Nightmares Ending

It was a dark night.  A young man carrying a small black bag got off a boat and took refuge at a temple South of Thailand.  The only place lit and visible to him was the small Sala (open & elevated meditation platform with no walls) where he paid respect to the Buddha and fell asleep on the raised wooden floor.

Frozen stiff… the little boy watched the scuffling from behind the curtain.  His mother lying dead in her own pool of blood while father tried to fend off the attacker… “Bang!” His father collapsed on the floor.  Another “Bang!” and everything went quiet.  He caught a glimpse of their killer’s face.  That was the problem… the killer had no face, only black and hallow.  He was too young and it has been too many years ago, his memories had been modified by his mind a thousand times over.  But he knew he’ll avenge them one day… he knew it would become his mission, his meaning of life.  The faceless killer disappeared.  Another set of footsteps closing in now.  “Son…” said mother as she turned to him.  “Son… YOU LET ME DIE!”

He awoke from the nine hundredth nightmares like this one, drew out the pistol from the bag and took aim at a figure standing over him.

“Nightmares begin at the mind… they must be ended there.
Running away from them… or Discontinuing other’s lives will not end your suffering.”

The old monk spoke compassionately while looking at the man.

Bowing at the monk’s feet, he cried tears of sorrow.  “Venerable, I’ve murdered people in my parents’ names!  People who I found out later to be innocent!  I’ve failed!  How can their children ever forgive me?”

“The question is…” The old monk replied “Can you forgive?”

The young man sat up contemplating origins of his madness while the monk disappeared back into his hut.  Those spoken words of the monk did a number on his insanity laps… he watched the mind-movie, rewound and watched it again with clarity until it became crystal clear and the knots began to untie.


2 Responses to “Nightmares Ending”

  1. A writer portrays not only the story they present, but the story of themselves.

    You need the darkest darkness to see the light; you need life’s difficulties to overcome and gain insight; you need to be beaten up and spat on to appreciate kindness when it does come. Your greatest hurdle: self love, ironically diminishing the “self” as nonexistent so you don’t need to face this ultimate challenge.

    Write…and overcome.

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