man moved away from the darker area of the room towards the computer and sat down, turning ice blue eyes to the figures on the screen. Columns and rows of numbers paraded across it in an orderly fashion; normally they were a welcome distraction. Not tonight, tonight the silence that was normally a blessing; was more a curse. The lack of distractions also something to usually be craved for, was proving to be just as much a curse as the silence was.
"You hated to see her cry, you hated even more that nothing you seemed to try could halt those tears; but you eventually did halt them, ne? Quite possibly the same way, I 'cured' my own 'mother's' insanity. Of course, you don't like to think of that do you, which would be the reason you left Tsuzuki-san alone..?"
"You were afraid history would repeat itself.."
Lips curled slightly in a silent snarl, he pushed himself away from the desk to stalk towards the window. Those damned words wouldn't leave him alone. Crossing his arms over his chest, he stared silently out the window. ' He doesn't know me as well as he claims if he thinks I could ever hurt...Tsuzuki. '
Turning away from the window, he moved back towards the desk. The work wouldn't do itself, he knew what was the truth was; he shouldn't allow Muraki's words to upset him like they had, especially since he had most likely designed them to do that very thing. If he actually allowed them any further under his skin, the bastard would win.
Nodding once to himself, he unfolded his arms and sat back down, turning his attention back to the figures on the screen, picking a nearby pen up at the same time. It wasn't until he felt something snap and felt a wetness run over his fingers and wrist that he realized that he hadn't calmed down as much as he had thought. Giving a disgusted glare at the two pieces of the pen in his hand, he tossed them into the trashcan beside the desk and stood up to head towards the restroom.
He walked into the lit room, moving to stand in front of one of the sinks. Looking down at his hand, he froze, eyes widening faintly. Carmine liquid covered his hand and wrist, staining the edge of his dress shirt a pinkish color.
A knife made a dull thud against the woven mat lying on the floor. The tide of blood grew, spreading out towards him as if reaching for the one who had freed it from its prison. He stepped back, wide blue eyes watching the crimson stain the brown mat a deep rust color beneath the small form that laid sprawled on top of it. He felt something wet drip onto his bare feet and looked down to see the same carmine color staining his own hand. He hadn't wanted to do it; he loved her after all. But she wouldn't stop, no matter what he did; nothing halted those cursed tears.
Snapping himself out of the memory, he turned on the water with his clean hand, rising what ink would come off in the hot water before picking up the soap and scrubbing at it silently until the last trace of red was gone from his skin. Giving himself a brief glance in the mirror, Tatsumi turned away and left the bright room for the relative comfort and safety of the darkness in the office.
Sitting back down again, he briefly turned on a lamp to make sure the ink hadn't stained any of the papers he had been working on. Assured of their safety, he turned the light back out and returned his attention back to the work on the monitor.
"I am made of all those dark things you felt when you were alive and ruthlessly repressed when you became a shinigami. You shunned it so hard, so viciously that it became aware, eventually to the state you see before you. I am separate from you, yet I am not. I can not die, because you are already deceased, so until you die as a shinigami, I must remain as I am."
He sat back, removing his glasses to pinch the bridge of his nose silently for a moment, clearing his mind of the words that had thrust themselves into his mind again. Replacing the glasses, he raked a hand through his hair and glanced over at his work. At least he had made some headway into it before he had been distracted. ' I'll prove you wrong; just wait. You are nothing but an insane killer and I will show you that you can be destroyed just as simply as you destroyed the others you have touched. '
==============
Afterword
==============
Jung distinguished between meditation practiced in the East or in traditional Western religious exercises, and its use as a tool for self-understanding, particularly in the realization of projections.
If the ancient art of meditation is practiced at all today, it is practiced only in religious or philosophical circles, where a theme is subjectively chosen by the meditant or prescribed by an instructor, as in the Ignatian Exercitia or in certain theosophical exercises that developed under Indian influence. These methods are of value only for increasing concentration and consolidating consciousness, but have no significance as regards affecting a synthesis of the personality. On the contrary, their purpose is to shield consciousness from the unconscious and to suppress it. [The Conjunction," CW 14, par. 708.]
When meditation is concerned with the objective products of the unconscious that reach consciousness spontaneously, it unites the conscious with contents that proceed not from a conscious causal chain but from an essentially unconscious process... Part of the unconscious contents is projected, but the projection as such is not recognized. Meditation or critical introspection and objective investigation of the object are needed in order to establish the existence of projections. If the individual is to take stock of himself it is essential that his projections should be recognized, because they falsify the nature of the object and besides this contain items which belong to his own personality and should be integrated with it. [Ibid., par. 710.]