and this was how buddha reached nirvana
[Private]
This place is full of mystery. Full of irritations. I cannot complete my work here. I cannot do what I need to do here. I grow weary of this cage, of playing games, of being on the receiving end of what I assume this place to take as a joke. I have much to do back home, and I hate to think what my flock has done without me, what my dog has done without my hand to guide his leash. He's probably killed the poor little snake. And what of the chicks? So much rests there...
Well, there is a way out of this cage. If one just applies the right pressure, it can be done. I just need to find the weak spot in this fragile little cage...
[/Private]
[His thoughts left for him to review later, Bishamon closes the journal and floats down from on high. He never took chances when he spoke his thoughts like this - filters, and speaking in the most private of places - that is, a place high above, in the sky, where only those with wings might tread.
He tucks the journal away in his loose winter gi, his monk's staff clanging as he descends and stirs up a wind, landing in the courtyard.]
[ooc: sort of in the afternoonish, so backdated. Free to freak out, mock, converse, what have you!]
This place is full of mystery. Full of irritations. I cannot complete my work here. I cannot do what I need to do here. I grow weary of this cage, of playing games, of being on the receiving end of what I assume this place to take as a joke. I have much to do back home, and I hate to think what my flock has done without me, what my dog has done without my hand to guide his leash. He's probably killed the poor little snake. And what of the chicks? So much rests there...
Well, there is a way out of this cage. If one just applies the right pressure, it can be done. I just need to find the weak spot in this fragile little cage...
[/Private]
[His thoughts left for him to review later, Bishamon closes the journal and floats down from on high. He never took chances when he spoke his thoughts like this - filters, and speaking in the most private of places - that is, a place high above, in the sky, where only those with wings might tread.
He tucks the journal away in his loose winter gi, his monk's staff clanging as he descends and stirs up a wind, landing in the courtyard.]
[ooc: sort of in the afternoonish, so backdated. Free to freak out, mock, converse, what have you!]