Lessons
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Summary: One of the many lessons taught by a wise, honorable sensei to his impressionable, young students. However, some lessons come with a higher price. One must always bear karma in mind.
Turtle age: Early teens maybe?
Rated: G (one of my few turtle fics suitable for all ages)
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Four turtles sat squared of one another, legs folded, fingers pressed together, hands resting on knees, eyes closed, expressions blank. Even the youngest and most immature of their group was poised in such fashion.
A special feat in and of itself.
Such a pose wasn't uncommon for those who studied the ancient art of ninjitsu and other forms of martial arts. Meditation was used to center the mind, body, and spirit, allowing one to focus inward and tap hidden reserves of strength, wisdom, and compassion.
In extreme cases, it allowed a mental sanctuary from pain and suffering, giving the psyche a place to retreat when the body was taxed past its endurance.
Thus focused, a well trained mind could distance itself from the body, and in some instances, allow communication on a higher plane of existence.
But those cases were rare.
Although there were a lot of books and movies on the subject, such an ultimate level of concentration was more or less an exaggeration.
Perhaps the side effect of endless hours of silence and stillness. The mind craving stimuli, and like dreams, creating a fantasy in which to inhabit to break the tedium of boredom.
Even after years of study and practice the turtles hadn't reached such a level. Course, with Mikey's active imagination, he easily concocted long winded stories of conversations and adventures with strange creatures in other realms.
They hoped to be as good as their father and mentor, Splinter, who had been able to achieve such levels of mastery despite being mutated at the same time as the turtles. Donnie conjectured that since Splinter had already been an adult rat, and the turtles mere hatchlings, their developmental rates had been different.
Splinter mutated at an accelerated rate, taking on the role as farther and sensei as the turtles grew considerably more slowly, assuming the role of student.
Meditation had been difficult in their early years, Splinter focusing their attention on balance, strength, and how to properly handle and care for assorted weapons. As they grew older, with active minds and childish curiosities, Splinter reined in their energies, teaching them to focus to be better ninja.
Those who operated in shadow, using stealth and the cover of night to protect the weak and innocent, must be able to endure the sound of silence and the ability to remain immobile for long lengths of time.
The task was difficult at first, but as Leo began to master the techniques and best his brothers during practice, the others began to follow his example. A healthy rivalry began, giving purpose to the exercise Splinter did not intend.
Once the basic skills were learned, it was time to incorporate other aspects to further one's path to enlightenment.
As was the current case.
Once focused to the point of clarity, they slowed their breathing, practicing the art of Chi Kung, a form of breathing technique used in situations when air was limited.
Mikey had argued about learning such a thing, claiming there would always be air. He joked about turtles in space. His fanciful tale included a space ship and at least one robot.
Donnie speculated the possibility of being trapped underground or underwater, both ideas making the brothers uncomfortable and putting urgency to their need to perfect such a vital technique.
Hence why the elongated meditation.
To simulate a dire situation, Donnie retrofitted a tunnel, sealing it off as if a cave in. The door was vault style, heavy, metal, and though it wasn't exactly air tight, it definitely restricted oxygen. Thus training began.
They had slipped into the meditative pose much quicker this time.
Splinter pulled himself from the deep meditation first. He observed his sons, noting their perfect postures and calm faces, highlighted by glowsticks in front of their seemingly lifeless bodies.
They were doing well.
But it was time to break the spell.
Their glow sticks were dimmer, the air thinner. By Splinter's estimation they had been in the airless chamber for nine hours.
A personal best, for all of them.
Schooling his features, he called out, "Time. Excellent work, my sons."
It took a few seconds for his words to sink into the distant fogginess of four turtle minds, but as one they returned to reality, seated as they were when they started the exercise so many hours ago. Only now their glow sticks were dim, casting them into further darkness.
There was also a stench to the air.
A notable stench.
A foul, obnoxious, lung burning, skin melting, eye watering stink that made all four instantly gag and turn a LOT greener. Fumbling, eyes watering and making vision too poor to see in the dismal light, they fought for the exit. Green hands pawed at the door, slapping and flailing, wheezing and gagging, one even dry heaving in the thin air.
Finally, the door swung free, allowing fresh air to flood the room and four turtles to bolt out, dark green, crying, and gagging horrendously.
Tunnel collapse, trapped underground, sunk underwater, trapped in space, none of those compared to the horror of being stuck with rat gas.
Splintered exited the room, his visage, as always, serene and innocent.
Pay backs were a bitch.
And so weren't peanut butter, broccoli, and pork rind rat farts.
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