Author's note: This was inspired by Jann Lee, My peoples and reilgons of Asia course and the temple you first come to at in final fantasy X. Reviews are always appricated. Enjoy
Empty
He sat cross-legged on the floor of the long abandoned temple, his breathing slowly evening out. Clouds of ice crystals quietly expelled from his mouth. Somewhere in the room water dripped slowly and made the omnipresent dropping sound on the tile. He breathed into the sound, eyes closing gentle, eyelashes fluttering on skin. His eyes were an obstacle to the world around him and he gladly relinquished them. In battle, your eyes could be confused by light, shadows, time delay. Of all the senses, they could be compromised the most easily.
He slipped into a world of only four senses.
A chill passed though him and he shivered unintentionally despite himself. In the background the plucking sound continued and he tried to focus on it. In battle, being distracted by pain could mean life or death. He could not allow himself to be beaten by it. He would not allow himself to be beaten by it. The feeling of cold slowly subsided, vanishing as he let go of the wet, icy feeling of his clothing on the tile and frost on his skin. The sensation of touch was slowly seeping away, and then his memories tried to intervene. The cold touch was replaced by an echo of the warmth of her skin, the delicate peach fuzz feeling as he ran his finger tips up her leg; the moist heat of his own lips when he kissed it and the feather light feel of her silk hair as it ran like a river over him. He felt the passing shadows of finger tips brush across his chin and the smooth feeling of arms over his own and the feeling of his own shell of skin as he felt her touch him. The deep intake of breath sounded in the semi silent place of worship. He was a warrior. He would not become a slave to his own emotions. He continued to breathe and listen counting the drops near by, consciously letting go of each sensation with every breath, with every drop.
1, 2, 3, 4….1, 2, 3, 4….1, 2, 3, 4…
Reluctantly the heat spilled out of his body, replaced with neutrality. The vivid feeling of her against him, her arms, legs, the swell of her hips, even the soft curve of her chin evaporated, replaced with a feeling he couldn't quite discern.
Three
He breathed again and this time was assaulted by his smell. His nostrils flared as he took in the scents of long dead flowers and matter around him, the terra cotta smell of the broken tiles that lay by his feet, almost amicably, half submersed in water. The murky smell of salt water too encrusted his nose. They attacked him as he breathed, burying in deeper with every breath. His mind strained and his mediation threatened to shatter. Then as gradually as it had been before, he breathed them out. The smell of the sea left first leaving an empty smell almost as if he was indoors. The terra cotta smell was next to go, followed by the smell of rot. His sense of scent was gone, or so he thought. A subtle smell wafted its way under his nose and wound its way uncaringly into his brain, pulling at his mind. It was the smell of food, pork buns from the man on the street, back when he was hungry. That smell drove him crazy; it would dance in his mind gnawing at him eating away at him, until he answered it. Once he would have fought for that smell, perhaps died trying to answer the urge it sent through his stomach. Not anymore, that smell was meaningless now in this place where he seemed to be going. It switched to a new tactic and another smell that made him feel ravenous swan into him. The smell of jasmine, light sweat and her own personal fragrance took the place of the practical need of food, instead playing off the carnal need for intimacy. He sighed, almost breaking his training. She was not here now, right now she was not important. That smell which came him to rarely even in it the waking world was nothing in this state. He had practice repressing that hunger. He let it go and it drifted away as he deepened his focus; returning to the counts of his breath and the sound of the water around him, rippling outward, endlessly.
Two
As scent drifted away, it was replaced by something else. He could taste the building suddenly, drinking in the moisture that collected there, laced with earth. That was easy to separate himself from, vanishing as though it had never been. Then the taste of alcohol ran through him. The dark warm feeling associated with one too many beers in his apartment after a bad day, when training was impossible and the taste of that numb feeling afterwards as though he had scalded his taste buds with the icy drink. That one was harder, inevitably because it was connected to another taste. His mind, as if reading it's self supplied the taste for him and it ran heavy in his mouth. He had never been able to ascertain what she tasted like exactly, just that she was heavenly. His drinking usually considered with losing a fight to her, and last time, she had added the taste of her tongue to the mix dancing in with the whiskey and making it far more intoxicating. He fought taste with taste, concentrating on the cool clarity of water, picturing it in his mouth. Drowning out the alcohol and her with it crispness which was far easier to release. Soon taste had gone completely.
One
All that was left was the sound of the water; His metronome. All other sounds were easily destroyed. As a fighter, he was used to drowning out the unimportant sounds. The sounds of animals, of bugs, of the wind through the grass were easily destroyed. Even her laughter and the sound of her voice he had practice with not hearing, and gave up its sound easily. But the sound of the water remained.
Plunk, Plunk, Plunk
It was maddening actually. He couldn't believe it was his focus that had pulled him so deep into himself. The cords of noise pulled him outward. And he focused not on the sound but the ripples they made in his thought. He expanded his mind outward.
Out, Out, Out
Suddenly he wasn't him anymore. The sound had faded…he couldn't say when exactly. It was just suddenly gone and he was here in this light. Before him was his Ki, his fighting core, to mold, to bend twist. He was a fighter in his own style. His Ki would be the same. Who he was, who he had been, who he was going to be vanished. He just was. Unawares to him he stood and his body moved in tandem with his mind executing his moves quickly, rapidly, and almost with super human speed. He was in the core of his being his mind, his body and his soul. He had managed to pour out everything else that would have mattered, everything that had collected inside of him over the year, like leave in a drainpipe.
He was empty.
He did not know how long it had been when he finally opened his eyes and feeling flooded his body again. Sweat poured from his skin in to the water like a river, semi freezing on to his skin.
He breathing was slightly labored as though returning from a long way off. He moved with a new lightness when he left the water, grabbed his towel and shirt and left that sacred place. Behind him there was one final drop.
Plink