Sakura Understands Reality Ch. 02

Raion had no doubt that the day must come when Sakura left Him. Realism is a component of Japanese culture. Yes the past in an intrinsic part of the present but the future must bring change by its very chaotic nature. Sakura was but a flower in the bud, the bloom she would become would need experience in the garden of life in all its forms to be magnificent and Raion wanted more than anything to revel in that moment in this life or beyond the three rivers in yomi.

Continuity was a constant thread in His existence. His own children were strangers to Him. His first wife, the one-san of a training school in dance for maiko had long since cut all ties with Him. It amused Him that for all the supposed estrangement she still found it good business to use His family name and crest. His eldest son was now a samurai of some significance in the Emperors guard but had made no effort to contact Him for many years. Raion had reached out many times but had long since accepted that His presence physical or spiritual was not required or wanted. He had long come to the decision that in time He would marry Sakura. This He would do not from any need for power or contentment, or even the usual ideal of domestic bliss, rather it was a sure way to ensure her acceptance in the eyes of both law and society as His natural heir. Certainly the usual line of descent would be to His first born son but a carefully worded and accredited document of explanation would clarify the circumstance. This would be Sakuras last duty to Him. He had no wish to influence her life or decisions beyond that point rather trusting in the sanctity of the very nature that had first bought her to His tutelage and the training she had so willingly endured with stoic perseverance.

He felt the tears wash down His face and felt no shame. A man was allowed to show His nature in all its facets and grief was as deep an emotion as any. The pain He felt came not from loss, rather from a deep sense of sudden overwhelming weight. His father had been the wisest of men. A true warrior, a guardian of truth and honesty, a pillar that held the clarity of the heavens from being sucked into the muddy morass that could so easily be life. Now Raion felt the full responsibility of legacy and knew that from this day forward His existence would be forever changed. Yes He admitted some of His tears came from selfishness, the desire to still be the solitary outlaw searching out His own destiny. Yet also they came from an understanding that His father, His hero, would have never wished the mantle to oppress His son's free and unrestricted nature.

He was aware of Sakuras presence. Even deep in meditation He could sense her closeness and the particular scent her body bought into His world calmed and comforted Him. The tea was a welcome gift. He took it eagerly, savoring the warm liquid as it refreshed the parched inner skin of His cheeks and throat. The blend was one He found interesting. The mix was just different enough to grab His attention and He recognized the slight hint of jasmine perhaps, and the aftertaste of brown rice.

The aroma of the rice cakes became overwhelming. He had not wished to break His fast however necessary but the bean paste smelled so good and even deep in trance-like stillness salivated His mouth. Her hand had been outstretched for an eternity. A battle of wills between her concern and His insistence on self-denial. Eventually He gave, grudgingly, knowing that at this moment her judgment was far more clear than His and accepting the deep understanding she felt for His physical and mental needs. The cake was delicious. The flavor swept across His palate like a wave and although He forced Himself to chew the first slowly His mind was already contemplating consuming the second.

The night drew in. He was tiring, could feel His body start to droop from the formality required in sitting and was forced to concentrate a small portion of His mind to such irrelevancy.

"You are a fool Raion. I never deserved such reverence in life and certainly not in death."

His father's voice was strong and controlled, much as He always remembered it.

"Why do you sit in such pointless solitude when you have urgent responsibilities that require your constant attention?"

Raion thought to respond. Searched vainly for a remark or passage that would explain this state of loss that held Him captor as fast as a prisons chains.

"Did the arrows of My teachings miss their target so completely?"

At another moment Raion would have smiled. His Fathers teachings like arrows? Certainly the wisdom and truth they held could pierce the strongest armor, but more often than not they were vague and confusing, full of confusions and questions. Realistically the point of His outpourings took days to assimilate to any form Raion could understand and then often His first comprehension was simplistic.

"The little one understands more than you will ever accomplish."

Raion felt Sakuras arms lower Him to the floor and thereby to the bedroll. He had neither strength nor will to fight her ministrations. He was lost in the void between life and death and felt for the first time her realization of her value.

"You were always the crab apple tree Raion. Wild and unkempt in growth but with natural grace and beautiful blossom. Your fruit is sharp and unpalatable for the unwary but within the right hands becomes priceless."

He recalled the wizened twisted stems and branches, the burst of glorious white blossom, the tiny apples and hips. Was He truly so obvious a creation of opposites, ugly and beautiful, poison and precious, like some two faced kabuki clown?

"Remember your lessons Raion. Good, evil, right, wrong, life, death, pain, pleasure, they are all just words. Accept and you will flourish, fight and you will wither."

Sakuras hands were cool on His skin. She had great skill, greater than He could ever claim to have brought forth. He felt at peace, unfearing, without concern and took the gift of her touch joyfully.

"You are not a rock, you are a river. The little one has seen your nature and understands your strength and your weakness. You must let her drink and bathe, but you must also let her breathe. She cannot live submerged beneath your surface. She will always be outside of you, needing you for nourishment and for cleanliness but unable to remain solely within your depths."

Raion sighed. His father was wise, able to dissect with a single cut what was hidden to most. Yes He needed this girl, leaned upon her with a force He knew could be oppressive and feared instinctively her parting. He had but one fear, to be alone. For all His independence and shunning of society as a whole His need for companionship was sometimes overwhelming. He could become all consuming, a drain sufficient to suck the very essence from the unwary as they tried to please Him. He had lost so many companions and the fear of losing sakura, His greatest treasure haunted His being. She had become the center of His life, His present, His hope for the future. Just as the phantom of His Father represented all His past so this slip of a girl was His guarantee to the universes tomorrows.

The dream was as relevant now as ever. A constant companion for as long as He remembered it forever reached upwards to the climatic flowering of all He cherished. To those of less ethical or traditional perceptions seppuku was simply a method of escaping a reality that had become untenable. For Raion shame, or at least His personal recognition of shame was more onerous than any other concept and had but one conclusion, ritual suicide in the form known as jumonji giri.

To understand His shame you must accept the Man. Shame comes in many forms, perhaps after defeat in battle, as a result of an act of failure to ones lord, or even the loss of position or favor. Raion was above such simplicities. The age of Bushido had passed into legend, the times of a samurai's longevity being decided by martial failure or the politically expedient ruling of another thankfully had passed at the end of the Showa era. Property and possession had little meaning to Him, indeed the decisions about their eventual dissemination had been made irrevocably many moons ago. Personal shame had become concentrated to one simple ethic, that of atonement, a paying in life blood for a breakdown in respect, either as a self-inflicted cleansing of the stain or as a clear warning to others that some measure of accountability for their actions or responsibilities must be held for any civilized society not to dissolve into anarchy.

The form of jumonji giri holds particular significance. Any form of seppuku requires courage, strength and stoicism. The horizontal disemboweling stroke is painful and difficult to perform and often incomplete when pain forces the kaishaku second to deliver the stroke accomplishing the required embraced head. Having the concentration and focus to complete a horizontal cut with expected upward flared ending, then remove the blade entirely to perform the second vertical incision took enormous willpower. Both these cuts are by nature mortal however neither immediately lethal and death and relief depend entirely on rate of blood loss, all to be accepted and endured in silent meditation.

Raion accepted the final conclusive sleight would come. He had suffered the sting of a hand across His cheek before, both actual and metaphorical, but had not found these occasions worthy of the casual casting away of a reincarnation. Perhaps now with the passing years the need for sufficient justification was overshadowed by the necessity for preemptive example. Reaction was a raging river held feebly behind a dam and a matter as simple as a seeming mild betrayal could and would release the deluge. Age had reduced His acceptance of shame but increased His weight in honor.

He reached towards her still form, filled with the need of a body entwined with His, to be conjoined, a salve to lesson this oppressive need to reach beyond the veil again. Her body was weightless, as if suspended above Him, touching, but unobtrusive, a blanket to warm and comfort Him made of sheerest gossamer. The scent of her hair filled His nostrils, the love He felt no need to hide engulfed His spirit.

"She is the end of your journey, the mountain top is no longer yours alone. You have wished for this My son, now it has passed from dream to fruition you realize that the moment so long awaited will be fleeting as your last breathe."

The arm He that held her made no effort to tighten, to control, to en-cage, rather it dissolved molecule by molecule wanting nothing but to merge beneath her surface and never be separate again. In this moment He almost tasted perfection, the serenity of interdependence with all and the impossibility of its fulfillment. This was Buddha. Here was the final lesson He must teach in blood and silent suffering. Perfection is without worldly reality and can only be reached when we finally escape our mortal form and become nothing, without intellect, emotion or self.

At age five He had sat next to His Father in the dojo, His legs screaming from the new awkwardness of seiza, mind and muscles aching for movement. They sat silently for an hour. His father immovable as a rock, without even a trace of disturbance from the necessary actions of circulation or breathing. It was if His Sensei's being had merged with the matter surrounding it. Raion tried to concentrate, make small adjustments of weight or posture to reduce His discomfort but still the mounting tension overwhelmed Him.

"Raion pain is clouding the clarity of your being. This is life. We must embrace pain, embrace discomfort. Embrace all or it will bind you. Accept and you will be free. Avoidance is not the solution. Lay upon the sand and let the ocean wash over you. You will be cleansed and purified. When you have fully appreciated this lesson your spirit will be free at last to leave your body and never return."

"What is the object of suffering Father?"

"Suffering is but the dojo that trains you for mortal death and eventual perfection."