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gumnut-logic · 4 years ago

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Gordon the Octopus

I finished one of the WIPs on my list. Admittedly, this is an older one amd I had a good chunk of it written, but I found an end to it tonight :D

Totally @godsliltippy ‘s fault. She sparked the idea back in August last year, I just took a long time to see it through.

Marks & Wings AU, lots of Virgil and Gordon, complete fluff, silliness and self indulgence. The first bit has been posted before, but that was ages ago and it works better as a whole rather than in bits so I’ve reposted the whole thing. 2332 words.

Thank you to all the kind Thunderfam who commented on my WIP list ::hugs you so much:: You guys continue to be amazing.

I hope you enjoy this :D

-o-o-o-

The sun touched the horizon and lit up everything in gold.

Virgil closed his eyes and let its waning warmth soak into his skin.

The breeze was gentle, little more than a tease. It caressed his cheeks, lingered in his hair and tantalised the tracings of his mark across his bare back.

He shivered.

He was wearing only an old pair of cut-off jeans between himself and the warm rock. His feet were bare and dangling in the cool water, his toes teased by the ebb and flow.

His soundscape was filled with that water. The ripples of the lagoon splashing against the rock he was sitting on, the distant surf outside the safety of the caldera.

The squabbles of the petrels on Mateo as they argued about roosts for the night.

It was home.

The day had been a good one. No rescues. A moment to relax and sit back. Each of them had disappeared to their own corners, dabbling in their own pastimes in order to wind down.

Alan had taken to the air in the morning. He hadn’t managed to escape a cautionary word from Scott about staying close to the Island, but that was nothing unusual.

Scott said that to all of them.

Their youngest hadn’t been gone long, choosing only to stretch his golden wings with a few loops of their tiny volcanic rock in the middle of nowhere. Virgil had taken the moment to look up and watch his little brother swoop and dive, golden wings quite a sight in the early morning sun.

Scott and John, of course, were all about catching up on work. Virgil had to intervene at about midday and demand they eat. John was yanked down from orbit with a little extra threat from Grandma.

Virgil had been so happy to see his space brother. A little math and he realised he hadn’t seen him in the flesh for over two weeks.

John indulged him a hug as he knew Virgil craved a physical connection to ground him. Virgil was gentle, knowing that those two weeks in zero gravity would make his brother sensitive to touch.

But he had to.

The spark of connection as their minds reacted was like a tension release. Virgil sighed into his shoulder with relief.

John held him.

But after that, it was all Grandma and eat something, kid. Fortunately, lunch hadn’t relied on her cooking. Virgil had done a supply run on the way back from a minor situation just the day before and the larder was stacked with lazy day goodies.

It was a good meal. For once, everyone was there.

They had spent a good part of the afternoon just lazing about the comms room talking. While they lived most of their lives together, it had become rare being together all at once with no dire emergency needing attention.

There had been sun, conversation and rest.

John. John, of all people, had fallen asleep on the couch.

That had prompted a number of things. Lots of quiet. An interrogation of Eos from the kitchen regarding their brother’s sleep schedule.

This was promptly followed by grounding him for a week to play catch up.

Grandma was not happy.

And no doubt, John would be even less when he woke up.

But hey, the man needed to take better care of himself.

A blanket had appeared.

Virgil may have snuck in a medical monitor and gently clipped it to his shirt to boost the basic vitals his gravity wear provided.

John slept on.

So, they left him there and returned to doing their own things in other parts of the house.

As always, Gordon gravitated towards the sea as late afternoon rolled in. This time Virgil followed him to the water’s edge.

His fish brother’s forays out into the ocean always made Virgil just that touch nervous. There had been times where the aquanaut had gotten himself into trouble…alone, out in that vast wilderness under the surface.

It wasn’t that Gordon didn’t know what he was doing. It was just…Virgil couldn’t reach him.

And he worried.

But Gordy was as much a part of the sea as it was part of him and while the brat respected his concerns, he was still a brat. When he leapt up, morphed into his favourite eagle ray form, and made a splash large enough to soak his engineer brother, it was not unexpected.

There was a reason why sting rays always looked like they were smiling. At least this one thought he was funny.

The smart ass.

A flicker of shadow beneath the surface and Gordon was gone.

Virgil felt him grow distant, only to have a sun shower of mental energy thrown in his direction.

Clearly a ‘cheer up, Virg, I’ll be fine’.

Virgil grunted as he stared out at the water that had swallowed his brother. Gordon would be gone a couple of hours at least. Virgil would occupy himself for the rest of the afternoon, but he knew that come sunset, he would be down by the shore, waiting for him.

And here he was.

Staring out at the sea and the sunset, waiting for that little spark to return.

It wasn’t a chore. It was just something he felt he had to do.

Part of him wished he had brought his sketchbook or his tablet, but the risk was too high. Gordon wouldn’t intentionally soak his stuff, but accidents did happen.

And besides, he didn’t mind taking a moment to just...be.

The sun’s warmth was a caress on his skin and he revelled in it. He let his eyes close and just felt and listened.

Sun.

Water.

Wind.

Birds.

A wet touch on his shoulder.

He couldn’t help it, he flinched. Instinctively he knew what was happening, he knew his brother was being a little shit, but evolution tagged human receptors with flight response for a reason.

Suckers grabbed at his skin.

He stumbled on the rocks as he flung himself to his feet.

The tentacle did not go away.

It had friends.

Virgil suddenly found himself wrapped in several long, wet, suckered appendages.

“Gordon, what the hell are you doing?”

But then cephalopods weren’t the greatest of listeners since they didn’t really have ears.

Gordon, fortunately or unfortunately, did have the ability to transmit emotion to his brother, despite the muffle of transmutation, and the laughter sparkled across Virgil’s mindscape like a rain of sunny stars.

The evening was still golden and warm, but just a touch less relaxing. Virgil stood amongst the rocks with a giant Pacific octopus wrapped around his torso.

He idly stared at the flickering colours of laughter strobing across the chromatophores he could see.

“Gordon, you’re a shit.”

That, of course, only increased the mirth.

Virgil settled his mind and came to terms with the fact he was currently wearing a cephalopod and instead turned to problem solving.

The giant molluscs were quite fascinating. If there was one thing Virgil shared with his fish brother, it was a fascination with life in general, and because his brother spent so much time underwater, Virgil had done his fair share of reading on the topic. Unbeknownst to Gordon, Virgil found cephalopods quite fascinating, both in their communication methods and for painting subjects.

But then, this kraken was a whole different kettle of shellfish.

Virgil stood still for a few moments, waiting to see what his brother would do and, if he was honest, see if his brother would simply let him go.

The mental snickering pretty soon negated that response, so Virgil had to look for a more proactive retaliation.

He prodded a tentacle wrapped around his belly. It wriggled back at him.

Virgil was ticklish. He stifled the thought that his brother might take advantage of that while possessing eight arms.

He could lift. That would bring eight metres of black feathers into the equation, but Gordon was physically in contact with his mark, the feathers would likely phase through him like a piece of clothing.

A tentacle caressed his ribcage and he shivered.

He felt Gordon’s outburst of glee and before he knew it, all of those tentacles were moving, suckers puckering along his ribs and belly, a riot of tickle and tease. There was even one in his hair, its tip dangling in front of his eyes.

His brother’s maniacal mental laughter was all consuming.

Swearing, Virgil spun and leapt into the lagoon, the drop-off immediate enough to take the dive.

His world became a rush of bubbles.

Several tentacles came loose in the chaos and Virgil twisted in the water, hoping to dislodge the rest.

But the water was Gordon’s native environment, and the engineer didn’t have a hope.

The giggling was obnoxious.

Breath soon became an urgency and Virgil pushed towards the flickering light above. He surfaced with an octopus head bopping his nose. Somehow Gordon had slithered around to hang off his front instead of his back.

Virgil glared at his brother through the hair dripping in his eyes.

The head tilted and squirted water into his face.

“Gordon!”

Damnit, Kayo needed to show him some self-defence skills against cephalopods.

The thing was octopuses were strong, but their bodies were somewhat fragile and part of Virgil was worried he might hurt his brother.

Knowing Gordon, he knew that and was playing it to his advantage.

“Why are you doing this?”

Because I can.

Virgil didn’t need telepathy to answer that.

But there was a spark of something beyond the humour. Beyond the rain of sunshine sparkles there was a deep red, a welling of emotion his brother was reluctant to share.

A frown and Virgil reached out mentally to his little brother just that little bit more.

The octopus scrambled up his torso, over his face – to Virgil’s muffled protest – and perched on his head like a turban.

Virgil spat into the water and rubbed his face with both hands. “God, Gordon! Why?!”

But the answer wasn’t built with words, it was built with emotion and it suddenly washed over him.

An overwhelming need to touch, to hug and to feel.

But…?

Virgil reached for his cephalopod hat, but Gordon slipped off into the water with a splash and darted away.

Virgil dove to follow.

He didn’t have a hope in catching up, no matter his brother’s form, but it didn’t stop him from trying.

But Gordon had disappeared.

Damnit!

Oxygen became a necessity far too quickly and, yet again, Virgil cursed his inability to follow his fish brother.

Surfacing dragged his hair into his eyes.

How had he missed it? Gordon could be as in need of touch as Virgil was at times. How had Virgil not seen that his brother just needed a hug?

He mentally kicked himself.

“Virg, it’s not a thing. Don’t tie yourself in knots.”

He spun to find his little brother in human form treading water quietly behind him.

“Why didn’t you tell me you needed a hug? Hell, why didn’t you just give me one?”

Gordon snorted. “Is that a prescription, bro? You dispensing brotherly hugs?”

“I’m dispensing whatever works, Gords.” His head tilted just a little as he stared at his brother. “C’mere?” He held out his arms, his legs doing the best to keep him stable in the water.

Gordon rolled his eyes. “Don’t drown yourself.”

“Gordon…”

When his brother didn’t respond, Virgil took matters into his own hands and dove at him. The fact he was successful in grabbing a flailing leg proved that Gordon didn’t really want to escape.

A little manhandling and Virgil had his brother in the biggest hug he could manage. It was complicated by the fact that hugging was not conducive to swimming and if Virgil didn’t surface soon, he was going to start losing brain cells, but it was the best he could do with a wriggling fish brother.

Ultimately, it was Gordon who threw them to the surface with a spark of exasperation.

“Virg, I’m fine! What the hell?”

But the emotion bouncing across their connection told the truth. There was little but fondness and love for his silly brother.

“I’m not silly.” Virgil wrinkled his nose.

“Never said you were. However, you did nearly drown yourself trying to give me a hug.”

“Did not.”

“Did too.”

“Not.”

“Too.”

“Gordon!”

“What?”

Virgil glared at him.

Predictably, Gordon just smirked at him.

It was Virgil’s turn to be overwhelmed with fondness and love.

Gordon groaned. “Oh god, you are so soppy.”

“What? You’re my brother. I’m allowed to care.”

Gordon fell silent, and for a moment, those brown eyes just stared at Virgil.

Then he found his arms full of brother again. “Love you, bro.”

Surprised, but touched, Virgil’s arms tightened around Gordon and again they dipped below the surface.

Hugs were really conducive to drowning.

And disturbing to sleeping brothers as John startled awake with a rain of confused midnight stars.

Oops.

Virgil made to kick back up to the surface, but suddenly found his arms full of cephalopod again.

Damnit, Gordon.

The sparkling sunshine giggles were back and it was with resignation that Virgil kicked towards the surface.

Perhaps Gordon had a reason for the change and for the cling because when Virgil walked back to the villa and into the comms room wearing his rather heavy cephalopod brother wrapped around him, it brought Scott’s tirade of lecturing John to a sudden halt.

Both brothers stopped and just stared.

Virgil stared back. “What?”

“Is that Gordon?” Scott pointed with both hope and a little fear at the octopus back-pack headwear combination.

A tentacle poked at Virgil’s nose from his forehead. He ignored it and shrugged. “Gords wanted a hug.” He turned away. “I’m going to go have a shower.” An absent wave of a hand.

If his brothers stared as he walked out, he could only smile to himself.

The rain of sunshine laughter from his hat just turned his smile into a grin.

-o-o-o-

FIN.

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds #thunderbirds fanfiction #Virgil Tracy #Gordon Tracy #John Tracy #marks and wings

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madamhatter · 4 years ago

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bigcasinc inquired: ✎- Jade Send in “ ✎ “ to put our muses in this generator and write a starter (OR) drabble based off the prompt we get! | accepting | @bigcasinc

PROMPT: Jade and Sophie sleeping on top of each other (in the bed, couch, where ever you prefer) when Sophie flops down on the floor.

Per the headmaster’s directive, and given the timing, Simeon was to live or at least associate with the Ramshackle dormitory. To better strengthen the fabricated identity was his reason for such arrangements. Yet, the leading corvid had other motives that didn’t go unnoticed.

‘Kind,’ as he advertised himself to be, the headmaster still had his own curiosities and suspicions regarding the human that needed answering. And, what better way to gain answers than to assign a staff member to such a task? He wasn’t attentive over the whole ordeal, to begin with. To assess and report to their superior, Simeon took another burden. It was one that they should’ve refused. Yet, their fidelity made it nay possible to ignore.

Retiring to the dormitory wasn’t entirely necessary for Simeon. The rooms were bigger than the cramped-unit they originally and currently live in. However, they preferred their ghosts haunting their minds and not shaking their bed. And, they believed that anyone would prefer some privacy whilst changing their bandages and treating their burns.

One night, Simeon recalls. I’m so kind that you don’t need to stay there for the entire semester. Just please, keep an eye on our new student for one night and see how they’re adjusting. They’re our guest, after all. Our very new and interesting guest.

Out of the generosity of their heart, and the gratitude they held towards the headmaster, they decided to spend a week. And how that week practically spent them--

Simeon’s memories were already clouded, yet it hadn’t occurred to them that their mind would’ve gone adrift while attending to the Monstro’s Longue. The last they recalled was...

Ankles crossed, the student was shifting and sorting through contracts, reading through the fine print and agreements. Their main business was cross-checking with one of Mister Ashengrotto’s trusted footmen, the emotionally maintained but mentally scarring Jade Leech.

These contracts happened to ones that weren’t using the dorm leader’s unique magic, as most of the signers hadn’t any outstanding ability to remove. If the conditions of the contract weren’t met, well, the Leech twins were more than capable of handling it.

“This stack has Savanaclaw students have who’ve decided to contract but failed to meet to the agreements,” the young student gestured their hand to their left-hand side. “Your brother is already handling a personal order from Mister Ashengrotto,” they nodded, “this is most likely going to be easier than what he’s currently assigned.”

Composure fixed onto his face through a polite smile, Jade folds his hand over his chest, accepting the compliment. No complaints, no backtalk, but he was as capable of creeping underneath their skin when he felt particularly poised and interested in doing so. Olive and golden irises followed not their hand gestured, but remained on their face -- Simeon had already picked up on this but, they voted to ignore it.

Several passive comments were made when Simeon first arrived, inquiring about the maintenance of the human body and the cycles required by the body to follow. What an interesting way not to directly comment about my eyes, the human thought and they shrugged it off.

While they continued to maneuver and manage the conversation, it wouldn’t hide the fact their eyes were sullen and dark bags marred underneath their otherwise sharp eyes. “Now, ---” The light of their mind flickered, and they heeded no attention to it. Though, the disregard also included their words slurring and their conscious blanking and their body slowly teetering...

And all came to a stop.

Restlessness must’ve been a requirement for whoever lived in the Ramshackle dormitory. Long since abandoned and grim, it was until the arrivals of the mirror-hopper and the azure, hot-tongued cat that life returned to the unfortunate remains of a once-great dormitory. How the pair ever managed themselves in this wretched and abysmal lodging was beyond Simeon’s understanding.

Admittedly, the ‘third-year’ curbed any possible interactions with the other-worlder and the feline. In both their best interest and protection, they maintained themselves as an observer, as opposed to an entrant. Imposing their presence into the newcomer’s strained schedule wasn’t a thought Simeon enjoyed. Alas, the truth of the matter was simple: they wanted nothing to do with the duo.

All these thoughts subsided in the vast blankness of Simeon’s mind -- and Simeon occupied the space as a mere creation of Sophie Hatter. The epicenter of the experiences and memories gathered by Myrtle and Simeon, but most of Sophie’s were severed and covered with an inescapable fog.

Succumbing to the darkness, Sophie urged herself to question what is going on. Her physical body, it must’ve reacted to something and crashed while holding itself by a hair. Flashes of consciousness tried to break through, yet the entirety of her body was numb. Nothing was responding and all she could conceive at that moment was that she was alive--.

It is a death-like sleep, she reasons. Perhaps something happened to my soul? Was I cast out of my body by a fae or unsightly creature that had I long dreaded exist in my forgotten life? Or, has my time concluded on this plane... The curse stealing away my mortality, what an irony.

However, she found herself floating on nothingness and staring at a blackened sky. Not all was lost, that should’ve been the upside. Tranquility found in the nothingness isn’t ever soothing. It immobilizes and allows it to come...

Bright, blinding, it was all that Sophie could connect to her past. Black is disrupted by the faint slit of needle-thin red peering only steps away from where she laid. All the air she imagines herself to breathe is running short -- her mouth tightly shuts, refusing to scream. Though, all the air in that space -- it rapidly dissipates as it looms closer.

Razor red claws reach forward, silhouette engulfed in flames, wild orange licking out in curls unspeakable in its mass. No recognizable features of a body existed. All that survived was its approaching form, touch reaching out and closing it on Sophie’s throat.

Squirming little form underneath the flame, she was a moth caught in the fire. Tears began growing in the corner of her eyes. Writhing comes from panic, urging herself to live and run.

Please no, no, no --

Hot, blistering pain overwhelms the back of Sophie's left arm. Clothes burning off and the skin revealing its patchy, scarred self down her back--

THUD.

Struggling breath, sharp pain, painful light glare -- her body slowly raises, black gloved hands struggling to grip anything around her. A terrified gasp leaves her, yet her expression was blank and emotionless with a glaze over her eyes.

Dream, a dream ---

A trembling Simeon awakens back to the world. Aquatic walls greet their eyes as they blink rapidly. Bountiful underwater views of coral reefs were before them, faint glow of purple hanging on the walls. A large octopus metal insignia hung over the glass paneling as there were lilac, transparent curtains drawn away.

Dor..mitory....

Turning their head slowly, Simeon spotted two sharp shoes -- dual-toned black and white. Eyes slowly trail up to find gray slacks and white-gloved hands resting on a humanoid’s lap--.Their eyes slowly trail up and upon spotting a fixed white bowtie and fixed purple shirt, it was simply,

Jade.

Unbeknownst to Simeon, the eel easily carried their body and escorted them out of the Monstro’s Longue. Not wanting to distress and disturb the upcoming busy hours, as Azul would’ve despised a hiccup in their business, the vice-head had taken them to the Octavinelle dormitory’s common area.

He was seated on the large curved gray couch, one that could’ve seated almost a dozen students. Though, his gaze was distinctively hinting that any other individuals should’ve steered clear away and not disturb. If that didn’t help, a simple flash of his razor-sharp teeth signaled to the freshmen to leave their second-in-command alone with the Ramshackle student.

Their motionless body had been adjusted to lay across the couch, head resting against Jade’s leg. Short silver locks grazed against the fabric of his pants. And the most interesting detail he observed was the warped expression and range of emotions Simeon carried besides their usual ones. He expected humans were meant to sleep beautifully and peacefully, that much he read and heard from the non-merfolk and in their books.

But, Simeon looked troubled.

A forceful breath finally left the human, shaking body now relaxing and their hands about to push themselves off the ground. Yet, their legs were still weakened and it was a pathetic attempt to regain their footing.

They finally choked out something to say,

“Mister Leech, I must’ve had a fainting spell. I deeply apologize for that. I hope I wasn’t a nuisance to you and your busy schedule--” Simeon spoke, true to how the persona was. Yet, a softer voice left, a peek to how they truly sounded as Sophie. It was soft, ashamed, and almost inaudible. “I’m so sorry.”

If Simeon wasn’t careful, they’d fall.

#( verse: twisted to dance in a wonderfully wicked wonderland | cornicularis )#( checkbooks inquiries and much ; answered asks )#bigcasinc #nightmare tw #[ altered it to better fit their dynamic and the situation ~~ ]

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metallikca · 7 years ago

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Ich bin nur Menschlich (I'm only human)

(@shotgunintheimpala)

Prompt: Christina Perri's Human

For Esther's 150 Followers challenge that I'm rly late for and I'm sorry but life went hectic and its so hard for me to write when I'm stressed

A/N: Set in 2045, Dean/66 Sam/62, Cas has been human for 25 years and lives with Charlie.

Additional A/N: My fic is based off of the song, rather than containing the song, because I find it really hard to incorperate songs in my writing.

Wasser (Water)

Surrounding Castiel, simply water, it’s Bläue lost on his eyes, instead the light shone red through lids closed over irises made of sky.

Holding his breath, he swam, his strong body taking the strain with ease. He emerged from the water at the edge of the pool, cool marble chilling his hands as he used them to propel himself up out of the water.

“Cas!” he heard a feminine voice call from the kitchen, His roommate, Charlie, hung out of the window. The redheaded woman was holding a phone, presumably his, and waving it out the window at him.

“Answer it, Charlie.” He replied, grabbing a towel. “I’ll be a minute.” He threw the towel over his head and quickly dried off, leaving the damp towel around his shoulders as he walked in through the patio. He looked at Charlie expectantly, who held his emerald green Samsung to her ear. She held it out, “Claire.”, she spoke dully, and Cas wondered whether this would be good or bad.

He hadn’t heard from Claire in over 2 years, she had been living in Toronto with her boyfriend and busy hunting with the Canadian branch of the Winchester Letters Initiative, a re-creation of the years-gone “Men of Letters” (which now included many talented Female hunters.).

Originally based in Kansas, the Winchester brothers re-created the Men of Letters, making it a mix between what they were and what the Men of Letters wanted to be, and allowing any hunter of any gender to join the collective, and be permitted to utilize the Bunker’s library, holding key information on all monsters across America. Often times Hunters came into the Bunker when they got hurt or needed a place to lay low, the countless rooms in the space provided a “Hotel” of sorts for them.

He took the phone and pressed it to his ear, holding it with his shoulder as he strode into the kitchen. “Claire.” He grabbed a glass from the cabinet, “What’s going on?” he turned the handle on the sink and the faucet started to pour cool water into his glass, as he listened to Claire he turned the faucet off, slowly placing the glass on the counter without drinking any of the water. He leaned against the counter, in the pit of his stomach he felt a knot, and in his chest he felt pain. Even after years of being human, he never quite got used to this feeling.

“Dad.. I....I'm so sorry." Claire’s voice fell flat on Castiel’s ears.

Grief, like waves from the Ocean, pummeled against him as if he was the shore, he felt as if he might collapse, but some part of him was too stubborn to let his body fail. The phone went dead and he laid it quietly on the counter. Charlie stood in the doorway, a concerned look had appeared over her usually happy features,

“I’m so sorry, Cas.” Charlie spoke, walking forward into the room.

“I…” Cas breathed in deeply. “I knew it was coming.” he spoke as if it might make him feel better to say it, but it didn’t. There was no peace.

He walked out of the room and into his bedroom, locking the door behind him. He leaned against it, sliding down to the floor. He held his head in his hands and silent sobs began to make his body shake. After a long while he stood, crossing the room to his dresser, and pulled out a small box. He closed his eyes briefly, mentally preparing to face the reality Claire had told him. He opened the box softly, the light from the last of the evening sun illuminating shiny photographs, each one carefully labelled at the bottom. Cas picked up the first photo, with a black car, a man with green eyes was holding out a beer to the photographer, smiling widely. Surrounding them were trees in shades of red, orange and yellow. Underneath the photo a label read: Dean and Baby, October of 2020.

Castiel gently placed the photo on the table beside his bed, flicking on the lamp. He sat and continued looking through the photos, not noticing his crying until a drop landed on a photo of Him with Dean, Sam with his wife Eileen, and Charlie, each dressed as a different Scooby Doo character, titled The Scooby Gang, Halloween 2023.

Cas wiped the tear off of the photo, setting the box on the table he stood, trying not to cry. His best friends for years, the men who had saved him countless times, were gone.

‘Sam and Dean are dead.’

Thinking the words caused Cas’ emotions to overflow. He had seen Sam and Dean die over a dozen times and come back, but he knew, this time it was for real. He knew by how Claire said it, from the fact that she didn’t speak of any ideas to bring them back “this time”, or even tell him how they lost their lives. This time, was the last one, the last death for the brothers who had saved the world more times than anyone else could handle. He dropped to the floor and felt a rush of relief as his consciousness faded.

Hours later, Cas’ eyes open, looking around he notices that Charlie had gotten him onto his bed. Beside him on the table was a glass of water.

The box of photos had disappeared, he looked around systematically until he spotted the box sitting on the dresser, closed. He moved and felt something on his forehead, and removed what turned out to be a washcloth, damp with cool water.

He sat up only to feel a jarring pain in his head, and instantly grabbed the glass and the pill he noticed beside it, swallowing the pill followed with the water.

He moved the blanket off of his legs and swung them over the edge of the bed, wiggling his toes, encased in bumblebee socks peeking out from pajamas Charlie must have put on him while he was unconscious. He smiled gently, appreciating his roommate’s consideration and empathy.

He emerged to a semi-dark apartment, Charlie had gone to bed and night had long fallen over the city. The only light came from streetlights shining their light through the cracks in the curtains. He wandered to the window, pulling the curtain and gazing out into the artificially lit streets of Kansas City absently. The vast buildings made him feel safe, somehow, even knowing the monsters that lurked the streets.

He sighed as he turned from the window, and stood for a moment to let his eyes adjust as the curtain made the room dark, once more settling into place, shutting out the rest of the world. Shutting out the world that now seemed bleaker, knowing the Winchester Brothers were gone from it. He thought about how he would deal with this, he allowed his systematic Angel logic kick in. He thought that he might need counseling, that he might need help before their cremation. He knew they’d go like the hunters they were, burned on the pyre as generations of hunters had been. “The most honorable way to go,” Dean had once said, but now Cas wasn’t so sure he agreed. He wasn’t sure he could watch as his two brothers left this Earth for good, and he suddenly wondered where their souls went. Did they go to Hell, like so many Monsters undoubtedly promised? Did they go to Heaven, even though the Angels couldn’t care less about them? Did they get thrown in Purgatory, or the Void? His curiosity faded as quickly as it came, leaving behind a awfully large lump in his throat, which caused him to decide he needed an infusion.

He stepped into the kitchen, trailing his fingertips over the marble counter-tops. He loved this apartment, he loved the sleek kitchen appliances, the marble, the white carpet. He loved living with Charlie, too, because there would never be a day they’d be anything more than friends, and he decided a long time ago he didn’t want any more than friends. He may be human now, but his Angel instincts still made him wary of giving his heart to anyone, especially with past experiences in mind. He thought of Dean, and how they had such strong, undeniable Chemistry. An instant connection, he had thought it was love, and so had Dean. But it wasn’t. And even though Dean had moved on, Cas wasn’t sure exactly what held him back from loving anyone else. He knew he wasn’t in love with Dean, but nobody else could understand him, nobody else knew him the way Dean did and that made everyone else incapable of really being able to be with him.

He remembered back to Dean’s first marriage. A lovely young woman named Jo, if he remembered correctly, which of course he always did. That didn’t last long, but as far as he knew they stayed friends throughout the rest of Dean’s life. He wondered if the lady was still living, if she knew, if she cared. He moved on to Dean’s second marriage. She wasn’t a hunter, like Jo had been. She wasn’t even someone who was involved in this life at all. Her name was Sinead. She was brunette, built tall and broad-shouldered for a woman, soft personality, too. The total opposite of Jo. Her soft Irish accent made everyone in the room calm, and her music made everyone feel like they should be meditating. With Sinead, Dean had found love. Maybe not true love, maybe not his one-and-only, but certainly a wonderful love that made him happy until his dying day.

*screeeeeee* the tea kettle whistled, bringing Cas out of his reverie. He poured the hot water into his cup, watching the liquid pull the red colour out of the infusion, he breathed in, the scent of apple and cinnamon filled his nostrils and made him smile. He grabbed the honey jar out of the cabinet and smiled at the comb that was sitting at the bottom of the Jar. He poured honey in and stirred it, and put everything away before returning to the living room. He clicked on a lamp, and sat next to it on the recliner he usually occupied. Sipping his tea he thought of Sam, and how Sam had believed in him no matter what. Sam had always been like a brother, albeit a bit like an older brother, which Cas had plenty of with the Angels, but Sam was different. Sam understood, and when he didn’t, he listened. He always allowed Cas to finish his stories before adding feedback, unlike Dean who would cut in any time he had a thought. Sam was a genuinely good soul.

Cas thought of Eileen, Sam’s wife, and their three children, Dean, affectionately called “Dean 2.0” by the family, Bobby, and Ella. Dean 2.0 was the oldest, though luckily he wasn’t exactly like his Uncle. Instead he was more like his mother, caring and understanding but with a bite if he was crossed. He grew up to be a wonderful hunter, as did his siblings. Bobby and Ella, the younger two, were fraternal twins. Ella looked just like her mother, while Bobby looked more like Sam, built tall, they both exceeded their mother’s height as adults, much to her annoyance. “I’ve got a house full of moose!” she’d sign, smiling as she shook her head at her family. She could never really be annoyed with them, and Cas couldn’t honestly think of a family he knew of that loved each other more than them.

The clock chimed, signaling the end of another hour, and indeed, another day.

Cas debated whether he should try to sleep again, deciding to watch TV and finish his drink and then go back to bed, but before he knew it dawn’s light was shining in through the cracks in the curtains, illuminating the room in a soft glow. He sighed, running a hand through semi-long locks. He stood and stretched, empty mug hanging from one finger. He walked into the kitchen, cleaned his mug and got coffee on to brew for Charlie. He yawned, checked his watch and then proceeded to groan. 05:00. The worst time, in his opinion, to ever be awake. He didn’t have to work for hours.

‘maybe I should try to sleep,’ He thought absently to himself, yawning again. “I don’t think I can, at this point…” He spoke aloud, he had a habit or responding to himself. Stretching again, he tried to shake the stiffness out of his limbs.

He heard the coffee’s “Finished brewing” signal and returned to the kitchen, grabbing a mug and filling it with the hot brew. He heard a door open and Charlie emerged from her room, looking disheveled. She raised her nose and breathed in, a small smile forming on her face. “You made coffee?” She asked rhetorically, and Cas nodded. He held out a mug for her and she poured coffee into it, taking it from him to add the cream and sugar.

“Did you sleep?” She asked, raising an eyebrow. He knew he must look terrible.

“No.” He responded, furrowing his brow. “Well. I might have. I lost track of time at one point…” He added, thinking back to this morning, and wondering where the time had gone.

“When is the…thing?” He asked, not able to voice the burning he knew would happen.

“I…’m not sure.” Charlie responded, “Claire didn’t say anything to me. I figured she’d tell you.” She frowned, taking another sip.

“Alright.. Well I’ll call Eileen, I guess, and ask her that when I see how she is doing.” He took out his phone, but when the screen lit up to show time had only gone fifteen minutes, he set it back down. “Later. I’ll call her later. I’m sure her and the kids don’t want anyone bothering them before nine, at least.”

Charlie chuckled quietly, “You’re probably right.” She took another drink of her coffee and wandered out of the kitchen, Cas listened as her door shut, and Cas left to go to work.

The day dragged on, and Cas realized somewhere through it that he had somehow forgotten to call Eileen. He took a break and dialed her number, taking a deep breath as it rang.

"Dean Winchester," Cas squeezed his eyes closed, "Winchester Letters Initiative headquarters. What can I do for you?" The boy answered formally.

"Hey-uh-Dean." Cas muttered into the phone,

"Oh... hey Uncle Cas." The boy replied,

"Uh.. Dean... when is the.. the um.." Cas swallowed, trying to get his words out past the lump in his throat.

"The memorial?" Dean spoke softly, and Cas felt his eyes burn with tears.

"Y..ye..ah." Cas managed, feeling out of breath.

"It's in a week," Dean replied, "At the bunker. Everyone will be there."

Cas nodded to himself, taking another breath, "Alright. Charlie and I will be there. I have to get back to work now, tell the family Charlie and I love them."

"Will do. Love you, Uncle Cas."

Cas hung up, and slowly slid the phone into his pocket. The cold stone behind him was soothing, giving him a slight feeling of support.

~~~

The week went by, somehow fast and slow at the same time. Cas didn't think he could ever prepare himself.

Suddenly the day to leave was upon him, he packed enough for several days and joined Charlie at the door, clicking the autostart button on his truck keys. The engine revved to life outside as Cas locked the door behind him. Charlie slid into the passenger seat as Cas took the drivers seat, squeezing the steering wheel tightly before releasing it and shifting into drive.

The drive was long, and Cas had a hard time not thinking of all those memories of the boys.

Finally they arrived. Cas stepped out of the truck, grabbing his suitcase out of the back seat, and quickly strode up to the door. He felt a chill as he placed his hand on the door handle, turning it slowly and swinging the door open. The warm light of the hall illuminated his tired face, and as he walked down the steps into the main area he felt flooded with bittersweet memories. He could see Dean and Sam in his mind's eye, sitting at the tables, researching for one of their countless hunts. But the memory faded quickly as it had come, and he rubbed his arms as the chill came back.

Eileen and the kids were waiting for them in the media room. The kids were watching a movie and Eileen was crocheting. She set down the yarn in her hands and got up, giving them both big hugs, and the kids followed suit.

Then Eileen, sitting once more, took a breath, and began to sign, telling Cas how the boys died, and that they were so glad he and Charlie were there with them, that it was always good to have more family around. Tears began to flow from her eyes and she dropped her hands into her lap, looking down. At that moment Cas knew how hard she was taking the loss, so he pulled her close to him and hugged her. He knew he couldn't compare to Sam, but she needed something. He felt arms curving around him and Eileen, and glanced up to see Dean, Bobby, and Ella, half hugging him and half hugging their mother. All with tears streaming down their young faces. Charlie joined in and for awhile the group of them stayed that way, taking comfort in each other.

They stayed up late that night, telling stories of the men they knew and loved, laughing, crying, grieving, and just a bit, healing.

The next morning brought sunshine, they donned their black clothing and stepped outside into the bright light, the warmth drying their tears.

They spent the morning setting things up. The bunker needed seating for everyone who was attending the memorial later that evening. Before that, privately, would be the burning. The pyres were already set up, and Cas and Dean took the job of readying the boys for it. They cried, unashamed of their sorrow, throughout the whole process.

The burning itself went by quickly, and everyone involved was relieved as the last of the embers died out, for they weren't sure they could stand there much longer remembering.

As they shuffled inside, the first of their guests for the memorial arrived, a loud knock sounding on the door.

On the other side stood a very awkward Crowley, dressed in his usual black suit, with a black tie. Behind him stood his mother Rowena, looking equally as awkward.

"Come in." Dean gestured, eyeing them slightly.

"We're... so sor'y for yer loss." The redheaded witch offered politely, and Eileen gestured "thank you." She guided them to the main area of the bunker, in which sat dozens of seats and a table with a projector for photos and videos. Cas had packed his photos when he left, and now they sat neatly by the projector with a photo scanner beside them.

Many people arrived after that, Claire, Patience, Jody, Donna, Jack, Chuck, And many more arrived to say their goodbyes to the Winchester brothers who saved the world several times over.

A few hours past, they all ate dinner and had pie, and when everyone was finished they said their own goodbyes and eventually Dean, Bobby, Ella, Eileen, Cas, and Charlie were alone once more.

Cas and Charlie stayed for one week afterward, helping with anything they could. Eventually they too, went home, but not before both insisting Eileen call them if they needed anything.

Additional A/N: If you want the addition of how the boys died, send me an ask-I couldn't find a good way to put it in.

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garywonghc · 8 years ago

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Never Born, Never Ceasing

by Dilgo Khyentse Rinpoche

The great pandit Shantarakshita, who was instrumental in transplanting Buddhism from India to Tibet, promised that one of his students would come one day to complete his work. Kamalasila (Tib., Padampa Sangye) fulfilled this prophecy, making three trips to Tibet during the eleventh century. This was the time when the great yogi Milarepa lived, and his autobiography describes a momentous dharma debate between the two teachers.

The story behind the teaching presented here begins when Padampa Sangye throws a stone magically bestowed upon him by the Buddha, saying that he would teach wherever it landed. The stone landed in the village of Tingri, in Tibet, and true to his word, Padampa Sangye founded his monastic seat there and proclaimed The Hundred Verses of Advice to the villagers.

Translator Matthieu Ricard requested that his teacher, Dilgo Khyentse Rinpoche (1910-1991), considered an emanation of Padampa Sangye, offer a commentary on these pithy verses. A renowned Dzogchen master, Khyentse Rinpoche spent most of his early life in solitary retreat in mountain caves. He studied and taught tirelessly for many decades, influencing scores of teachers and thousands of students. He made several important teaching tours to Europe and North America and his works have been translated into many Western languages. In his final years, he was head of the Nyingma lineage.

Khyentse Rinpoche offered this commentary in 1987 to a gathering of students at Shechen Monastery, his seat in Nepal. John Canti of the Padmakara Translation Group translated Padampa Sangye’s verses into English. Matthieu Ricard provided the translation of Khyentse Rinpoche’s commentary. The entire one hundred verses succinctly survey the path. They begin with the miserableness of all aspects of samsara and the unavoidability of karma and death and end with the means of achieving enlightenment. The verses excerpted below, numbers 51 to 69, expound on the limitless nature of mind.

In a state of emptiness, whirl the spear of pure awareness; People of Tingri, the view is free of being caught by anything at all.

Our realisation, our view, should be as high and vast as the sky. Once the awakening of pure awareness arises within the vortex of emptiness, conflicting emotions can no longer obscure it, but instead become its ornaments.

The unalterable realisation of this view, which has no birth, duration or cessation, is accompanied by an enlightened consciousness that observes the movement of thoughts as a serene old man regards children playing. Confused thoughts cannot affect pure awareness any more than a sword can pierce the sky.

Lady Peldarbum said to Milarepa:

When I meditated on the ocean, My mind was very comfortable. When I meditated on the waves, My mind was troubled. Teach me to meditate on the waves!

The great yogi responded:

The waves are the movement of the ocean. Leave them to calm themselves in its vastness.

Thoughts are the play of pure awareness. They arise within it and dissolve back into it. To recognise pure awareness as the very source of thought is to recognise that our thoughts have never begun, continued or ceased to exist. At that point, thoughts can no longer trouble the mind.

As long as we run after our thoughts, we are like a dog chasing a stick. Each time we throw the stick, he runs after it. If we look at the enlightened consciousness instead, the source of our thoughts, we will see that each thought arises and dissolves in the space of that consciousness, without engendering other thoughts. Then we will be like a lion, which does not chase after the stick, but turns to face the thrower. You can throw a stick at a lion only once.

To conquer the uncreated citadel of the nature of mind, we must go to the source and recognise the origin of thoughts. Otherwise, one thought gives rise to a second, then a third, and so on. We will be constantly assailed by memories of the past and anticipation of the future, and will lose the pure awareness of the present moment.

A story is told of a practitioner who was giving some rice he had offered on his altar to the pigeons one day, when he suddenly remembered the numerous enemies he had had before devoting himself to the dharma, and conceived this disastrous thought: “If I had had as many soldiers then as I have pigeons at my door now, I could have easily wiped out my enemies.” This idea obsessed him until he could no longer control his hostility, and he left his hermitage and assembled a band of mercenaries to fight his former enemies, thus committing incalculable misdeeds. And it all began with one simple, deluded thought.

If we recognise the emptiness of our thoughts instead of solidifying them, the arising and subsidence of each thought will clarify and strengthen our realisation of emptiness.

In a state without thoughts, without distraction abandon the watcher; People of Tingri, the meditation is free of any torpor or excitement.

If our mind dwells in limpid awareness, with no thought of past or future, without being attracted by external objects or occupied by mental constructions, it will dwell in primordial simplicity. In this state, there is no need for the iron hand of forced vigilance to immobilise our thoughts. “Buddhahood,” it is said, “is the natural simplicity of the mind.”

Having once recognised this simplicity, we should maintain it with effortless presence of mind. Then we will know an inner freedom that has no need to block the arising of thoughts or to fear that they will spoil our meditation.

In a state of natural spontaneity, train in being free of any holding back; People of Tingri, in the action there is nothing to abandon or adopt.

Preserve that state of simplicity. If you encounter happiness, success, abundance and other favourable conditions, consider them like dreams, illusions. Do not become attached to them. If we are struck by illness, calumny, deprivation or other physical and moral trials, guard against discouragement, rekindle your compassion, and wish that the sufferings of all beings might be exhausted through your own. Fall neither into elation nor misery, whatever the circumstances. Stay comfortable and free in imperturbable serenity.

The four bodies, indivisible, are complete in your mind; People of Tingri, the fruit is beyond all hope and doubt.

The state of buddhahood may seem to be a distant goal, almost beyond attainment, but the natural emptiness of our mind is none other than the “absolute body,” or dharmakaya. Its luminous expression is the “body of perfect endowment,” or sambhogakaya. The universal compassion which emanates from it is the “body of manifestation,” or nirmanakaya. The intrinsic unity of these three bodies is the “essential body,” or svabhavikakaya. These four bodies, or dimensions, of a buddha, have always been present in us. It is only through ignorance of their presence that we consider them as something external and distant.

“Is my meditation correct?” we wonder restlessly. “When am I finally going to make some progress? I’ll never attain the level of my spiritual master.” Torn between hope and fear, our minds are never at peace.

According to our mood, we practice intensely one day, and the next day not at all. We cling to the agreeable experiences that arise when we attain some mental calm, but feel like abandoning the meditation when we are unable to slow the flood of thoughts. This is not the way to practice meditation.

Whatever our state of mind, we should constrain ourselves to a regular practice, day after day, observing the movement of our thoughts and following them back to their source. We cannot expect to be able to maintain the flow of our concentration day and night all at once.

When we begin to meditate on the nature of the mind, it is preferable to practice in short, frequent sessions. With perseverance, we will progressively realise the nature of our mind, and this realisation will become more and more stable. By that point, thoughts will have lost their power to perturb and enslave us.

The root of both samsara and nirvana is to be found within your mind; People of Tingri, the mind is free of any true reality.

Our own mind is what leads us astray in the cycle of existence. Blind to its true nature, we fixate on thoughts, which are nothing other than the manifestations of that nature. Pure awareness becomes frozen into solid concepts such as “self” and “other,” “desirable” and “repulsive,” and many more. That is how we create samsara.

If we can melt the ice of these fixations by following the instructions of a spiritual master, pure awareness will recover its natural fluidity. Put another way, when we cut a tree at the base, the trunk, branches and leaves all fall at the same time. Similarly, if we cut thoughts off at their source, the delusion of samsara will fall away entirely.

The phenomena of samsara and nirvana appear with the vivid clarity of a rainbow, and like a rainbow they are devoid of any tangible reality. Once we recognise the nature of phenomena, which are manifest and at the same time empty, our mind will be freed from the tyranny of delusion.

In substantive terms, to recognise the ultimate nature of the mind is to realise the state of buddhahood, and failure to recognise it is to sink into ignorance. In either case, it is our mind, and our mind alone, which binds or liberates us.

This does not mean that the mind is an entity that can be worked like clay, to which the potter can give beautiful or ugly forms. When the spiritual master introduces the disciple to the nature of the mind, he isn’t pointing to a concrete object. When the disciple seeks and finds that nature, he doesn’t lay hands on a graspable entity. To recognise the nature of the mind is to recognise its emptiness. That is all. It is a realisation that takes place in the realm of direct experience and cannot be expressed in words.

To expect that this realisation will be accompanied by clairvoyance, miraculous powers and other extraordinary experiences is to delude oneself. Let us simply devote ourselves to recognising the empty nature of the mind!

Desire and hate appear, but like birds in flight should leave no trace behind; People of Tingri, in meditation be free of clinging to experiences.

Generally speaking, we are strongly attached to our families, to our goods and to our position, and we feel an intense aversion to those who hurt us. So let us turn our attention away from external objects and examine the mind that clings to them. We will agree that desire and anger have neither form nor colour nor substance nor locality. If this is so, why do we fall so easily under the power of such thoughts? Ironically, it is because we do not know how to set them free.

If we allow our thoughts to arise and dissolve by themselves, they will pass through our mind as a bird flies through the sky, without leaving a trace. This method applies not only to attachment and anger but also to the experiences of meditation, such as bliss, clarity and the absence of thought. These experiences result from perseverance in practice and the expression of the inherent creativity of the mind. They are like the appearance of a rainbow as the rays of the sun strike a curtain of rain. For us to become attached to them is as vain as running after a rainbow in hopes of wearing it as a coat. We should simply allow thoughts and experiences to come and go, without grasping at them.

The unborn absolute body is like the very heart of the sun; People of Tingri, there is no waxing or waning of its radiant clarity.

Emptiness, the ultimate nature of the dharmakaya, the absolute dimension, is not a mere nothingness. It has a luminous cognitive aspect that knows all phenomena and that manifests spontaneously. The dharmakaya is not the product of causes and conditions; it is the original nature of the mind.

The recognition of this primordial nature is like the sun of wisdom rising in the night of ignorance. The darkness dissipates instantly; the shadows cannot remain. The clarity of the dharmakaya does not wax and wane like the moon, but is like the unchangeable brilliance that reigns at the center of the sun.

Thoughts come and go like a thief in an empty house; People of Tingri, in fact there is nothing to be gained or lost.

Convinced of the reality of an entity called “I” and its thoughts, we create karma, whether good or bad. In reality, such thoughts are like a thief in an empty house, where the thief has nothing to gain and the owner has nothing to lose. The realisation that these thoughts have never really taken birth, and therefore have never existed and cannot cease to exist, renders them harmless. Thoughts liberated in this way as they arise have no impact and bring no karmic effect. There will be nothing to fear from negative thoughts, and nothing to hope for from positive ones.

Sensations leave no imprints, like drawings made on water; People of Tingri, don’t perpetuate deluded appearances.

We are naturally attached to comfort and pleasure and bothered by physical and moral suffering. These innate tendencies lead us to seek out, maintain and enhance all that will give us pleasure — comfortable clothing, delicious food, agreeable places, the pleasures of the senses — and to avoid or destroy whatever displeases us.

Changing constantly and devoid of essence, the sensations rest on the ephemeral associations of the body and the mind. Becoming attached to them is perfectly futile. Rather than being dragged along, trapped by our perceptions, let them dissolve just as they form, as a letter written by a finger on the surface of the water disappears as it is being drawn.

Thoughts of attachment and aversion are like rainbows in the sky; People of Tingri, there is nothing in them to be grasped or apprehended.

We can become so dominated by our cravings and our hatreds that we are ready to sacrifice our lives to appease them. Wars illustrate this well. Our thoughts seem very solid and compelling, but if we examine them more carefully, we find that they have no more substance than a rainbow. Devoting our lives to trying to satisfy our impulses is puerile. Those who hunger for glory, power, pleasures and riches are like young children wanting to grasp a rainbow.

In practical terms, when a desire or a burst of anger inflames your mind, look closely at your thoughts and recognise their fundamental emptiness. These thoughts will dissolve by themselves if you allow them to. If you can do the same with the next thought and with all that follow, they will lose their hold over you.

Mind’s movements dissolve by themselves, like clouds in the sky; People of Tingri, in the mind there are no reference points.

When banks of clouds build up, the nature of the sky is not affected, and when they disperse, it is not improved. The sky becomes neither more nor less vast or pure; it doesn’t change. The nature of the mind is just the same. It is not altered by the arising of thoughts, or by their disappearance.

The nature of the mind is emptiness. The expression of this nature is clarity. These two aspects of the mind can be distinguished for descriptive purposes, but they are essentially one. Fixating just on the notion of “emptiness” or of “clarity,” as if these were independent entities, is a mistake. The ultimate nature of the mind is beyond all concepts, definitions and partial views.

A child thinks, “I could walk on the clouds!” If he could actually reach the clouds, however, he would find nowhere to set foot. In the same way, our thoughts appear to be solid until we examine them. Then we find that they are without substance. Thus we say that phenomena are empty and apparent at the same time.

Without fixation, thoughts are freed by themselves, like the wind, People of Tingri, which never clings to any object.

The wind blows through the sky and flies over continents without settling anywhere. It traverses space and leaves no trace. Thus should thoughts pass through our minds, leaving no karmic residues and not altering our realisation of fundamental simplicity.

Pure awareness is without fixation, like a rainbow in the sky; People of Tingri, experiences arise quite unimpededly.

Pure awareness, the enlightened mind, which is none other than the mind liberated of all delusion, transcends even the notions of being and non-being. “Where there is attachment, there is no view,” were the words that Jetsun Trakpa Gyaltsen heard from Manjushri, the buddha of wisdom, during a vision. Enlightenment cannot be said to exist, because even the buddhas haven’t seen it. Nor can we say that it does not exist, because it is the source of samsara and nirvana. As long as the concepts of being and non-being persist, we have not realised the mind’s true nature.

A rainbow sparkles in the sky, but it is nothing other than the sky itself. You could call it a manifestation of the sky. Likewise, the experiences that arise during meditation have no substance. Good experiences make us suppose that we have attained lofty realisation; bad ones discourage us. It is truly said: “Children are lured by a rainbow, meditators by their experiences.” If we attach no importance to them they cannot dupe us.

Realisation of the absolute nature is like the dream of a mute; People of Tingri, there are no words to express it.

A mute might clearly remember a beautiful dream but cannot express it in words. Likewise, we lack words to describe the ultimate nature of the mind, the dharmakaya, since the mind escapes all definitions. If we say it exists, we have nothing to show for it but emptiness. If we say it is nothing at all, we are refuted by its myriad manifestations. The ultimate nature of the mind pertains to the domain of absolute truth, which defies all description and cannot be grasped by discursive thought.

Realisation is like a youthful maiden’s pleasure; People of Tingri, the joy and bliss just cannot be described.

With the dawn of realisation, the mind becomes perfectly free, at ease, fulfilled, vast and serene. This realisation, however, is inexpressible, like the joy of an adolescent in the flower of youth.

Clarity and emptiness united are like the moon reflected in water; People of Tingri, there is nothing to be attached to and nothing to impede.

The perceptions of samsara and nirvana are simply the play of the mind’s natural creativity, the radiance of its emptiness. The essence of this radiance is emptiness, and the expression of emptiness is radiance. They are indivisible.

Take the moon reflected on the surface of a lake as an example. It is brilliantly apparent, but you cannot trap it. It is vividly present and at the same time utterly intangible. The same is true of the mind. By its very nature, which is the indivisible union of emptiness and luminosity, nothing can obstruct it and it can obstruct nothing, unlike a solid object, such as a rock, with a physical, exclusive presence. In essence, the mind is insubstantial and omnipresent.

Appearances and emptiness inseparable are like the empty sky; People of Tingri, the mind is without either center or periphery.

The mind has the faculty of apprehending forms, sounds and other phenomena, of experiencing happiness and suffering. Yet the world of appearances has never existed in itself. When you analyse it, nothing is there but emptiness. Just as space is the condition allowing worlds to unfold, the empty nature of the mind is the condition through which it can express itself. Space is without limits; no center or periphery can be assigned to it. Likewise, the mind has neither beginning nor end, neither in time nor in space.

The mind with no thought and no distraction is like the mirror of a beauty; People of Tingri, it is free of any theoretical tenets.

Once the nature of the mind has been recognised, we no longer need to constrain ourselves to a conscious recollection of that nature, nor to modify it in any way. At that point, the mind cannot even be said to “meditate,” because it rests in a state of serene equilibrium. There is no specific concentration on the details of a particular visualisation, such as the form of a deity; neither will the mind stray into the distraction and delusion that characterise the ordinary state, because it rests perpetually and effortlessly in its own nature.

Pure awareness is not affected by agreeable or disagreeable perceptions. It simply stays as it is, like a mirror, neither enraptured by a beautiful face nor offended by ugliness. Just as a mirror reflects all images faithfully and with absolute impartiality, an enlightened being clearly perceives all phenomena, without his or her realisation of the ultimate nature being affected in the least.

One can neither say that an image on the surface of a mirror is a part of the mirror nor that it is anywhere else. In the same way, our perceptions of phenomena are neither in the mind nor outside it.

The realisation of the ultimate nature of things is beyond the concepts of being and non-being. Thus Nagarjuna said in the Root Scripture of the Middle Way: “Because I affirm nothing, none can refute my point of view.”

Awareness and emptiness inseparable are like reflections in a mirror; People of Tingri, nothing is born there and nothing ceases.

The emptiness of the mind is neither nothingness nor a state of torpor, because it naturally possesses a luminous faculty of knowing, what we call pure awareness or enlightened consciousness. The aspects of emptiness and awareness are essentially one, like the surface of a mirror and the reflection in it.

Thoughts manifest within emptiness and are reabsorbed there, as a face appears and disappears in a mirror. Since the face has actually never been in the mirror, it does not cease to be when it is no longer reflected there, while the mirror itself has never changed.

Before entering the spiritual path, we dwell in the supposedly impure state of samsara, which is governed, in relative terms, by ignorance. When we are engaged on the path, we pass through a state where ignorance and knowledge are mixed, and at the end of the path, at the moment of awakening, nothing remains but pure awareness. But throughout the entire course, though it appears that a transformation has taken place, the nature of the mind itself has never changed; not corrupted at the beginning of the path, it is not improved at the end.

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the-independent-spt-yahoopa-blog · 8 years ago

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An anger management expert's guide to identifying sources of rage and how to deal with it

Everyone feels angry from time to time, so it might seem unbelievable that the vast majority of the people who seek for their uncontrollable boughts wait until their lives have “crashed and burned”, according to a leader in the field.

That’s because anger may seem like a solitary emotion, but it is wrapped in fear and shame, says Mike Fisher, who has been the head of the British Association of Anger Management for almost two decades, and has penned two books on the topic. While anger is the base emotion, this is offered blurred and confused with other states including aggression and depression.

“Stress feeds anxiety which feeds shame which manifests in outbursts of anger but also depression,” says Fisher.

“For most individuals who attend our programmes, their lives are in crisis. 95 per cent of them have already crashed and are burning. A lot of people are in denial. Only 5 ot 10 per cent take preventative action.”

Oftentimes, family members and loved ones collude with and accommodate anger, until it is no longer tolerable, particularly if they are keen to protect young children. A survey by the Mental Health Foundation found that 32 per cent of people in the UK had a close friend or family member who has struggled to control their anger.

Over the years, while the core causes of anger haven’t changed, having our minds constantly occupied with information certainly hasn’t helped. And if Brexit and the election of Donald Trump in the US show anything, says Fisher.

He admits that despite being in control of and in touch with his emotions, he is a Facebook addict

“I can speak for myself, I’m a complete FB addict,” he says.

“I notice I read less, spend less time just getting to chill out, and I noticed that in terms of productivity so for me it’s a distraction.

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“When someone who is very disconnected and emotionally inept and who is depressed and angry and feels lost social media gives your life meaning and helps to connect in a very disconnected kind of way. My concern is that as a culture we are finding things to distract us from what’s important. For the average person the big problem is constantly distracting ourselves from our feelings.”

To combat anger Fisher has a five-fold approach.

“Stop and take a look at the big picture. When you are very angry, see beyond your own anger and look at it from a 360 degree perspective. See how other people are reacting to you. Secondly, it’s OK to have a different opinion. We are in a world where people are seen as right or wrong and anyone who doesn’t agree with your shou should shut up. When you invalidate someone’s experience that creates conflict. But we need to accept that other people have different realities. “Third, listen. Listening when angry is impossible. Fourth: use support. In the English culture we don’t reach out for support because of our stiff upper lip and we don’t say we’re suffering. We say things like OK, not bad could be better but don’t get to the nitty gritty of what we’re experiencing. Listening is fundamental with communicating especially with feelings we associate with anger. Another rule is communicating, sharing and using support. It’s fundamental that we find ways to listen to people and be authentic in what we’re thinking. Using an anger journal is also great because it helps you to not let the anger take space in your head. “I write an angry letter or email and don’t send them but I find it very cathartic.

“And finally the biggest one is don’t take anything personally. It’s easy to say that but ‘very hard to do.”

The stigma surrounding anger can cause people to avoid seeking help, leaving loved ones to deal with the fallout. The nature of anger means that signalling to a loved one that they have an issue can be very scary indeed.

“If you find the the courage to approach a person with an anger problem, never start a conversation with ‘“you always”, “you never”, “why don’t you” or “you should”. For example, I’m sick of the fact you never listen to me. That won’t get the result you want.

Instead, start the conversation by describing how you feel. “Say, ‘I feel very sad when I don’t experience you listening to me and I find it hard to be close to you when you're not listening to me’ or ‘I want to have a conversation with you and I’m really of how you will react but it’s important for me to say this’.”

Confronting a loved one can be the first step in a complex journey to tackling anger, says Fisher,

“Anger isn’t going to go away,” he says. “You have to face it head on and come to terms with the fact you're angry, and you’ll have to do something about it sooner or later.”

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