Awakening-Kid: Answers
He sat alone in the room, dressed only in a pair of simple, undyed cotton pants. The rocks lining the wooden floor sent curling tendrils of steam towards the ceiling and drew the sweat from his body like the desert sun. For once in his life he was motionless, the steady rise and fall of his chest the only sign of life.
Behind his eyes the world was chaos, tumbling and twisting as he strained to find an answer. His mind ached at the effort, forcing logic out of chaos with each connection discovered. As he ranged, words came to him slowly and painstakingly, words of truth.
She sits near the road
And states that she is Justice.
I end her weeping.
It's June second, 1900. The man sits with six others in the dojo, and listens to the man across from him speak. Pao Ling is upset, enraged that they would go this far. These men, Pao claims, would change China in to something perverse. Paint her like a whore and sell her to the West in silks easily ripped off. Pao is enraged and prepared to act... but he doesn't see the blood that will come. The man sees, and he understands.
"Very well, my friends." He stands slowly, smoothing his gi. "We will enter Beijing this night." Inside, he wept. The man knew there was another way... if only he was strong enough to find it.
A cry in the night.
A man with only his drink.
Pain, the cost of war.
It's July fourteenth, 1791. Joseph Priestly is agitated, tearing at his hair and weeping. They'd burned down the hotel and were marching now on the church. The man watched as the smoke from their torches traveled down the long street, and imagined he could feel the heat from their hatred.
"What do we do?" Joseph asked, sobbing now. "We only... we only wanted..."
"We wanted change, Joseph." The man said, his voice low and strained. "We wanted them to understand, never realizing ourselves the depth of their fear. Now of their fear is wrath made, and we will die for it. Now we die, Joseph, and pray that God forgives our foolishness."
God watches, quiet.
His mercy does not witness.
Foolish hate of man.
It was December third, 1890. "I never should have listened to Tolstoy." The man grumbled, fingering the spot in his jaw where once a tooth had called home. "We can't change the world with calm words and collected thought. He isn't right. They will never accept our faith, never accept our beliefs. Not without a fight."
"Please, Nicholai." She whispered, holding his sleeve tight. "Please, let this pass. Please."
"No." He pulled away, shouldering his rifle. "The time for pacifism has ended."
The man went to kill, and the woman went to mourn him.
Man is ever proud.
Lord of all that he may claim.
Death robs him of sin.
It is September twenty eighth, 2008. Opening his eyes slowly, he feels tired. His bones ache and the sun shines blood red through the dingy window. The rocks have cooled and there is a chill in his spine, but he does not recognize it. He has gone searching for answers, and he has found them.
"Service... is Mastery."
The man is a fool.
He believes he has knowledge.
Let him learn the truth.