29 April 2012

012 Different Ways of Thinking

This isn't what I wanted to write for this. It's too generic, when I know I could come up with something much better, but I'm behind on the prompts and didn't have time to brainstorm. Plus I've been working to flesh out some of the religious backgrounds in my current novel, so that's what this is. Not interesting, not dramatic.

Unless you like groups sitting around and having a fairly superficial philosophical discussion, this will bore you to tears. XD If you plan on reading it, I guess all you need to know is they're time travellers and they have a kind of magical ability, neither of which factors in to most of this.


012 Different Ways of Thinking

Morgan picked up a plate with a veggie burger and proceeded to dress it with tomato, lettuce, onion and more. Everything was fresh and top quality, but even after all this time, she couldn't shake the taste for real meat, the kind that came from the cow you'd just seen standing in the field a week before.

Sighing with resignation, she slid her tray down the line to where Hetta was serving herself a bowl of steamed vegetables. They hadn't spoken since the incident that morning, when Morgan had gone on a mini-tirade regarding a certain group and its idiotic prayers for higher grades. The incident had escalated until harmonic blows were exchanged, tripods were tipped and Morgan and Hetta were both thrown from the event. Hetta didn't look mad. In fact, these things rarely fazed her, but somehow it still gnawed at Morgan.

"If you're pouting because of my conduct, you can quit it. You should be used to my offensive nature by now."
  
Hetta gave her a glance, brief and unreadable, before sliding further down the line. "I don't find your beliefs offensive. A little limited, maybe, but-"

"What do you mean limited?"

Hetta shrugged, her eyes wandering over the counter's array of items. It was clear she didn't want to elaborate, but Morgan had the bad habit of pushing the tiniest perceived insult into a full-on debate. She added a dish of apple cobbler to her tray, controlling her tone as she said, "So my beliefs are inferior. A tiny mud stain compared to yours."

"I didn't say that." Hetta went to the rice station, seemingly to end the conversation, but when she returned, she added, "Since when are you so devout, anyway?"

"I am intensely devoted to matters of my pride." Any attack on worldview reminded her of her childhood, when criticism came not in a few dismissive words but in the smack of a hand or a bar of lye shoved in the mouth. Her little body had quaked with impotent rage, so her bigger self didn't like backing down from anything.

They grabbed drinks and swiped their ID chips over the register. It beeped acceptance of their payment and unlocked the turnstile leading to the dining area. As they weaved through the tables, Hetta said, "I like your pride, and I'm not trying to insult you. The Satanism's important. I get that. But I'm talking a more universal view. Your passion fits you, but it's not the entirety of the cosmos."

"You say you're not insulting me." Morgan narrowed her eyes. "And yet every word makes me think you are."

Penny waved from a nearby table, several of her dishes already scattered around the table with partially eaten portions. When she was certain they saw her, she lifted a large bowl and began drinking down the broth. Sometimes, Morgan was amazed the girl knew how to use utensils. She moved a half-eaten bowl of fruit out of the way and set her tray down.

"You're so anti-religious," Hetta said, sounding a little less patient. "Then you get upset when anyone slights Satanism in any way. You have to see the conflict there."

"What, that I tear apart religions and then cling to my own?"

Hetta said nothing, only dug into the rice. Morgan huffed.

"It's hardly the same," she said. "Religion is about submission to some higher power. Even Harmony is nothing more than energy, a tool to be shaped by human will. If Satanism is the worship of anything, it's self, so no two followers could ever really be the same." Personally, she couldn't stand most of the Satanists at Starbeat, but why would she? They had the same philosophy as her, and that made them rivals at best, sycophants at worst. Not that she faulted them for it, but she wouldn't give them a chance to hold her back, either.

"It's about pursuing desires," she added. "Living to the fullest and not letting weaklings hold one back. To say that it's 'limited' is misunderstanding the entire point."

"No, I understand," Hetta said. "It's about aiming for the heights, pushing the limits, but if you understood Taoism, you'd see why that's the short view."

Penny nodded as she slurped her noodles, apparently content to be an observer. Though Morgan knew it wouldn't help, she felt compelled to pull the woman into the argument, anyway.

"Aren't you upset? If deities and other worldviews are short-sighted, that obliterates your beliefs, too."

The mass of noodly ends disappeared in Penny's mouth and she chewed, still nodding as she thought it over. Finally, she swallowed and said, "Actually, Taoism and paganism are pretty compatible. We have different deities, worship the cycles a little differently, but overall..." She shrugged.

"In Metro York," Hetta said, "There's a pagan population. Lots of them visit the temples, celebrate the festivals. It goes the other way, too. The Oak's Heart Temple has statues of several goddesses, including Guanyin, Hekate and Artemis. Others include Santa Muerte or the Mother Mary. Even though no one believes in Christ as a god anymore, there are those who still consider him a sage and consider Mary to be an honored personage."

Morgan quirked an eyebrow. "So the old messaiah doesn't get a statue, but his mother does?"

"It's the virgin thing. I think she's been associated with Lao-tzu's mother. Or was mother of both. Or something. I don't know. All that pseudo-historical stuff isn't really my thing."

"Don't look at me," Penny said. "She's not one I ever dealt with."

"I think both of you are crazy." Morgan scoffed. "Deities. How many times has anyone actually seen one?"

"First of all, I don't really believe in the gods or immortals. Cosmic Zen is a lot more abstract than other traditions. Second, Taoism venerates historical figures. They actually had to block certain eras to all but the highest clearance, because so many people were going back to see the sages."

"Plus, it doesn't have to be literal gods," Penny added. "Some people believe they're Beyonders manifesting in different forms. Others think they're archetypes, embodiments of character traits and experience. By that measure, there's not much difference between gods and any other story character. It's just who you choose to respect."
  
Hetta nodded. "I always connected better with famous figures. Wyld Stallyns, The Diamond Dog, The Bjorkmother. It's a more general kind of ancestor."

Morgan was thinking of Hetta's strained relationship with her immediate family and how that would definitely clash with typical ancestor worship, but she chose not to broach that topic. Her own history was, for the most part, off-limits.

"Satanism isn't all that different," Penny continued. "Not with deities, I mean. You invoke the archetypes to guide yourself. You think you're thinking of them differently, but it looks pretty similar to me."
  
"Except Satanism isn't full of pathetic dogma about wasting one's life in service to the poor and sick. It's about realizing one's full potential."
  
"Public service is important in Taoism," Hetta said. "But it's not about eternal devotion to the suffering. It's about Harmony and following the flow of nature. Sometimes we nourish, sometimes we devour. We strike and recede, grow and decay, harden and soften. You can fight it, if you want. You can cut out one portion and worship only that, but you can't stop the Tao."
  
Little sparks of purple and black traced Morgan's collarbone. "I hate when you talk like that."
  
"The Bjorkmother says I speak best when I don't say anything." Hetta went on eating, apparently unperturbed by these insults. She was calm like that, unflappable. Maybe the Bjorkmother had a point. If Hetta chose to remain silent, she would be unmoved, unbroken, and Morgan would simply have to stew in dissatisfaction.
  
"You can pretend I'm unrelenting and blind, but you're acting the same way, as if you're completely right and I'm just unelightened."

Hetta shrugged. "All I'm saying is you're not seeing everything. That's not wrong. It's just... different."

"The difference between wolves and sheep," Morgan grumbled, not knowing why she even bothered, but her statement seemed to bring an end to the discussion, and everyone ate in silence. Penny swirled her spoon lazily through a bowl of butterscoth pudding and said suddenly, "Even wolves are part of nature."

With a concentrated burst of sound, the pudding exploded, spraying Penny with caramel-coloured goo. She blinked at Morgan, who scowled in reply.

"Well, they are," Penny said.

*One Month Later*

Morgan sat in contemplation of the Taiji symbol, the yin and yang in perpetual motion, swelling to their fullest only to have the opposite suddenly emerge from their core. Such a simple concept that seemed demonstrably false. People didn't swing from one to the other in measurable patterns. Tyrants didn't become saints, and saints... Well, Morgan didn't really believe in saints, but she wouldn't expect someone like Penny to torch a forest and shoot stray dogs for the hell of it. People were fixed, all dispersing along their separate paths, some to the top and some to the bottom.
  
But three days ago, she'd had an epiphany. If she was a different sort, she might call it a crisis of faith. For one terrible moment, her ideals had failed her, desire and devotion threatening to tear her asunder. It was, she realized now, the culmination of her current path. The relentless ambition, the constant search for greater power, had brought her to a pivotal point. She could have gone Rogue, joined with some of the most powerful forces in the galaxy and learned the secrets to technology that even Starbeat didn't possess. What could be more tempting?
  
And yet, in the midst of what should have been glory, she'd also experienced some of the lowest moments of her life. Brought to the brink of death by Beyonders, saved not once but twice by those who were harmonically her inferiors, manipulated and abandoned, left to flounder in confusion while those around her acted with the utmost drive and vision. The weak had somehow become strong, and that which had always been her strength left her vulnerable, targeted and ultimately weak.
  
An epiphany had swelled inside her, as unnatural and unwelcome as that black dot in the white, or was it the white in the black? She'd never been good at understanding these associations. Hetta knew the Book of Harmonics inside and out. Penny had memorized dozens of deities, rituals, spells and more. She could divine through several methods, and even if it was all bunk, Morgan had to admit it was a practiced, systematic kind of bunk. And here she was, still a little unclear as to whether she was yin or yang and why.
  
"You're thinking of it through the wrong lens," a professor had told her. "The sides are not good and evil. They are simply aspects of the same whole."
  
"But one's more powerful, isn't it? Yang is aggression, conquest."

"It's also creation," the professor said. "A tree growing year by year is yang, while the decay of that tree would be yin."
  
"So it's the typical bullshit. White is light is good, and black is night is bad." She blew a dismissive puff of air and waved a hand. "And you think you're so transcendent."

The professor sighed. "Decay is also a form of conquest, wouldn't you say?"

She didn't know anymore. Which was the path to power? Had she failed and fallen, or had she somehow won? The mission was accomplished, an entire planet saved, blessings bestowed upon her, but she'd abandoned some of her deepest ambitions, and for what? For some elusive, transient sense of camaraderie? For a thing as foolish as... affection?

A knock came on the door, followed by Hetta's voice. "You missed dinner."

"I was busy." It was clear she wasn't, but that didn't matter.

"Brooding isn't good for you."

"You're one to talk." Morgan threw a pillow at her then plopped down on the bed with a sigh. "I still can't decide if it was the right decision. Crazy, right? If I'd made the other one, we'd probably all be dead by now."

"It's not about finding the right answer. It's about finding where you need to be, for the moment."

"I really hate it when you talk like that."

No comments:

Post a Comment