There exists within the teachings of Buddhism the concept of the boddhisattva - a being who, entirely of their own volition, chooses to remain upon the wheel of reincarnation for the sole purpose of bringing enlightenment to all and dispelling the miseries of the world. Someone who valiantly offers to "take one for the team," as Michelangelo so eloquently put it. So long as there is life in the universe, so too will there be the boddhisattva, carrying all the pain and sorrow upon their shoulders like the mythical Atlas.
Still others believe in another kind of boddhisattva, one who is continuously reincarnated into the form of a lower-level being than the lifetime before it. The reasoning being, of course, that the ensuing enlightenment will be so magnificent, so intensely radiant, that all sentient beings everywhere will benefit from the sheer magnitude of it.
Splinter wonders, ruefully, where sewer rat falls in that list of low-level entities, and how much farther he must fall before he hits bottom.
And as he ponders the nature of his own soul, he must also ponder that of his sworn nemesis - the murderer, the child thief. He assumes the lotus position, the smoke from the censer spiraling towards the ceiling. Those dark eyes appear to him once again, peering at him from deep within his meditative trance. Though the vessel holding them differs each time, the eyes are always the same. Always dark, always menacing, the look of sheer malice never wavering.
How long have they danced this dance? How many lifetimes have they spent spiraling within each other's orbit, chasing one another 'round the wheel of life like a pair of children playing a seemingly endless game of cosmic tag? Each one trading off on being "it" over and over, the game beginning anew just as soon as it ends. It is a maddeningly tiresome process, and Splinter wonders who will have the upperhand this time around.
In a brief moment of levity, he imagines a future scenario in which he is incarnated into the form of a white blood cell, and Saki a particularly nasty strain of influenza. Though their battleground is not nearly as grand as those in the past and the stakes not nearly as high, the intensity in each opponent isn't diminished in the least.
And he knows too, that just as he has seen his eyes before, he has also seen theirs. With all their strength, their love, and their loyalty, as steadfast as Saki's malevolence and just as committed as their master to running, in perpetuity, alongside him within a celestial hamster wheel. He leaps to the next spoke before them most of the time, while other times, sadly, they go before him. But they always meet up again, in one form or another.
And he sends up a silent prayer to Kannon for this, thankful that while he strives to bathe all of humanity in the splendor of bodhi, he has not been forgotten.
He is incapable of envisioning a life not spent in the midst of battle; He is chained, as it seems, to his darker half for all eternity. Neither one relinquishing, each one fiercely determined to fulfill his destiny. Perhaps there won't be an end, he thinks. They each exist as parallels to one another, he has determined, neither capable of diverging from their respective paths.
He emerges from his quarters in time to oversee morning practice. The boys engage in some gentle ribbing before they snap to attention at his approach, Michelangelo barely managing to stifle a giggle in connection to a joke told moments before. He is silenced instantaneously by a look from his sensei, who smiles inwardly. The boy's exuberance is infectious, and he can't help but feel rejuvenated while in their presence.
He watches as they run through their katas, demonstrating on occasion the proper way in which they are performed. He finds himself needing to correct them less and less these days, and is duly impressed by how far they've come. Pretty soon, they will no longer need him. He however, will need them.
The path he has chosen is a long one, fraught with peril and heartache. The craven beast that chases him is unyielding in his desire to see him destroyed, so powerful is his conviction that he has chosen to follow him through life after life after life. They are two sides of the same coin, equal in certitude and unceasing in their goals.
But as he watches his sons, he takes note of the assuredness in Leonardo's countenance and the determination in Raphael's eyes, of Michelangelo's playful nature and Donatello's willingness to carry through, and how, though their personalities are wildly disparate, they all smile at him the same way. Their respect, admiration, and love for the man who raised them and taught them all he knew is obvious to even the casual observer. And he, in turn, loves them more than anything in this world or the next, so much so that he is willing to eschew the light of Heaven itself for them.
And he comes to the sudden realization that he and his eternal nemesis deviate drastically in one respect, at least.