#although not enough to give up living on the riverbank apparently

[sardinesandhumbugs]

If you're still doing the musical writing prompts, could you do 45, maybe with Mole?

Of course I can! 45 was “Home. I've heard heard the word before, but it never meant much more than just a thing I've never had” from a Very Potter Sequel. Sorry for the long delay, nonny, but hopefully it was worth the wait! It certainly turned out longer than expected.

x

"The important thing about having lots of things to remember is that you’ve got to go somewhere afterwards where you can remember them, you see? You’ve got to stop. You haven’t really been anywhere until you’ve got back home."

The Light Fantastic, Terry Pratchett

x

If someone had asked Mole what home was before that fateful spring morn, his answer would have been easy.

Home was the cosy, still air of beneath-ground. It was the door jamb that stuck and the window that leaked. It was the carols that alighted his porch each winter, the smell of jams being prepared in the autumn, and the dust that made him sneeze every spring cleaning. It was found in solid things that marked the passage of time as surely as clockwork in the sunless tunnels. (Clockwork marked the hours, and seasons marked the year, and everything else between was of little consequence.)

Several months on, and his answer is no longer so sure.

The first hint – at least, the first hint he takes notice of – that it is no longer the clear-cut divide of holiday verses home comes in the fright of the Wild Wood, so far from either.

(If he had been taking notice, he perhaps would have seen the spare glasses that now live at Ratty's riverside residence, the household chores that are shared without comment, or the divide in the larder that Ratty has made for Mole's more species-specific snacks. But he hasn't been taking notice, and such things have passed him by in the comfort of a new normality.)

So Mole is far from home (either, both) when Ratty finds him. They are both scared and shaken, but there is no doubt in Ratty's voice with the question, "Wouldn't you rather just go home?" as if home couldn't be anywhere but the river. Maybe (probably) for Ratty it's true (he had certainly once proclaimed it to be his food, his drink, his company – his world) but for Mole, the word is an altogether more complicated affair.

In that moment, however, he longs for the sunlit riverbank.

It is only later, when they settle into the familiar underground air of Badger's sett, that Mole remembers Mole End at all. It lasts only briefly – they have so many other issues at hand, namely that of the disastrous Toad – but it is enough to give him pause. It leaves him stranded between betrayal and mutiny. Betrayal, for his hasty abandonment of his home, and mutiny as he realises he does not want to give up his newfound riverbank life.

But when it comes to it, it doesn't really matter – not in Badger's sett, nor in his brief yuletide return to Mole End – because in the end, at Mole End, he looks to Ratty and knows that he'll follow wherever his friend goes.

(The feeling, though Mole does not realise it at the time, is mutual. Although in Ratty's case, the stubborn loyalty had made itself known months ago, back when he chose the open road over his river – if only for a passing season. Even so, he has never had cause to doubt (not even on the open road, not really) that his river might not be enough to tempt even the most stalwart undergrounder to linger a while longer – but Ratty looks to his friend, surrounded by his titular home, and realises Mole is as much of the earth as he is of the river and that one day it may reclaim him.)

x

It is the week following Toad's grand party that life eventually settles back to the point that Mole can finally turn his mind to more homeward bound matters. For as life has calmed – as adventures and escapes and daring retakings have made way for the more mundane reality of day-to-day living – he realises another spring is on its way out, a year has passed, and he is in danger of becoming rooted to the riverbank. There is the scent of summer on the horizon, thick and heady, and a strange sensation he hesitates to call homesickness lingers in him. It whispers of dirt and earth and it makes his claws itch until he can stand it no longer and he knows – he knows he must return.

He attempts to casually bring up the subject as they clear away dinner.

"I'm thinking," he says, "of returning to Mole End." Ratty's step falters, if only for a moment. "Just for a few days," Mole adds. "I thought I might get some of that spring cleaning done that I never finished from last year."

"We'll make a trip of it then," Ratty suggests brightly, and if Mole knew him just a little less well, he might believe the forced cheer – but he does know him that well and he reads past the façade. "I've never picnicked underground before, but there's a first for everything–"

"Just me, I think," Mole interrupts. "It's just a little tidy up; there's no reason to drag both of us there."

"Oh." Ratty falters again. There's some unease at the sure exclusion, but there's a trace of relief too; underground is still a discomfort to the riverbank-born animal although, if Mole is being brutally honest with himself, his reason for returning alone is more to do with his own needs than Ratty's.

He is not brutally honest. At least not this time. But he suspects Ratty has him figured all the same, for he lingers by the door, watching as Mole packs up a few choice belongings to accompany him to Mole End. Ratty's stance is nonchalant, but the way he talks of their plans after Mole's return feels like he is eking out a promise he isn't sure Mole will keep.

Mole senses enough of this to hold his tongue when it comes to the strange homesickness that has stolen over him. He has learnt enough of his friend to know the comment, however innocuous, however true his intent to return to the riverbank, will do little to help. And it will recede, if only he can ground himself in the underground existence that has served him well all the years previous – but for that, he must go alone. Ratty would bring with him the reminder of the sunny shore above, of rivers and boats that turned his head in the first place.

And the strange homesickness does settle back in Mole End – momentarily. Beneath the ground, the muggy summer loses its grip and the air is steady, constant. It is a refuge from the humidity that stifles Mole – Mole, who has never considered claustrophobia, but when the air grows heavy and airless in the sway of summer, it is all he can do to retreat to north-facing rooms and wait out the heat. But in the bowels of the earth, the seasons are muted and he sleeps sounder for it.

He oversleeps. He assures himself that it is the comfort of a long-familiar bed, but part of him wonders if he has grown too accustomed to the wake-up call of the morning chorus and the sunrise – if he is not so much an undergrounder as he was a year ago.

His underground instincts sated, he turns his attention to more practical considerations. The door jamb that sticks and the window that leaks is all well and good through the lens of nostalgia, but it is quite another kettle of fish when it comes to tending to them. And as he adds yet another chore to the list (a home neglected, he realises, continues to decay with, or perhaps because of, its owner's absence) Mole End seems to shift from cosy to tired. He knows it not to be as grand as Toad Hall, nor as chronicled in history as Badger's sett, and certainly not as comfortably ship-shape as Ratty's place, but the reality settles in about him as he stands, frozen, with the chore list in paw.

What Mole End is, is dark and dim and shabby.

And, worst of all, that homesickness has returned.

He is an underground animal – or was, once upon a time. Now he is not so sure, for while his burrow calls, so does the bright sun-filled air above... and he doesn't think there is a word for an animal that holds both worlds in their soul.

Home. this place is home, he tells himself, but the definition has shifted, expanded, grown in his year's absence, and he doesn't know what to do with that.

His reverie is broken by a knocking at his door, and he finds his porch crowded by four very familiar animals. Mole gapes for a moment until Toad bounces in.

"So this is Mole End, eh? Naturally, it's not as grand as Toad Hall but then, of course, what is?"

"Toad, be civil," Badger warns.

Mole squeezes out of the way as the large mammal enters. "It's only a small home," he says, apologetic. "I'm afraid it's going to be a little snug with everyone here–"

"Don't you worry about that, pet," Mrs Otter assures as she follows after the others. "Snug is my home with the pups on a regular day."

Mole turns to the last animal yet to enter. Ratty stands at the threshold, hesitant as if wary of a boundary overstepped. "I know you said you wanted to attend to this alone," Ratty says – he shifts the trusty luncheon basket between his paws – "but it's been three days and, well" – a wan smile – "I've seen your attempts at spring cleaning. I figured you might appreciate the help if you were still at it."

"So you brought Toad along?"

Mole's humour seems to mollify Ratty's nerves, for the water rat's smile turns rueful. "Toad brought himself along."

Mole leans in with a conspiring whisper. "Do you think he even knows what a broom is?"

There is an almighty sneeze from Badger as Toad unsettles a layer of dust from the kitchen cupboards.

Ratty grins. "Do you?" The humour, however, is as quick to go as it was to arrive, and as he watches the other animals descend upon Mole End he glances back to his usual housemate with unease. "Of course, if you'd rather we left you to it, naturally we can–"

Mole commandeers the basket. "Stay." He doesn't mean it to sound such like an order, but for all his previous bluster, he suddenly doesn't want the newcomers to leave. For despite the extra shadows they cast, Mole End somehow feels brighter than before in a manner not quite tangible. "And, just between you and me," he adds as he ushers his friend inside, "I hadn't got that far with the cleaning."

There's another sneeze from Badger that sets the lanterns swinging, and a fresh falling of dust scatters down from above.

Another grin from Ratty. "You don't say?"

Badger wastes no time in assessing the undertaking ahead. He settles back into that same role as in the retaking of Toad Hall, distributing the chores with little fuss, and quietly Mole is glad for it, because the task of Mole End has become overwhelming in the past few days.

Regardless of the nature of the housework, it is humour, not tedium, that springs up. And at some point in this collective effort – between the idle conversations and the laughter and the "Where's the duster – I swear I left it here just a moment ago" – Mole End sheds its overcrowded air. Nothing palpable changes, for the occupants continue to fall over one another and Badger still has to duck his head through doorways, but somewhere in the midst of all this it has become cosy, not cramped.

Somewhere in that space, that strange homesickness has quelled.

Mole realises this midway through restoring the peeling wallpaper back to its proper place, teetering on a stepladder while Ratty applies paste to the paper's underside. He falters in his task to take note – to truly take note – of his friends. To listen to the bustle of Mrs Otter as she strips the beds, and the jabbering of Toad as he regales her with some loosely-related story. (Mole believes it is his experiences from the open road; a period in which Toad categorically did not take to the chores like a duck to water, whatever he is emphatically telling Mrs Otter.) Further off, there is something that sounds suspiciously like humming, coming from Badger as he inspects the tunnels for natural wear-and-tear, partnered with his sure steps and the tap of his cane.

Mole lingers too long in thought, and his balance flounders. Ratty catches the ladder before it can tip and his laughter is both familiar and new as it bounces across the earthen walls in an echoing reprise.

Home. this place is home, Mole realises, and the definition has shifted, expanded, grown in his year's absence.

And he's okay with that.

[kumoriyami-xiuzhen]

Hakuoki Bakumatsu Kafusho Chizuru Mini Drama

*sigh* just when I think most of the stress inducing things for the month have past so i can can finally get back to normal-ish... someone I’m living with has tested positive. while im fine right now and don’t need to worry that much about getting too close as there is actually enough room to isolate, i’m giving up on trying to translate more than one piece of Hakuoki content a week this month. should hopefully be fine with getting my advance posts done again for september. sorrrrrrry! i genuinely tried! -.-

Anyway, this Chizuru’s モノローグ 「在るべき処」 drama from the 幕末花風抄 set of dramas.... also I hate Kodo (well when it’s not him from the musicals hahaha) in every route though he only redeems himself slightly in Hijikata’s route.

enjoy?

Hakuoki Bakumatsu Kafusho Chizuru Mini Drama “Where one should be”

(not entirely sure about how to word the title. there’s no subject so it’s kinda more literally “the place that should be resided in” i guess?)

Translation by KumoriYami

Chizuru: Chizuru: I'm back, father. Huh? Wind chimes? A gift? Thank you! They're so cute~ the goldfish pattern looks cool. Eh? They're round cheeks are like mine? No, mine aren't round. Really......... Ah.... Father...............  that was a dream.... 

Early that morning, I woke from a nostalgic dream. Since I wanted to decorate the kitchen at headquarters, I bought a (set of) wind chimes yesterday, so that was probably what reminded me of when I lived/the time I lived with my father in Edo....... Father, where are you now..... 

Looking upwards to the distant sky, the rain that had been falling since last night had lightened up. A thin ray of sunshine peeked through the gaps between the clouds. It seems the rain has stopped/is stopping.  

Yes, there's no such thing as a night that won't get brighter [I think this is more 'no night won't end with the sun's light], and there's no such thing as rain that doesn't stop. It doesn't matter, there will inevitably be a day where I meet my father again. Okay, I've going to start making breakfast. 

That's how my day at headquarters began. For now, it should be okay to hang them here. Summers in Kyoto are very hot, and the kitchen is even hotter when a fire is lit. At least the sound of the wind chimes will make people feel a bit cooler. Thinking this way, I hung the wind chimes by the window. Alright, then....  

It's been a year and half since I started living with the Shinsengumi due to unbelievable fate. Little by little, my life here has become more and more natural. However, it's not enough to be grateful/thankful for the kindness (shown)/ everyone's kindness, I want to do something to help. Seeing their resolute determination and how their eyes look ahead to exist/survive [reword later?], this way of thinking has become even stronger... 

The food's ready [actually says cooked but w/e]. Hot! Hei... that doesn't matter, it looks delicious~ the miso soup is almost ready. Now it's ready. Next, right, apparently Okita-san said that he'll be going to play [with/some] some children by the riverbank today. A few days ago, I accidently learned about Okita-san's condition. Although Okita-san still smiled and responded in the same way as usual, his smile rather looked even more pained. But at least I might be able rouse his appetite a bit and lift his spirits. With that in mind, I started making rice balls. If the taste of miso is a bit stronger, Okita-san might have more appetite... Oh, but Okita-san says he's in the the sweet faction [I think?]. hey... it seems like [he? or] the children were fighting over the konpeito [I assume it's konpeito. a candy gets mentioned here and I haven't checked the audio].

Okita-san, I've put some here. Please use [take] some/them.

Afterwards, while returning to [my?] room once the utensils from breakfast were washed, I saw the figure of Saito-san in the dojo practising his swings in the air. Against the back of the Saito-san who diligently practised and was never absent, itt seemed like there was a cool wind blowing [i think?]. It was hard to stay focused in this heat. I think he has great mental strength. But even Saito-san should feel hot... No, he probably doesn't it... Speaking of which, during both winter and summer, Saito-san wears a pure white sash [not sure if this is the sash or scarf. check audio later]. On the other hand, Harada-san, Nagakura-san and Heisuke-kun seem to be afraid of the heat and wear thing clothes even in the winter. Eh... haha... ah... no, it'd be bad to disturb those training [??? not sure the word used here is 稽古]---pardon me.

After the food is cleaned up and put away, [I] begin to clean up the house [tl is house or room] and courtyard. I unexpectedly like this time. When I wipe the dirty floor and tatami mats clean, my mood feels brighter and I feel cleaner too. Before I realized it, the smell of miso soup prepared by the people making lunch wafted in. It smells delicious, and seems to be moving? Huh? What's wrong, Heisuke-kun, it doesn't matter if you have another bowl. The words I unconsciously muttered were heard by Harada-san. In the evening, he would take Heisuke-kun out, so he said and went out.

Have a good trip! Recently, it seems that I'm not the only one concerned about how Heisuke-kun has smiling less. Because Heisuke-kun's liveliness and cheerfulness makes everyone happy, and I hope that they're always able to smile without restraint together. Maybe it's bit wishful, but I couldn't help thinking that way. But if you talk happily with Harada-san, you will definitely feel better. However if you're too happy and if you drink too much and are late to come back, Hijikata-san will be angry with you again.

When I took note of it [should be more along the lines of 'When I noticed it',  but I couldn't get the rest of the sentence to work], the two of them hadn't returned late together, but instead returned separately. After asking if they fought since I was so worried, Heisuke-kun said 'no', and responded with a very happy smile. The drunken Harada-san also nodded and said that it didn't matter. That's great.

I was relieved to see Saito-san making tea in the kitchen with a complicate expression on his face as I returned to my room. Ah, Saito-san, let me make the tea... Before even greetings could even be exchanged, Saito-san went out into the hallway. The direction he was walking towards was Hijikata-san's room. On the other side of the shoji door was Hijiikata-san, who was racing against the clock to complete his paperwork. His strained and broad shoulders, like the Shinsengumi’s Makoto flag, were majestic and strict. Deep into the night, you're still working hard [check audio]. Although it was impossible [for me] to be heard, I unconsciously whispered that.

Looking up to the night sky, a beautiful moon floated in the sky. Days at headquarters passed by quickly, however every day passed by just as quickly. Nothing seemed to be changing, but there were things that were changing. Although there are often times when I don't know what to do and get confused, and while I am still worried about my father's circumstances, I want to look ahead, and walk forward. I thought this to myself in the glow of the soft moonlight [more literally "soft moonlight falling" but that looks weird and I can't think of a different way to phrase that]. I'll work hard tomorrow too!

-end-

-------------

ended up translating this because i was freaking out for a good 15 minutes about where this was since I thought I lost it and the other dramas I had saved with it... as this drama was saved through a series of images in the wrong folder. 

[mykingdomforapen]

first light of dawn

Yvon has read more words than many have spoken in their lifetime. In several languages, too. He carries a book in his belongings even when they take up too much room, John Milton immortalised by sheets of paper. The works of poets and scholars can live on without a single utterance, their words and stories carried onward by black ink. 

Even so, when he reads, he reads out loud, so that he can taste the weight of them on his tongue, and hear them ride on the backs of breezes so that it carries forth, as if Paradise Lost is a pebble dropped in a still lake, and it ripples forward until it reaches the ocean. After all, the hemlock trees and the riverbank pebbles have no eyes to read; he does not tell anyone this, but he reads poetry from his little black book so that the forests can listen along, until they all can recite the stanzas nearly from memory. 

Hamish finds this politely exasperating. 

“Does it have to be Milton?” he says. 

Yvon does not look up from his book. 

“Have you got anything better?” he says. 

“I prefer Bradstreet,” says Hamish. “She isn’t quite as long-winded.” 

Yvon turns a page, but he permits himself a smile.

“That sounds like a personal problem,” he says. 

His companion scowls, but saves the rest of his protesting for later. Yvon defends Milton not out of favour. Milton is a master of the English language, naturally, and he retells ancient stories with fresh blood--a practise that Yvon finds familiar, even if the story itself is not. Milton puts into lilting verse the dark beasts in each man, and Yvon finds comfort in their company.

But no matter how many stanzas of the fall of Lucifer that Yvon can memorise, Milton is a lease more than a gift--the English have given Milton to him in exchange for gratitude and devotion. They think that the fact that he can read and write English is a testament to the victory of their presence in this land. Never mind that Yvon can speak about three different languages from his mother’s side, and has learned English and French on his own before attending Harvard. Sometimes, as he quotes, “Neither man nor angel can discern hypocrisy, the only evil that walks invisible except to God alone”--he hears the English pat themselves on the back, and the thoughtful words taste bitter. 

No, Yvon defends Milton simply because it irritates Hamish, and he finds that amusing. 

“Tell a story that I haven’t heard before instead,” says Hamish. 

The request makes Yvon laugh. Hamish has likely seen fewer winters than some of the bears wading in the river. There are thousands of stories he has not yet heard. Yvon closes his book, as he does not need it. 

“Then let me tell you about Wenebojo,” he says, and Hamish listens. 

-

When Yvon first met Hamish Goames, he expected to underestimate him. Hamish was young, barely past twenty-seven years of age, and he had that perpetual sullenness about him that only emphasised his youth. Yvon heard in passing that Hamish’s brother-in-law also worked for the Hudson Bay Company, which gave Yvon an amusing impression of a little boy tagging along with his older brother’s gang. 

“Hamish Goames,” he had said with the sort of tone one would reserve for a funeral. “At your service.” 

He had pale grey eyes, like the sky after a heavy storm had already passed, and his lips were constantly fixed in a worried line. He looked not the type that would last here. He seemed like someone who cared too much, and the Company wanted little to do with those sort. 

“Yvon Fitzpatrick,” Yvon said. “At the Company’s, or whoever is putting the coin in my purse.”

There was a hint of cautious curiosity in Hamish’s eyes as he tried to affix the French name to Yvon’s face. Yvon smiled in spite of himself.

“It is not my only name,” he said, “if that is what you were wondering.” 

Hamish had the right mind to look humbled. 

“What other names are yours, then?” he said. 

“I have given you one already,” Yvon said. “Don’t be too greedy.” 

Their colleagues of the Company laughed at Hamish. Don’t mind Yvon, they said. You won’t find it easy to understand him. He speaks in riddles.

But Hamish shook his head. No, he said. Yvon had spoken very plainly. You just don’t like to understand when you’ve been refused. 

Hamish was earnest, and honest men do not survive Turtle Island when they live among the English and the French. Yvon knew not to get too attached, but he already knew he would be sad to see Hamish go. 

-

Some of the Company do not hide their distaste of the Iroquois. Savages, heathens, uncivilised--white men come up with many dramatic synonyms just to declare someone different. 

“Skin crawls at the sight of them,” one Company man says, with a shudder. “Always feel their eyes on the back of my head when I go out. Can’t even take a piss without feeling watched.”

“I wouldn’t flatter yourself like that,” Yvon says. “There isn’t much to see.” 

Only Hamish hears him. Yvon knows this because he sees Hamish choke on his drink.

“Their lot wear nothing but skins,” says another. “And usually, just their own. Bloody mad.” 

Yvon resists to comment, because that is obviously bullshit. Especially in the dead of winter. The company he keeps do not resist to pitch in their two cents, because men will hallucinate rumours when they apparently have nothing better to do. 

“Oi, Richards,” says another. His eyes dart sheepishly towards Yvon with a semblance of discomfort.

“Who, Fitzpatrick?” says the one named Richards. “He’s different, isn’t he? Wearing britches and a proper hat, like a proper Christian man.” 

The man nibbles on their supper, satisfied with the answer. Yvon finds himself surprisingly disappointed. 

“And they were both naked, the man and his wife, and were not ashamed,” Yvon recites. 

The men’s heads turn to Yvon, as if only just now comprehending that he can hear them. Yvon regards their attention with a slight smile. 

“In the day that God created man, in the likeness of God made he him,” recites Yvon. “Buck naked, too.”

Now all conversation has been silenced. Yvon is unbothered. Normally, he would carefully consider preserving the peace of the community, but that is apparently Anishinaabe priorities--which, according to the English, is not applicable to them. So Yvon does not give a shit. 

“It’s been a while since I studied all of your books,” he said. “But I think I remember correctly that it wasn’t until the devil got a hold of man did man start wearing underwear.” He shrugs and takes a bite of an apple. “But what do I know?” 

Richards sputters. 

“You are a sensible man, Fitzpatrick,” says Richards. “Now that you’ve come to live in our world, would you ever truly want to go back into the dark?”

Yvon crunches through his apple methodically. 

“Does that mean that you think you turn into the devil’s spawn every time you strip to take a bath?” he says. He rubs his nose for good measure. “That would explain much.” 

Someone snorts with amusement. Everyone’s head turns to see who it was, but whoever it is covers themselves quickly. Yvon has a sneaking suspicion he knows who it is, because when he excuses himself to walk along the creek, Hamish leaves the group and follows him.

-

Hamish is naturally inquisitive. Behind the glower and the monotone is a young man in a new world who wants to know everything about the rivers, the mist in the mountains, the incense of a burning hemlock. It turns out that Yvon is the only one who has the patience to temper that curiosity. 

“How can you tell it is a hemlock?” he asks, and Yvon shows him the hair-thin white stripes on the back of its pines, and the tough mushrooms that sprout from the jagged bark.

“What are your stars’ stories?” he asks, and Yvon tells him of Biboonkeonini, and the coming frost ahead. When the mornings grow colder, and Hamish has to blow into his hands to feel his fingertips, Yvon hears him mutter complaints of the Wintermaker. It makes Yvon snort. 

“Do you have a family?” he asks, and Yvon says, That’s enough questions for today. He spoons an extra heap of beans into Hamish’s bowl, and it shuts him up, for now.

-

Yvon still dreams of his mother. She looks the way he last saw her, before he left for Harvard. She is cooking soup of wild rice for him, even though he is grown and can look after himself. I do not know when will be the next time I can share a meal with you, she says. 

He is no longer dressed in coats and stiff boots. He sits cross-legged beside her; there is no book of Englishmen’s words in his bag, no musket around his shoulder. He speaks in his mother’s language, and in his dreams he never stumbles over his words. 

In his dreams, she is just about the same age as he is now. She had departed at least twenty-five years ago. The fires have died down, the tobacco reduced to ash, the grief internalised. And yet his mother returns, and brushes the hair behind his ears as if he is small again. 

I’ve gone too far, haven’t I? he asks her.

She smiles. She calls him by the name the elders gave him. It is only in dreams now when anyone calls him such. He holds his breath for the morning when he will wake up and forget what it is. 

How far can you possibly go, she says, before you can never come westward? My son, you can never go far enough that you cannot come to me one day. Follow the setting sun, and you will. 

Before her hand can touch his head, he wakes up, twenty years older, in white men’s clothes with a white man’s name. 

-

Yvon is reminded of his mother by the snowfall, when he presses a handful of the freshly fallen winter against his cheek. Hamish remembers his mother through his sister. 

He carries the miniature of his sister’s face wherever he goes. Yvon initially assumed her to be his wife, and when he made a passing comment with that belief, Hamish narrowed his eyes and protectively shifted the miniature away. Alice is my sister, he said mulishly. Although any man would be lucky to have her. Which makes Randall an idiot. 

“Isn’t she beautiful?” Hamish would say when he showed Yvon the miniature. And Yvon would agree to be polite. 

From what Yvon gathers, Hamish’s mother had passed not long after he was born. Alice was his close companion as together they navigated a childhood coloured by London fires, tumultuous revolutions, and an imposing father. Yvon risks to ask, and Hamish pretends he does not hear. Yvon does not push. Neither of them want to speak of their fathers. 

“It’s strange to think,” Hamish says once, in a rare moment of honesty, “that with an ocean between us, she and I do not share the same sunrise or sunset.” 

The simple longing makes him seem childlike, which Yvon does not tell him this because Hamish becomes defensive easily. 

“Well,” Yvon says. “It’s still the same sun, isn’t it? Or do you English believe we don’t even share that?” 

Hamish smiles wryly. He does not protest. 

-

“Waaseyaa,” his mother calls him, in his dreams. 

He wakes at the first light of dawn, and so he remembers. 

[i0990]

Kamigami no Asobi InFinite - Tsukito & Takeru

Yeah I have not completely abandoned this. Anyway for the the Japanese gods it’s a bit harder to write because some of the terms used do not have exact translations in English, but the general gist of the story should be there. At this point the routes are kinda repetitive so apologies beforehand if the writing style seems very err... bored.

For a summary of the common prologue check the summary post for the Greek gods.

*spoilers after the cut*

Chapter 1

Yui decides to work with the Japanese mythology group. The activity they decide on is hanami(flower-viewing) since it was originally a ritual to welcome the gods. Just nice it's spring and the sakura are in full bloom so off they go to scout, together with Usamaro. Yui asks if she can carry Usamaro and Tsukito agrees. Takeru comments that it's rare for Tsukito to allow someone else to carry Usamaro. Tsukito agrees but says that somehow he wants to fulfil Yui's wishes. Before it gets dark they go to the library to research more on the history of hanami. Yui mentions that people normally prepare bento for Hanami but when she mentions going to the store to buy ingredients, Tsukito asks why she would need to do that when the store sells ready made bentos. Yui explains that she wants the people dear to her to eat her handmade bentos and that it will make the hanami more enjoyable.

The day of the hanami, she meets up with the guys in the who are dressed in casual clothes and being all gentlemanly by helping her carry stuff. Tsukito comments on how pretty the location they chose is while Takeru just wants to eat lol. They both agree the bentos are delicious. Tsukito then wonders why the sakura look so much prettier tonight. Like even if they are in full bloom it can't possibly boost their appeal by that much. Yui replies that when humans are enjoying themselves, everything will appear more beautiful. Yui's even prepared carrots for Usamaro to eat. Usamaro enjoys curling up on Yui's lap so much it doesn't even respond when the boys call out its name pfft.

The next day, Takeru gifts Yui with a hand carved wooden rabbit. Apollon finds out about the hanami and suggest everyone goes together but the brothers both reject his idea lol.

Chapter 2

The season is now summer and they decide to hold a Tanabata festival. Yui explains to them about writing wishes and hanging them on bamboo grass. Takeru happens to know where they kind find bamboo grass and leads them there. After Yui says they'll need one big enough for everyone to hang their wishes on, Tsukito ventures off, only to cut his hand on the leaves. Yui gives Tsukito first aid and Takeru thanks her for it before volunteering to be the one gathering the bamboo grass.

After dinner, Yui goes to their dorm to make the ornaments to hang on the bamboo gras. Basically it's cutting coloured paper into different patterns. The two guys chose the same design to try and Yui comments that they really are alike. The day of the tanabata festival, all the gods gather to write their wishes and eat nagashi somen. Overall the event was a success and Yui exchanges the usual comments about how happy she is to have met the guys. At night, Yui looks at her own blank slip of paper and thinks about what wish she wants to write, or rather whether she wants to spend time with Tsukito or Takeru. Thread of fate here.

Chapter 3 (Tsukito)

The next morning, Yui wakes up and is shocked to find that the ground is unusually near and the grass around her looks really big. Tsukito is with her, looking super tall, and calls her Usamaro. Yup, Yui is now stuck in the body of that cute little white rabbit. Yui tries to convey to Tsukito that it's her but fails. Tsukito on the other hand can't figure out why Usamaro won't stop fidgeting and wonders if it's coz it felt better being on Yui's lap lol. He then starts talking about how it's relaxing being next to Yui and how it's thanks to her he's able to graduate.

So Yui hangs out with the Japanese gods while they have breakfast and afterwards Tsukito decides to drop by Yui's room. He ignores Melissa's protests and enters anyway, but Yui's bedroom is empty. Even Melissa's starts wondering where Yui went. Tsukito is about to read Yui's wish when Akira shows up. Akira then goes on to say Yui's body is in his room and points out to Tsukito that the rabbit is Yui. So basically Usamaro has been stuck in Yui's body as well lol. Tsukito goes to Akira's room and Usamaro hugs Tsukito. Akira explains that he saw Yui in the corridor while still wearing her pajamas, brought her back to her room but nobody answered, so brought her to his room instead. Akira then asks if they have any idea how this switched happened. Yui(rabbit) looks to Tsukito, who says he knows, and brings Usamaro and Yui back to Yui's room. Since it was Yui's Tanabata wish that caused the switch, Tsukito writes another one wishing both Yui and Usamaro return to normal and that did the trick.

It's now autumn so momijigari time. Thoth being a hands-off teacher just writes 紅葉狩 on the blackboard and walks off. This time round everyone goes together since graduation is around the corner. The road is a little tricky(of course Balder fell down) so Tsukito decides to hold Yui's hand, saying that this way she won't fall or get separated so it's killing two birds with one stone lol. Yui is all happy so Tsukito wonders why since it's not her first time seeing autumn or walking this path. Of course, it's because it's fun when it's with him. Relationship meter goes up further.

Chapter 4 (Tsukito)

Winter is here and since they've done an activity for each of the other seasons, they decide to go stargazing. Thoth drops by to tell them presentation is next week. While Takeru runs off to find Hades, Yui recalls that Tsukito's birthday is coming and she wants to celebrate. Since it's close to Valentine's Day, she says she'll celebrate both together and give him chocolates. She slips a note into his shoe locker telling him to meet her in the classroom, apologizes for the choco not being store bought, then Tsukito asks if he can request for something else if he thinks her gift isn't enough, that something being her lips. Yui's all ???!! and pushes him away. Turns out they were acting out some novel lol.

Well Tsukito decides to ask Yui out properly and says he wants to give her a present. White Day is supposed to be next month but they don't have that much time so he wants to express his feelings now. Tsukito then transforms and uses his powers to bring Yui into the night sky and asks her if she has any more requests he can grant. Yui tells him she wants to be with him forever, and Tsukito replies that he feels the same. Back in the classroom, Tsukito says he's made up his mind and will be going to Yui's world.

End (Tsukito)

After everyone has made their presentations, Thoth tells them it's time to graduate and to prepare for the ceremony tomorrow. Akira shows up while the trio are hanging out on the roof coz he wants to see his cute brothers. He then thanks Yui for playing a big role in helping them grow. Tsukito agrees, and takes the chance to announce that she's his girlfriend lol. Takeru's like all "Eh does that mean Yui's gonna be my olders sis? o_o" so Tsukito tells him yes, because she's the girl who's going to be his wife. XD He then drags Yui off for a date.

They go to where the sakura trees are and Tsukito tells he loves her(and other lovey dovey stuff) and kisses her. He tells Yui he wants to live together with her from now on, and if she accepts, he wants to receive a kiss from her this time. She does of course. When it's time to graduate, Tsukito tells Yui to go ahead first, because he still has his duties to fulfill, but to trust him and wait.

Epilogue (Tsukito)

Yui is back in her world, and thinking back to the time they were in the night sky together, wondering why Tsukito isn't here yet. Tsukito shows up of course, says his duty now is to make her happy, and he's never leaving her again.

Chapter 3 (Takeru)

Yui recalls the practice of sending the tanabata wishes down the river and decides to ask Thoth for permission. She bumps into Takeru outside her room, who gets a little cross when he learns Yui was planning to go clean up the Tanabata stuff by herself. Yui assures him she'll request for their help when she needs to. She wonders what wish Takeru made and hopes that everyone's wishes come true. Thoth tells Yui to go ahead with the river thing since it has auto-clean anw. Yui then explains the significance of the activity to the brothers, about how it holds the meaning of sending the wishes to the gods. Takeru has complicated feelings about it all being sent to his place since he's god of the sea lol. Tsukito pulled an all-nighter to write his novel soTakeru tells him to go and rest since he and Yui can handle it.

Yui and Takeru lug everything down to the river and along the way Takeru randomly looks at one of the wishes. It's about eating delicious meat, no points for guessing whose it is lol. At the river, Takeru just dumps everything in before noticing one of them had dropped at the riverbank. Both Takeru and Yui go to pick it up and end up falling into the river. They accidentally kiss and Takeru turns red as a tomato. 

They return to the school soaking wet and bump into Thoth, who has them both write a composition as punishment, although the topics he gives have nth to do with reflecting on their actions. Takeru ends up writing a waka(Japanese poetry) instead. He refuses to let Yui read it though so she tries to get it and ends up sort of accidentally hugging him. Yui apologizes and Takeru is about to say something but is disrupted by Apollon and Hades. The Greek gods realized they are getting in the way so excuse themselves lol. After submitting the compositions to Thoth, Takeru finally tells Yui what he wanted to say and asks her out. Apparently he wants to take responsibility for the kiss at the river lmao.

Chapter 4 (Takeru)

Zeus changes the season to spring and the gods continue working on their assignments. At the roof, Takeru leans in for a kiss but Yui pulls back because they aren't really dating, it's just takeru taking responsibility. At night, Takeru brings Yui to the seaside. Yui almost falls over again but Takeru catches her. Takeru then asks her what if he were to bring her underwater. Yui agrees since she has nothing to fear next to the god of the sea. Thanks to his powers she's able to breathe underwater. Takeru tells her he wanted to show her this view before they went their separate ways.

Back on shore, Takeru tells her they don't have to pretend to date anymore since he doesn't want to hold her back and Tsukito's the one she likes anyway. Yui asks Takeru why he brought her to the sea in that case, to which Takeru replies it's because she's the one he likes. Now that he's made his feelings clear, Yui tells him that the one she likes is him. With the misunderstanding cleared, Takeru tells Yui he'll make her happy.

End (Takeru)

They can now spend their remaining days in the hakoniwa as a proper couple. Yui wants to celebrate Takeru's birthday and when Apollon overhears this, he  enthusiastically agrees and runs off to prep for the human style birthday party despite Takeru's protests. Apollon and Hades return along with Akira and Apollon starts setting up the cake. There's only one candle since Apollon says that's Takeru's age as a human lol. Dionysus tells Takeru how the practice of blowing out the candle and making a wish has the meaning of sending the wish to the Greek goddess of the Moon, but not like it matters since Takeru already has a cute goddess hurhur *glances at Yui*

Everyone's presentation goes well and Thoth announces they are all able to graduate and the ceremony will be tomorrow. They have the rest of the day off so Yui and Takeru go to the seaside again. Takeru comments on how the sea here is created by Zeus and even though it's well made, doesn't compare with the real thing. He would have liked to see it together with her. They kiss, and Takeru tells her he wants to go where she is.

Epilogue (Takeru)

They have Zeus send them both back to Japan together and before they leave, Akira tells Yui to look after his little brother. So Takeru and Yui live together in her world, practicing kendo together and making plans for dates. Takeru promises Yui he's going to devote everything he has to making her happy.

Japanese gods done finally, one more to go. It’s nice to see the brothers getting along better with Akira in this game.

[goodlucktai]

Are you taking any prompts? If so, what about a situation where touko finds out about Natsume seeing youkai, and convinces him that everything is alright? I need that kind if sweetness right now haha although I'll probably be crying by the end XD If you're not taking prompts or if you don't want to do this, it's perfectly fine :> Thanks for your time :)

i had several prompts like this one ! i sort of let it get away from me, i hope its okay :’) 

x

The next time Touko sees Sana-chan, she’s armed to the teeth with photos.

Shigeru got that old camera of his working after all, and the album Touko passes across the table to Sana-chan is full of candids - Takashi on the porch playing with Nyankichi, Takashi’s friends sprawled across his bedroom floor the morning after a big sleepover, Takashi laughing with Shigeru over a sink of sudsy dinner dishes.

Sana-chan flips through the pictures with all the enthusiasm Touko could have hoped for, a smile filling her round face as she gushes “what a handsome boy!” and “your house must be so lively these days!” and “I can’t wait to meet him!”

And Touko is warmed all the way home, resolving to ask Shigeru and Takashi what they would think of having Sana-chan and her family over for dinner in the near future.

As if summoned by the thought, Takashi’s voice drifts through the autumn air towards her from the riverbank. Curiously, Touko steps off the road into the grass to follow it to the source - Takashi did say a friend was visiting from the mountain, but surely he knows his friend would be welcome at the house - and steps to the edge of the sloping embankment, peering down.

She spots him right away, smiling a little at the way he sticks out against the dull color of the river, with his fair hair and pastel pink jacket. Takashi is sitting with two of his friends, the three of them grouped around the edge of a strange circle drawn in the damp clay, and they’re pink with laughter and bright-eyed in the warm afternoon, and talking to -

a little green person. With a beak, and tortoise-like carapace, and webbed hands, and a wet plate atop its head amidst a mop of tangled, seaweed-green curls. It hands Takashi a flapping fish and says, “I caught this for you, boss!”

“Thank you,” Takashi says dryly, and tosses the fish back into the water without ado.

Oh, Touko thinks, hands flying to her mouth in surprise. And the first thing she thinks of, impossibly, is the crow.

“I’ve never seen a white one before,” Takashi said that day, guileless and unguarded as he smiled into the sky at a creature Touko couldn’t seem to find. “It’s beautiful.”

“I can’t believe it!” Tooru says brightly, jolting Touko out of her shock. The girl is clapping her hands together in delight, moving to her knees and bowing politely in greeting. “I’ve always wanted to meet a kappa!”

The creature hurries to follow suit, bowing low to Tooru in return. Touko watches, eyes wide, as Takashi says, “No don’t - ” and the water spills from the plate on the kappa’s head into the earthy clay underfoot.

The creature flails, making a piteous noise, and then it seems to be trapped in place, small torso curved over the ground, quivering. Takashi gets up with a long-suffering sigh.

“Some of the myth is true, but not all of it,” he explains, as though he’s explaining particularly complicated schoolwork. He cups his hands in the river, and carries cool water back with him. His friends watch avidly as Takashi wets the kappa’s headplate again, and delight when the little thing springs back up to its feet.

“He won’t attack you,” Takashi goes on calmly, “he’s a little sillier than his cousins. His arms aren’t particularly weak, either, but he’s not very good at wrestling, and as far as I can tell he doesn’t care much for cucumbers. And he tends to stray too far from his river. If you ever see me dumping water out on the ground for no apparent reason - ”

“We have,” Kaname says with a smile he doesn’t bother trying to hide. “We just didn’t ask.”

Takashi blinks, and something soft and uncertain graces the delicate features of his face. He rubs a hand through his hair and says, “You can ask. From now on, I mean.”

The spirit between them steps out of the circle toward the water’s edge and disappears from view with a mighty splash - Touko’s hands are still hovering over her mouth, and she manages to muffle the startled noise that threatens to give her away.

Takashi flicks water out of his eyes with a scowl, and his friends laugh - and oh, but they’re not surprised in the least by all this, and Tooru even has something of a little picnic set up at her side. Touko can hear her murmuring “I feel so silly for bringing all this squash, now. I read so much about kappa last night, I was sure he’d like it.”

And Touko can’t help but think of Takashi as the boy she first met, not so long ago - all alone in the middle of a cold night. How thin and pale and colorless he was then, lifting glass eyes to meet hers and looking straight through her at something else.

He is always looking straight through at something else. Whether it’s crows, or kappa, or something less lovely, something less harmless, Takashi has probably been able to see them since he was very, very young. And while it doesn’t excuse the people who mistreated him, doesn’t forgive them in the slightest, Touko can suddenly understand, just a little bit, why her sweet, gentle, giving boy had such a hard time growing up - was never quite wanted, never quite normal.

And her heart aches, watching how easily Takashi can talk about the river spirit (one that is clambering back into the muddy circle with an armful of fish) and how hard it is for Takashi to switch gears and talk to his friends about trusting them.

It is always so hard for him. Touko is making her way down the grassy slope even before the kappa points towards her and says, “Boss? Who’s that?”

And while Tooru and Kaname spring to their feet as if electrified - both of them moving, to hide the kappa from view and scuff out the strange circle respectively - Takashi looks frozen in place. His hands are limp where they were resting on his folded knees, face so pale he might have been sculpted out of snow.

He looks like someone watching their world end.

Well. Touko may be very new at this - may not have the experience Atsushi’s mother has at righting wrongs and mending impossible hurts - and she’s certain they don’t make parenting books for a child’s dealings with yokai - but now isn’t the time to worry.

Now is the time to kneel next to her son, tucking her skirt in neatly, neverminding all the mud - to ignore the way his frightened expression digs sharp fingers into her heart, and reach out to him with a gentle hand.

Takashi flinches, and it hurts her, but it’s a selfish hurt and one she buries quickly. The short time he’s been with her won’t be enough to unlearn the lessons he’s been taught up until now, and she can’t afford to forget that. She doesn’t let herself falter, and only continues until her fingers are cradling the soft curve of his cheek, and Touko waits patiently for Takashi to find the courage to look at her.

Kaname and Tooru are holding their breath. After one long minute passes into two, Takashi lifts his eyes.

He’s transparent to her now, the way he didn’t used to be. Guileless and unguarded, the way he was when he saw something beautiful in their backyard. And if this secret world of his can give him beautiful things as much as it takes away from him, then Touko can find it in herself to make peace with it.

Touko looks over, and finds the kappa peering over Kaname’s shoulder - its webbed hands pressed into the back of his shoulder, leaning up on the tips of its feet to peer at Touko. The creature’s eyes are wide and curious, very much like the eyes of the children kappa are said to eat. Touko can’t find it in herself to fear the little thing, and looks back at Takashi with that knowledge clear in her smile.

“And I thought you told me you’ve introduced me to all of your friends,” she scolds lightly, teasing him. “After Kei and Katsumi, I was sure I had met everyone. You really are such a popular boy.”

Kaname and Tooru let out shaky breaths, and beam at one another, and then at Touko. Takashi looks as though he’s forgotten how to speak, and so Touko leans back and takes her hand away.

“Actually, I have a question!” When she tilts her head towards the kappa, it points at itself, as if to make sure it’s the one she’s addressing. It makes Touko smile. “Yes, you. You know, I used to hate ginger when I was a child, but my father could always convince me to eat it by telling me it would ward kappa away. Is that true?”

The kappa considers that seriously for a moment, then says, “It’s true. I hate ginger.”

“I wonder if you’re the best kappa to ask,” Kaname puts in dryly, “since we found out you’re not good at wrestling, don’t so much as pretend to keep to your river, and have never tried to drown a single human.”

The kappa squawks, as if in offense. With its handfuls of wriggling fish, the sight is both cute and comical. Touko feels herself warming to the odd creature, with its human mannerisms and the way it seems more comfortable with this group of mortal youngsters than its own kind.

Tooru draws its attention to her picnic basket, and Kaname follows them to it - both children well-versed in the art of subtlety, giving Touko room to sit quietly with Takashi in an unobtrusive, and undemanding silence.

“There are more like it, aren’t there?” Touko says after a moment. “More spirits like this one?”

Takashi’s head jerks in a nod. Touko hums.

“And they’re not all kind to you, are they?”

“Not - ” He swallows, and tries again. “Not all of them. They’re the same way people are. Different personalities and experiences. It’s not - I can’t lump them together. They’re not kind or unkind, they’re just alive, in a different way than we are.” His eyes dart to Touko, but only for a second, and then he’s back to staring at his hands. “I know it’s - I know it’s strange. I know it’s a lot. I’m sorry.”

“Oh, Takashi,” Touko says, aching for him. “All those times you came home with dirty clothes, how easily you seem to get hurt. This is your home now, and I want it to be safe for you. Is there anything I can do? Should we get talismans for the house? Oh, but then your friendly spirits couldn’t see you, could they?” She presses a hand to the side of her face, truly feeling out of her depth. “Oh, I should ask Shigeru-san. He’ll know what to do about all of this, he’s much more level-headed than I am. Don’t worry though, Takashi,” Touko adds, trying to sound sure of herself. “Whatever you need, you’ll have it.”

Takashi finally gives up the careful study of his hands, and stares at her fully. His eyes are moonlike beneath his long, untidy fringe as he whispers, “Are you even real?”

And Touko wraps up the pain in her chest and ties a fierce knot around it, to unpack and shed tears over later, when she can afford to grieve for all the things Takashi can’t seem to bring himself to trust.

For now, she gives her son a smile.

“You believe in such impossible things,” she tells him, full of fondness and faint anger and sorrow and love. “Surely you can believe in this, too.”

Takashi ducks his head, and when he moves he’s moving closer instead of farther away; leaning into her side with all the weight of a warm, shuddering shadow. If he’s crying, he’s utterly silent about it. Touko rests her cheek in the softness of his hair and watches the odd and peaceful picture Tooru and Kaname and the yokai make, digging through a picnic basket and sharing treats with one another from within the far side of the circle.

“You know, the timing of this is uncanny,” Touko says playfully, aiming to lighten the mood just a little. “I was going to ask you if you wanted to meet a friend of mine from middle school. I showed her my photo album today during our lunch date, and she wants to get to know you! Her name is Sana-chan, and she has a boy about your age. Unfortunately, it probably won’t be quite as exciting as meeting a kappa, but I think it will be still be plenty of fun.”

“Of course, if it’s no trouble, I’d like to meet her, too,” Takashi says immediately, as eager to please as always. And then, after a moment’s pause, he goes on, “Wait. You showed her the photo album? Touko-san, most of those pictures are of me. You didn’t let her see the one of Nishimura kissing me, did you? Touko-san?”

Touko presses a hand to her mouth to hide her smile and admits, “That one was Sana-chan’s favorite.”

Takashi lifts his head to gape at her, every inch an aggrieved, embarrassed teenager where a wounded, world-weary creature was hunkered moments ago. “Touko-san! It’s bad enough that Kitamoto sent it to everyone we know - ”

“What’s a photo album?” the kappa asks, its hands full of crumbling croquettes it seems to have traded its fish for. Tooru looks up with a wicked gleam in her eyes, and Kaname seems to be the only one willing to commiserate with poor Takashi, shooting him a sympathetic look as Takashi watches in horror Touko haul the album out of her bag cheerfully.

“You’re carrying it around with you?”

“Come over here and see, Kappa-san,” Touko says, and even moves forward to the edge of the circle so the little green creature can sit beside her and lean in to stare at the glossy pages that lay open in her lap. “Isn’t my Takashi handsome? Look at how photogenic he is.”

“Ooh,” Tooru says eagerly, peering from Touko’s other side, “are some of these new?”

“What’s photogenic?” the kappa asks, and Takashi buries his face in Kaname’s shoulder.

But he seems to give into laughter after a moment, his shoulders shaking. It's a soft sound that grows louder, until Takashi is tipping his head back and falling into it, and Touko wishes she had the camera with her.

[brentrogers]

How to Make Peace With Your Mind: 7 Tips From an Ex-Monk

“Leave your front door and your back door open. Let thoughts come and go. Just don’t serve them tea.” ~Shunryu Suzuki

There are few things more exasperating in life than having a noisy chatterbox in residence between your ears—a busy mind that never stops and won’t leave you in peace for a moment.

You are sitting by the pool on your long-awaited vacation. The weather is perfect. Your diary is clear. You settle down on your deckchair with an ice-cold drink and your favorite book. Everything is perfect — well, almost everything.

The message “on vacation” clearly hasn’t got through to the mind department.

“Man, that drink was expensive. Better suck your belly in, there’s someone coming. You are as white as a sheet. What on earth will people think? Okay, that’s it. I’m starting a diet on Monday. Oops, I forgot I’m on holiday. Okay, I’ll start when I get home.”

Just writing about it is exhausting enough, let alone living it. Being subjected to a relentless torrent of mindless chatter and having no idea how to stop it can be exasperating to say the least.

I know. It was the intense suffering inside my own head that led me to sign up for a six-month meditation retreat and later become ordained as a monk.

Happily, I quickly discovered that quieting a noisy mind isn’t nearly as difficult as I’d imagined.

Hint: You don’t even have to change or fix your thoughts.

These days, although I still have my crazy moments when the mind shoots off on a mad rant, my general experience is so much quieter and more peaceful than it used to be.

I’d love to share some (possibly surprising) truths that will hopefully help you achieve the same.

Here are seven tips you can start applying right away.

1. Accept that your mind is busy.

Did you know that the average mind churns out around 70,000 thoughts per day? That’s a lot of thoughts.

No wonder it feels so busy in there!

Even people who are relatively laid back have a lot of traffic going on between their ears.

So don’t be surprised that your mind is busy. Don’t create an additional layer of suffering by thinking there’s something wrong with you for having a ton of thoughts. There isn’t.

Expecting your mind not to be busy is like expecting the grass not to be green.

Let it be busy.

2. Engaging with the mind is optional.

If I were to choose one thing I learned about the mind in my time as a monk—the one thing that had the greatest impact on my peace, it would be this:

Engaging with the mind is optional.

It is not so much the thoughts themselves that cause us to suffer but our fascination and preoccupation with them.

We spend our days chewing on them, wallowing in them, stewing in them, and generally giving them an inordinate amount of our time and attention.

And we don’t need to.

Want to know the secret to ongoing peace?

The less you get involved in what the mind gets up to, the more peace you will experience.

Sit back and let the mind do its dance. Your involvement is not mandatory.

Which brings us to the next point.

3. Watch your thoughts from a distance.

In order to disentangle ourselves from our thoughts, we need to create some distance, some breathing space, between ourselves and the mind.

Most of the thinking patterns that rob us of our peace run unconsciously on autopilot. The same old patterns play over and over, day in, day out—like broken records. And it is so habitual, we don’t even notice we are doing it.

The key is to bring more awareness to these unconscious patterns.

The first step when you learn to meditate is to take a step back and watch the mind objectively—with an attitude of curiosity and non-judgmental acceptance.

You may also find that the simple act of watching thoughts, rather than being wrapped up in them, will stop thinking it in its tracks—or at least slow it down.

4. Give your thoughts the freedom to come and go.

If you want to tame an angry bull, the worst thing you can do is to tie him up or try to confine him in any way. This will only make him angrier and more difficult to control.

The best way to calm him down is to give him a huge open field to run around in. Meeting with no resistance, he will quickly run out of steam.

And it’s the same with the mind.

Thoughts themselves don’t cause trouble. Left alone, they appear in your awareness, remain for a moment, and move on again.

No problem.

It is when we try to control or manage them—through labelling them as bad, wrong, or unacceptable—that we get into trouble and create suffering for ourselves.

Let them wander freely through the vast, open field of your awareness and they will quickly run out of steam. Don’t energize them with your resistance.

If thoughts are there anyway, it is much better to befriend them rather than struggle against them.

What happens to a sad thought or an angry thought if you welcome it rather than reject it?

What happens if you don’t mind it being there?

5. Don’t take your thoughts personally.

Seeing that ‘my’ thoughts are not personal was another game-changing insight for me.

For most people, what typically happens is this:

You feel jealous. You feel afraid. You feel angry. And you then beat yourself up, believing you are personally responsible for the thoughts (feelings and emotions too) that show up in your head—believing there’s something wrong with you for having these thoughts.

There isn’t. You are not the author of your thoughts.

If you watch the mind closely, you’ll notice that thoughts appear by themselves, apparently out of nowhere.

In mindfulness training, we use the analogy of “the undercurrent and the observer” to illustrate our relationship with the mind.

The key understanding is that the undercurrent—the continuous stream of thoughts, feelings and emotions that pass through your awareness—is self-arising.

It is not within your control and therefore impersonal.

What most people do is thrash about midstream, like a crazed thought traffic policeman, frantically trying to control the flow—welcoming this thought, rejecting that one.

Trying to control the river is futile and exhausting.

Better to be the observer, sitting calmly on the riverbank watching the river flow by—knowing it’s not personal.

The less involved you are in trying to control the flow, the more peace you’ll experience.

6. Know the difference between thoughts arising and thinking.

Although there’s nothing you can do about the thoughts that show up in your head, thinking is another matter.

Let’s say the thought appears, “My boss doesn’t like me.”

It then triggers a dialogue in your head, “He’s definitely going to overlook me for the upcoming promotion. It is so unfair. I’ve been working here much longer than Jane. But he seems to like her a lot. Things never go my way. I’m just unlucky in life.”

This type of unproductive thinking is the primary cause of suffering for most people—and it is entirely within our control whether we choose to indulge in it or not.

Replaying the past over and over, catastrophising about the future, wallowing in unfounded beliefs and assumptions—these are some of the patterns that can create so much unnecessary misery.

And it’s entirely avoidable.

When you notice you’re caught up in an unproductive mind-movie, STOP.

There is nothing that can compel you to continue if you choose not to.

You’re the one in charge.

Focus instead on being present in the moment. Put your attention on your breath, on the sensations in the soles of your feet, on the sound of the wind rustling through the trees.

Unproductive thinking is mostly a habit. And like most habits, with a little awareness, it can be broken.

7. Live more in the present moment.

One of the main insights in meditation practice is that your awareness can only be in one place at a time.

If you are lost in your thinking mind, you can’t simultaneously be aware of your surroundings. Likewise, when you shift your attention to the present moment, thinking stops.

When you are present here and now, the mind automatically becomes quiet.

Whenever you are aware enough to catch yourself falling into habitual thinking patterns, stop and engage your senses.

Tune into the sensation of the air caressing your skin, feel the weight of your body coming into contact with the chair, listen to the sounds around you.

Be intensely aware that now is happening and notice what happens to your thinking mind

Take Back Control From Your Busy Mind

The mind isn’t a bad thing of course. It would be pretty hard to get through life without one.

It can come in very useful for problem solving, writing articles, booking flights, or remembering which house is yours when you get home from work.

Used productively to carry out specific tasks, the human mind is an incredible tool.

But it can also be deeply destructive—like an out of control Frankenstein monster with a life of its own.

The mind can be a beautiful servant or a dangerous master.

It all depends on who’s in charge.

The next time you’re sitting on your deck chair trying to relax and the mind kicks off with its crazy dance (as it will do) remind it who’s boss.

Don’t give it the power to ruin your holiday.

This post courtesy of Tiny Buddha.

How to Make Peace With Your Mind: 7 Tips From an Ex-Monk syndicated from

[reikisessions]

How To Make Peace With Your Noisy Mind—7 Tips From An Ex-Monk

“Leave your front door and your back door open. Let thoughts come and go. Just don’t serve them tea.” ~Shunryu Suzuki

There are few things more exasperating in life than having a noisy chatterbox in residence between your ears—a busy mind that never stops and won’t leave you in peace for a moment.

You are sitting by the pool on your long-awaited vacation.

The weather is perfect. Your diary is clear. You settle down on your deckchair with an ice-cold drink and your favorite book.

Everything is perfect—well, almost everything.

The message “on vacation” clearly hasn’t got through to the mind department.

“Man, that drink was expensive. Better suck your belly in, there’s someone coming. You are as white as a sheet. What on earth will people think? Okay, that’s it. I’m starting a diet on Monday. Oops, I forgot I’m on holiday. Okay, I’ll start when I get home.”

Just writing about it is exhausting enough, let alone living it.

Being subjected to a relentless torrent of mindless chatter and having no idea how to stop it can be exasperating to say the least.

I know. It was the intense suffering inside my own head that led me to sign up for a six-month meditation retreat and later become ordained as a monk.

Happily, I quickly discovered that quieting a noisy mind isn’t nearly as difficult as I’d imagined.

Hint: You don’t even have to change or fix your thoughts.

These days, although I still have my crazy moments when the mind shoots off on a mad rant, my general experience is so much quieter and more peaceful than it used to be.

I’d love to share some (possibly surprising) truths that will hopefully help you achieve the same.

Here are seven tips you can start applying right away.

1. Accept that your mind is busy.

Did you know that the average mind churns out around 70,000 thoughts per day? That’s a lot of thoughts.

No wonder it feels so busy in there!

Even people who are relatively laid back have a lot of traffic going on between their ears.

So don’t be surprised that your mind is busy. Don’t create an additional layer of suffering by thinking there’s something wrong with you for having a ton of thoughts. There isn’t.

Expecting your mind not to be busy is like expecting the grass not to be green.

Let it is busy.

2. Engaging with the mind is optional.

If I were to choose one thing I learned about the mind in my time as a monk—the one thing that had the greatest impact on my peace, it would be this:

Engaging with the mind is optional.

It is not so much the thoughts themselves that cause us to suffer but our fascination and preoccupation with them.

We spend our days chewing on them, wallowing in them, stewing in them, and generally giving them an inordinate amount of our time and attention.

And we don’t need to.

Want to know the secret to ongoing peace?

The less you get involved in what the mind gets up to, the more peace you will experience.

Sit back and let the mind do its dance. Your involvement is not mandatory.

Which brings us to the next point.

3. Watch your thoughts from a distance.

In order to disentangle ourselves from our thoughts, we need to create some distance, some breathing space, between ourselves and the mind.

Most of the thinking patterns that rob us of our peace run unconsciously on autopilot. The same old patterns play over and over, day in, day out—like broken records. And it is so habitual, we don’t even notice we are doing it.

The key is to bring more awareness to these unconscious patterns.

The first step when you learn to meditate is to take a step back and watch the mind objectively—with an attitude of curiosity and non-judgmental acceptance.

You may also find that the simple act of watching thoughts, rather than being wrapped up in them, will stop thinking it in its tracks—or at least slow it down.

4. Give your thoughts the freedom to come and go.

If you want to tame an angry bull, the worst thing you can do is to tie him up or try to confine him in any way. This will only make him angrier and more difficult to control.

The best way to calm him down is to give him a huge open field to run around in. Meeting with no resistance, he will quickly run out of steam.

And it’s the same with the mind.

Thoughts themselves don’t cause trouble. Left alone, they appear in your awareness, remain for a moment, and move on again.

No problem.

It is when we try to control or manage them—through labelling them as bad, wrong, or unacceptable—that we get into trouble and create suffering for ourselves.

Let them wander freely through the vast, open field of your awareness and they will quickly run out of steam. Don’t energize them with your resistance.

If thoughts are there anyway, it is much better to befriend them rather than struggle against them.

What happens to a sad thought or an angry thought if you welcome it rather than reject it?

What happens if you don’t mind it being there?

5. Don’t take your thoughts personally.

Seeing that ‘my’ thoughts are not personal was another game-changing insight for me.

For most people, what typically happens is this:

You feel jealous. You feel afraid. You feel angry. And you then beat yourself up, believing you are personally responsible for the thoughts (feelings and emotions too) that show up in your head—believing there’s something wrong with you for having these thoughts.

There isn’t. You are not the author of your thoughts.

If you watch the mind closely, you’ll notice that thoughts appear by themselves, apparently out of nowhere.

In mindfulness training, we use the analogy of “the undercurrent and the observer” to illustrate our relationship with the mind.

The key understanding is that the undercurrent—the continuous stream of thoughts, feelings and emotions that pass through your awareness—is self-arising.

It is not within your control and therefore impersonal.

What most people do is thrash about midstream, like a crazed thought traffic policeman, frantically trying to control the flow—welcoming this thought, rejecting that one.

Trying to control the river is futile and exhausting.

Better to be the observer, sitting calmly on the riverbank watching the river flow by—knowing it’s not personal.

The less involved you are in trying to control the flow, the more peace you’ll experience.

6. Know the difference between thoughts arising and thinking.

Although there’s nothing you can do about the thoughts that show up in your head, thinking is another matter.

Let’s say the thought appears, “My boss doesn’t like me.”

It then triggers a dialogue in your head, “He’s definitely going to overlook me for the upcoming promotion. It is so unfair. I’ve been working here much longer than Jane. But he seems to like her a lot. Things never go my way. I’m just unlucky in life.”

This type of unproductive thinking is the primary cause of suffering for most people—and it is entirely within our control whether we choose to indulge in it or not.

Replaying the past over and over, catastrophising about the future, wallowing in unfounded beliefs and assumptions—these are some of the patterns that can create so much unnecessary misery.

And it’s entirely avoidable.

When you notice you’re caught up in an unproductive mind-movie, STOP.

There is nothing that can compel you to continue if you choose not to.

You’re the one in charge.

Focus instead on being present in the moment. Put your attention on your breath, on the sensations in the soles of your feet, on the sound of the wind rustling through the trees.

Unproductive thinking is mostly a habit. And like most habits, with a little awareness, it can be broken.

7. Live more in the present moment.

One of the main insights in meditation practice is that your awareness can only be in one place at a time.

If you are lost in your thinking mind, you can’t simultaneously be aware of your surroundings. Likewise, when you shift your attention to the present moment, thinking stops.

When you are present here and now, the mind automatically becomes quiet.

Whenever you are aware enough to catch yourself falling into habitual thinking patterns, stop and engage your senses.

Tune into the sensation of the air caressing your skin, feel the weight of your body coming into contact with the chair, listen to the sounds around you.

Be intensely aware that now is happening and notice what happens to your thinking mind

Take Back Control From Your Busy Mind

The mind isn’t a bad thing of course. It would be pretty hard to get through life without one.

It can come in very useful for problem solving, writing articles, booking flights, or remembering which house is yours when you get home from work.

Used productively to carry out specific tasks, the human mind is an incredible tool.

But it can also be deeply destructive—like an out of control Frankenstein monster with a life of its own.

The mind can be a beautiful servant or a dangerous master.

It all depends on who’s in charge.

The next time you’re sitting on your deck chair trying to relax and the mind kicks off with its crazy dance (as it will do) remind it who’s boss.

Remember that

Don’t give it the power to ruin your holiday.

About

Richard Paterson

Richard is an-ex-monk who blogs at Think Less And Grow Rich, a site dedicated to helping people break free from the clutches of an overactive mind to experience more joy, peace, and fulfillment in life. He has been teaching meditation for over twenty years and is the author of two books, Kick The Thinking Habit and Awaken The Happy You.

[uprootedandroaming]

August 16-17: Yellowstoning in Two Parts

I

We've been in Yellowstone for the better part of 16 hours, but for as much as we've done today it feels like we've been here at least a week. Against the odds, we were able to distill at least two days worth of sight-seeing into less than 24 hours -- no small task for the biggest National Park in the nation, one that spans over 2-million acres.

Make no mistake about it: Yellowstone is enormous. So expansive, in fact, that it has road signs for other landmarks in the park, and those landmarks are sometimes upwards of 45 miles away. Yellowstone is its own entity, a silent, sprawling green-and-blue-and-brown giant singular in its rustic timelessness. Teddy Roosevelt was talking about Yellowstone (along with several other national parks) when he said "our people should see to it that they are preserved for their children and their children’s children, with their majestic beauty all unmarred.” His quotation rings through the generations: The park is a wild oasis mostly untouched by the meddling (and often pulverizing) hands of humankind.

Take our first day here, for instance. Within the first 12 hours, three bison came within two feet of our car, a grizzly bear loomed some 200 yards in front of us in a grassy valley near Dunraven Pass, a herd of at least 14 mountains goats crossed our path on the way down from Mount Washburn, and four elk grazed a mere stone's throw away in a field along the Yellowstone River. I don't know if this is a typical First Day in Yellowstone, but given the impressive prevalence of wildlife around seemingly every turn, I have a strong feeling it ain't out of the ordinary.

We saw a baby mountain goat suckling milk from its mother's utter, twenty feet in front of us, on Dunraven Pass.  At least 12 other dunky-eyed goats meandered around the same area, chewing grass and kicking up dirt on occasion. Caitlin and I walked warily past, knowing how aggressively protective mothers can be over their kin. The mother, as it turned out, gave us no lip, but a grizzled old wisegoat, seemingly the Respected Elder of the pack, huffed at me when I knelt down to take a picture of him gnawing on some greenery. The message was clear: move along, buddy, or get the horn.

A little further down the trail, within half a mile of the parking lot, we found a group of fellow hikers peering out over a grassy valley. What was it? A grizzly. He was 200 yards away at least, but with a pair of binoculars given to Caitlin from her Papa, we could see him rustling the vegetation and walking lazily over the landscape. Papa used those binoculars in the seventies, apparently. As much of an adrenaline rush it would be to see a rugged Grizzly up close and personal, I'm not sure I’d  to be in a situation where I could clearly see a 600-pound behemoth without the aid of 40-year-old binoculars.

The bison, I found, were surprisingly calm. It was also interesting to find them traveling alone. I always figured they traveled in packs, but what the hell do I know, anyway? One three occasions, traffic came to a standstill so a bison could lumber along the side of the road, looking like some lonesome hitchhiker with an alcohol problem, face hair shaggy and dirty and matted like Marley's dreadlocks. Warranted or not, these burly, beaten creatures elicit a guttural sense of sadness and despair. They're noble creatures, sure, but there's something undoubtedly weary and downtrodden about them. Perhaps their nobility is derived from that lonesome weariness.

I wish I could write more, but it's already 11:30, and I must be up a 5:30 tomorrow to enjoy the final day in Yellowstone. We did so much today that it seems like a fever dream. Here's a bite-size recap of our First Day:

- We listened to a family of Canadians (or Minnesotians? or North Dakotians?) crack jokes at Old Faithful about "a bunch of dumb people sitting around watching water come out of the ground" -- in a typically hilarious accident.

- We smelt the sulfur and felt the fine refreshing steam of the Grand Prismatic Spring, a hot bubbling cauldron 500-feet across colored in brilliant oranges and greens from microorganisms -- extremophiles, as they're called, organisms that live in temperatures once believed to be too hot to harbor life .

- We hiked a 6.2 mile loop, chock full of sweeping views of the Grand Canyon of Yellowstone and the Grand Teton, to a fire watch tower at the peak of Mt. Washburn -- 10,000 feet above sea level.

- We ended the day at Hayden Valley, relaxing atop a hill and gazing out across a rolling field that resembled something out of Super Mario World.

I don't know what awaits us tomorrow, but if involves more bison I'll have no reason to be disappointed.

II

We'd been lying lazily on a hill overlooking the Hayden Valley for at least two hours when the coyote first showed its face. It was white and gray, and from our vantage point, seated on this grassy hill with fellow tourists speaking German and Indian and various other languages, he was little more than a white dot bouncing through the grass and along the river front.

Thankfully Caitlin had purchased a pair of nice binoculars from a outfitting store in a village earlier in the day. So now, when viewed through the two lenses of this nifty contraption, the coyote looked like a significantly bigger patch of white -- we could at least make out his face, his body, his actions. He dug, perhaps for worms. He lifted his leg to pee twice and flung dirt on the urine with his front paws -- not out of shame, but as a matter of simple instinct.

He peered across the river at a deteriorating corpse on the opposite shore. Word rippled through the crowd earlier that evening about a trio of grizzlies who had descended upon the cadaver at dawn and tore at its meat and flesh. Through the binoculars, it now looked like nothing more than a bundle of jagged bones -- perhaps some skin, here and there. Not much of a meal left for anyone.

The Hayden Valley near sunset is surely one of the most still and serene places in Yellowstone. The valley, with its palette of browns and greens, pours itself in front of you, as far as the eye can see, in both directions. A river -- Yellowstone River -- flows lazily around an elbow and continues northward. In the far distance, maybe half-a-mile away, a dense forest of aspens veils unknown creatures. The whole scene is an arena, a stage, a stadium; the hill we lounge on is the grandstand, the tourists the fans. The wildlife, then, are the warriors, the actors, players. Are they conscious of our gaze? Do they know they're entertainment? If so, do they even care?

High-powered cameras and binoculars, some on tripods, direct their gaze toward the stage. With no tripod as a crutch, I raise the high-quality, fairly-priced novice binoculars to my eyes and

reacquaint myself with our friend, the prancing coyote. What has developed in his story?

A pair of whooping cranes appears in front of him, near the shoreline. The duo sees him. He's clearly interested, but he's been spotted; he is without clothes. Thus begins a slow-but-tense dance between our friend and the two cranes: the coyote creeps back and forth in front of them, perhaps attempting to hypnotize them with his sleepy motions. At intervals he moves a little closer. He's about 10-feet away from a potential dinner when the cranes whoop and spread wing, drifting to a safer distance, but still close enough to entice the coyote.

This memorizing waltz  repeats for 20 minutes or so, ending when the coyote realizes the futility of his efforts. He doesn't have a prayer without the element of surprise. Thus he goes back to the soggy dirt near the river and digs for (perhaps) more worms. These slippery, flaccid cylinders  may not as be as tender as sweet crane filet, but I suppose slippery cyclinders are better than an empty, rumbling tummy during a long, cold night. Eventually he trots northward down the riverbank and we lose sight of him.

Nature does not move swiftly. It takes patience. People grow anxious; we want things now. Sex and explosions. Touchdowns, text messages, frozen dinners, news, emails, SLAM DUNKS, stock reports; now, now, now, now, NOW! I'm on my back, using my backpack as a head rest. I cross my legs. Uncross them. I read a few lines out Pilgrim at Tinker Creek. Close the book, close my eyes. Open them. I grow restless. Nature, though, doesn't give a bison's ass about my impatience. It has no critics to impress. It doesn't always play to its audience. The show it puts on each night unfolds methodically, as though unwatched, like a baseball game or a piece of great art in the midst of creation.

The three bison grazing through the valley this evening are a prime example of time slowed to its measured, natural pace. They are impressive beasts, to be sure -- especially up close, with their dense fur and big, thick skulls -- but not particularly interesting to watch from a distance. They eat grass, walk a few yards ahead, lay down, eat some more grass, repeat. They're like your average beef cow, although much more physically foreboding. Plus, these gargantuans can be downright dangerous if provoked. Signs throughout the park note their docile nature, but caution that despite a seemingly mellow temperament, these beasts are wild, for heaven's sake, and can leap fences and run up to 35-miles per hour if hot and bothered. Please do not pet the wildlife.

The sun continued its nightly arch toward the horizon. There is an entire valley behind our backs, too, beautiful and flowing in its own right, though its not the main attraction; a minor stage. No one wants to battle a setting sun to search for a grizzly or a coyote when there is ample action going on right across the way, on the sun-and-shadow drenched Hayden. And here, indeed, comes the action: about an hour before dusk, someone spots a brown dot in the distant wood line. Bear or bison? A question asked perhaps millions of time through Yellowstone's 145-year history.

Bear, as it turned out. Big predator, an A-list celebrity: now it was game on. Would this woolly ball of dynamite mosey down to that bony unidentified corpse soaking in the water along the river's lip? Would he rip the rest of it to shreds, a majestic act of brutal beauty before our dumb, lusting eyes? Would our friend the coyote, who was heading toward the bear's jurisdiction, amble onto this hairy long-toothed ogre and inadvertently start some sort of...ruckus?

No, he wouldn't do any of that. Again, nature is indifferent; it is not here for your enjoyment, thank you very much. It will do as it does and that's that; no frills. The grizzly climbed down a small hill, rolled around in the grass for a bit, then continued his journey west, out of sight behind a patch of trees. Caitlin and I scooped up our belongings, bungled down the hill, hopped into the Prius: we had come all the way here, to the beautiful Hayden Valley in gorgeous Yellowstone. We weren't going to miss the chance to see the whites of a grizzly's eyes, despite my realization a day earlier that I had no desire to slip within a baseball's toss of a bear's presence.

The closest pullover we could find was at least half-a-mile from where a group of gazing lustful human pupils had gathered to catch sight of the grizzly. The sun had already laid itself to rest behind the western mountains, thus scant light remained. We were too far away to rediscover the bumbling grizzly. Was anything else out there? With nothing to lose, we pulled over, hoping to catch sight of something -- anything -- before we started the dark, hour-long journey back to our campsite near Lewis Lake.

We saw them right away: a herd of six elk, shrouded in patchy dusk, picking around at a plot of grass near a creek over 100 yards away. We parked the Prius -- the second car there -- and ran about 50 yards out onto a skinny trail on a hill. Within 10 minutes the hill was painted thick with 30-some tourists -- speaking in diverse tongues, pointing, watching. The elk. Yes, not A-list celebrities, but perhaps B, behind grizzlies and moose and other beasts rarely seen. Would they come closer, so us lonesome humans could make some sort of primal, ancient connection with them, animal-to-animal?

It was me who spotted it first, unless someone else had seen it and simply kept their wise trap shut. A bear, another grizzly, across a pond, walking north, toward the innocent herd of mulling elk. Ol' Yogi was a light brown haze at this point, the light all but gone, yet I saw him crawl along the waterfront and behind a patch of tall trees, just around the corner from those delicious elk. I lost sight of Yoge and never saw him again. Maybe he found a cozy spot of dirt and settled down for a quick late-late-afternoon nap. Maybe he needed a cigarette. Who knows?

Nothing in the group of passive elks' collective mannerisms showed they detected a predator in the area. They continued chewing cud, calm as ever. Yet before long they slipped into the water, swam across the river, walked up the adjacent stony embankment, and continued out onto a thin grassy peninsula. There were at least two baby elk in the bunch. Caitlin found this quite cute. It was 85-percent night by now, and the temperature was quickly dropping into the 40's, so we retraced our steps up the beaten trail and climbed into the warmth of the car.

We drove past those friendly elk on the road home. You could hardly see them through the gray-black semi-darkness, but they were there nonetheless, eating grass, snorting, and silently gauging  threats around them. They didn't seem to realize large groups of idiotic humans were staring at them through complicated devices that enlarged and clarified their furry features.  The damn elk wouldn't have done anything differently if they would have known. These are creatures, after all, not actors. Sometimes they deliver the drama, other times not, but in the end you're glad you had a rare chance to see them do anything at all, untamed brothers and sisters that they are.