Once Upon a Dream – Kirenshimaru

One fine morning on a clean stone paven path sidelined by beautiful arrays of flowering Cherry Blossoms, planted with Japanese precision & discipline. A tall chubby man strolled relaxingly wearing a elegant black Kimono with 3 Shogunate insignias, two on the sides arms and one at the back. His usually knotted up hair now hung long almost reaching his waist. His wooden shoes made rhythmic taps as he walked along, his face highlighted by his sharp piercing eyes and bushy brows. He was a proud Samurai in his late 30′s who still had not known defeat. Within him… an aura of arrogant super-ego roaring far and loud like an old lion.

As the path met intersecting country road the Sakura trees ended, replaced by thicker green bushes… there stood a Japanese woman… smiling. “Kirenshimaru-san” she whispered as he approached. Her elegant complexion highlighted by her white Kimono with a touch of crimson red rose patterns, cotton-candy stripes and large pinkish ribbon tail. She was 3-5years older than him. “Kumiko” the proud samurai nodded back at the beautiful lively lady without returning a smile… the -you suck up to me and not the other way around- facade of Japanese men at play. A much softer side of him however, came to study her in greater detail. She was pretty, literate, mindfully well mannered (until she was drunk of course), she had penetrating eyes and wicked brows which to him meant there are sides to her he would never know, his heart bled silently of the thought. Her vast skills and winning personalities could only be discovered by him leaving the Shogunate and joining her in her realm… swimming in her waters so to speak. It frightened him to think that way.

He looked down to his left side… surprisingly he wore no katana, rather a small black pillow tied to his waist belt which he pulled out. He handed her the pillow and she used it to support her waist. He loved how she resisted his sadistic and forceful nature (no willing partner is fun in Japanese culture’s art of sex). Afterwards they’d lay in the thickens and he’d enjoy watching her expressing her poetry of wisdom which to him meant nothing at the time.

It was told to me later that the proud and arrogant Kirenshimaru would go on undefeated until one day his failure of self discovery derailing towards deep depression spelled the end to his life. Realising he never reached inwards, never understood who he was, never knew the most basic answer to life even when it was presented to him in kindness… and he hated to be reminded of that. Before committing seppuku he would remember Kumiko… her smiles, her laughs, a terrible kisser & failed cook with her passive arts of trying to guide him towards the truth, sadly though… he could not recall her words of wisdom.

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