Index
Chapter 1: A Study: The Math of Hakkai...and so we count...
Chapter 2: A Study: The Colour Wheel with Gojyo...and the wheel spins
Chapter 3: A Study: Seventh Sense ... bears, sharks and children
A Study: The Math of Hakkai
And so we count...
He wears a dark undershirt, atop a green one. A monocle over one eye and a bandana around his head, also green. His hair short everywhere else, hangs in bangs over his monocled eye. 3 silver cuffs on his ear. 8 layers. He is so named. 8 precepts.
There are many layers to him. Some are physical, some are just masks, and some not even tangible. The cuffs rein in the vine covered daemon. The cuffs push away, to the back of his mind, what he once was. The Human. Then so aptly named as well, a play with masks. Is it only he who perceives himself as having a 'face'? Daemon, human and pretender. Another 3. Well he was a perceptive 5 before he became an 8 with restrictions.
He has been reborn. From childhood to just becoming a man. As he finds love, life's lessons begin to find and add more layers to him. Sin, and the thought that is an incestuous love are pushed away. Back into another deep recess in his mind. On the heels of love, came happiness and for a brief moment in time he wears some smiles. Then came wrath and so great was it that it turned to vengeance seeking satiation through murder. So much blood, hers, his and theirs. Oh and ALL of theirs. Love, sin, happiness, wrath and vengeance. 5 more and in them the murderer looms large and seeks death. To die, to be with her, to forget his crime or is it to just be in a state of non existence. To seek death is suicide. Murderer and suicide. Another 2
So resigned to his fate he stumbles into the dark and the rain. How he is grateful for it. These are nature's coverlets for him. It hides his tears and maybe it will wash the blood away into the earth. Yes, the earth will soak it all up. He will be worm food and go back into nature. Perhaps there is a strange kind of justice in that. Darkness, rain, and earth. These belong to nature and he will borrow them too, he picks up justice as well.
He feels a press upon his body. Is it the ferryman come to take him over the river already? Through the curtain of rain and pain, he looks up, and perhaps it is. Red. A red haze, and he is accepting of it, and smiles. A rare occasion, Red will remember after. It is a true smile. Red wants to see some more of those. So the ferryman takes him on.
It is hell. It is a dream. Maybe he is awakening to a nightmare realm. Where porn litters the floor amongst ash filled beer cans. The red haze comes into view again, it is the Ferryman. The journey is not done with yet, and no payment is asked off him. So he clutches at these new layers presented to him. Hair, eyes and even the scars he has not the honour yet of the story.
25
The fiery ferryman is kind and does not ask. It is not his duty. He just provides a blanket from the outside world. In the healing another layer is there for the newly made daemon. The puckered flesh from pelvis right across his abdominal. It is time to leave, he has yet one more task and then perhaps he will give payment to the ferryman. If their paths should cross again. On the pretext of this the task becomes another mask.
The next few may be borrowed layers. But isn't that what we do. Not all that we take through life is wholly ours. Layers of ourselves nonetheless. A being all beautiful and gold has come to fetch him. Perhaps this is the true angel of death. The angel has an aura and hums with power. NO, not yet, please give him some time. He borrows a gun and time. Only one of which can be returned. Where one goes now there are three following.
He has arrived only to find a barren wasteland. He is denied the fulfillment of his last task. The failure wraps him with all the others collected so far. He collapses, knees to ground and keens.
"Those who kill, should expect to be killed."
"It is Karma that will see to that."
"You cannot change anything by dying"
"The gods do not save anyone"
"If you meet the Buddha, kill him
If you meet the father, kill him
Beholden to no one
Live only for yourself"
The only side I'm on is my own."
These are his new and borrowed mantra. So says the angel of death, who steps forth and instead becomes an angel of mercy. Mantra, mercy and newfound companions.
40
He returns to Red. He fills himself. Doing things with a view for some kind of repayment. Red does not want it, does not need it. Red is just glad he is there with him. So the menial and the mundane define who he is now. He cooks, cleans and takes out the trash. He clings to this facade.
He returns to Red. He fills himself. Doing things with a view for some kind of repayment. Red does not want it, does not need it. Red is just glad he is there with him. So the menial and the mundane define who he is now. He cooks, cleans and takes out the trash. He clings to this facade.
They settle into some semblance of domesticity. They watch each other. When they think the other isn't looking. They brush past one another and find comfort in the radiating warmth. Just so but not touching. Both their minds tug at hidden memories. This is their dance. Red sees not a monocle, but glasses. Longer hair, a white laboratory coat and tie which is nearly undone. He sees darker hair, blue- black leathers like a military uniform and a hip flask. The merriment and the life in the eyes are the same, only now tinged with some sadness. Suddenly he realises that it isn't only him that needs the masks. So he adopts his friend's mask as his own too. He does not say when he notices that although he comes back smelling of alcohol and smoke, he does not smell of the sex anymore. He is not quite sure what to make of that, yet. But he is glad anyway. The mask of Sha Gojyo he will safeguard for him. There is more to him than this callous playboy shell. He knows and feels it. Because it fills him. It is what home should be. It is where he came back to after all.
To supplement their keep, he becomes Cho-sensei for some of the children in the village. He still has to visit the temple every now and again to reassure his angel of mercy that he is no longer a threat to society. Reformed. Somehow that word has a hollowness to it all of its own. So a teacher and reformed as well. Shall those be accepted as more masks to this gorgeously fascinating personage?
As he comes to accept the mantle of Cho Hakkai, he finds new weaponry. A double edged sword perhaps. He can defend himself with that which comes from within. With this he can also heal. So he becomes a warrior and healer. One of those masks he is more than willing to accept as a cloak. He becomes Hakkai more and more each day. He hides behind his books, his need for quiet, and then when it rains, his need for solace. Because at these times he remembers and acknowledges what he has become, what he was, what befell him and what he had done. Through it all his sadness and sorrow envelope him. When sleep does take him he wakes in the throes of nightmare. He calls out a name. He sees again all the blood and no deluge of a downpour will ever wash it away. It is at these times he feels as Hakkai, he is not deserving of a second chance. That he has no right to a friendship with Gojyo. Not the rights to learn to love again. In his sorrow he hides behind loneliness and denial.
One day he is asked to go on a quest. Another chance at redemption. It will not be an easy road. He does not go alone. The angel goes with them, the ferryman and a child of earth. This is another lifeline. Another claim to denial, in that he has no right to camaraderie with these men. But there are layers and there are layers. Soon they fall into an easy routine of another town another inn, another forest and another campsite. A routine of blood and sweat. Bullets and the clash of metal. Antiseptic and bandages. He learns that they buffer each other. One leads, one heals the wounds of flesh, another heals the hurts of the spirit and the last holds them all together in a band of golden honesty, truth and innocence. They grow into one another and lean into each other. Thus he wraps himself in these new, fresh and clean welcoming layers. The journey, the routine, the wounds, the new scars, the friendship and support.
60
On this journey, each new day brings for each of them a test. Always it seems in the midst of all the fighting there is some lesson to be learnt, some past daemons to confront or past to let go of. Some test them as individuals, sometimes as a whole. In the end it does not matter, they find that they pass through each ordeal generally as a whole. With each trial a new strip manifests itself, enough to mummify him. Like the bandages he dispenses after battle. Oh how many rolls is that?
On the road he takes on new roles. He is the mediator who bridges gaps and calms things down in the heat of the day. He is the mother that makes sure there are clean clothes, when the opportunity is there. He cooks just as he used to in ‘their’ home all those months ago. He makes sure they are well stocked, be it medicines, cigarettes or food. He is the driver (by default really). He is the route planner. Mediator, mother, chef, quartermaster, driver and navigator. Yet more facets to the man.
Sometimes he is still Cho-sensei to Goku, who seems to have an endless barrage of questions. He still seeks that something in a rainy night. But now an angel sits with him. Sanzo too it seems to need something from the inclement weather and indulges. Sometimes when it is not raining, he will himself seek quiet in solitude. As certain as he is of finding it, given enough time one always seeks him out. He should not be surprised anymore really, but he still starts when Gojyo finds him. He does not resent the intrusions. He enjoys this time they have, a throwback of their home together. Whether it is to sit in quiet, with just the sound of their breathing and the warmth. A few rounds of cards, Gojyo will smoke and drink beer. Hakkai likes his sake. Sometimes they will talk, the subject is inconsequential. For a moment they can drop back into that rhythm that is only theirs to music only they can hear. Sometimes it seems they have always known it. Like feather down these layers cocoon him
In as much as he is Hakkai now, it is who he was from way before that make up who he is. Growing up in an orphanage run by nuns. Jaded at an early age, a cynic in part due to circumstance and in part due to personal make up. On can surmise that he had started the collection then. The expressionless mask was a defense of sorts as he hid behind a glass wall. Always on the outside looking in. He was young and unused to subtleties of the play. He learnt fast. His appetite for knowledge was voracious. Knowledge is a powerful weapon. H amassed a great amount of it. He loved his history, about the world at war with one and another, and the literary classics. Perhaps the cynicism came from these books. The idylls and dreams of a child who has nothing probably encompassed the world. What thoughts they must have been. Such plans. Only a god would’ve thought them up. He only thought ‘that’ for a minuscule moment and he was not even sure where that thought came from. He had come to the conclusion that god was surely incompetent not doing anything to alleviate the misery of masses. So Cho Hakkai still had the blank face, the wise looking-out-at-you-from-under-the-bangs complete with raised eyebrow and hand held up with index finger waving. A gentle demeanor belied his sharp wit and tongue.
Now though he does wear a few smiles. Two categories. Those like ice, a “Please” at knifepoint. Obey or else…he was free with those. On rarer occasions he has smiles which touch the eyes and give hope to the heart that he has not given himself over totally to his sadness and despair. It enhances the beauty that is inherent in him.
80
His physicality is also a part of who all the layers he has gathered to himself. It is the loom that weaves the patterns and holds it all together. Though not as tall as Gojyo nevertheless his limbs are lithesome and look long on his slim form. His hands are still beautiful and his fingers are long. The dark chocolate of his hair frames a face delicate in features with pale skin, not quite the alabaster that belongs to Sanzo, but just enough co lour to not make it sallow. His form is a shield against the harshness of life.
With all this he also has the complexities that make up you or I. He has a vanity that he knows he is right. The others do too. Hakkai is never wrong. He is possessed of a certain kind of quiet pride, tempered with a steely humility. A paradox of sorts. A conundrum as one of Sanzo’s paradigms says that they fight on nobody’s side but their own. Therein lay the question. Who does he fight for? Is it a fight to keep him sane and in touch with his humanity, or is one to give daemon-kind some kind of voice and acceptance. The puzzle gives way to uncertainty and fear. Is this part of his once human self? The uncertainty and fear keeps the general populace at arms length. He is happy with that arrangement. He is polite, aloof and sometimes a fool. Sigh! The fool for love, or revenge or some strange un-nameable urge. Yes perhaps only a fool would wield uncertainty and fear as the only things that hold his anger and rage in check. Yes there is much anger in him. It simmers just below the surface and it is not a red hot explosion. It is a silent white heat. In turn he harnesses this to good use. It is part of his ability use his Ki as a barrier for defense, a weapon for attack and the soft soothing green of healing power.
He is not void of humour. His sharp wit will attest to that. A dry and teasing one. Sanzo gets it most of the time, a very slight curl of the lips is the only acknowledgement if you know when to look. Gojyo is never a hundred percent sure, even if he is supposed to know him best. Well, and poor Goku, hasn’t a chance! Also it isn’t to say he is always angst ridden and sad. He is learning to. It is surprising what you can learn from someone who sees everything as new. To seek happiness even in a fleeting moment. He even learns from the priest. Although it is more like reading subtext. And you cannot be a good student if you don’t practice what you have learnt. So in a role reversal, he becomes the student and progresses to a practitioner. He is practicing at life, looking at it from someone else’s point of view if his seem s inflexible.
He has his five senses and trusts in them in as much that he can trust in his capabilities, but does not believe in a sixth sense. Because if he did have a sixth sense, he would not be here after all. His pragmatic side is glad for it in a certain kind of twisted logic. So just as he is learning at life, he is learning to count his blessing. Certainly, at the close of each day that they are alive is much to be thankful for.
He is unwavering in his purpose. The physical, psychical and the sense which is him hold these strips and layers together. Wrapped around the core of his being. Until the sum makes him whole. The binding is only as strong as he is. So he is. He has to be. Otherwise he may unravel, fall apart and crumble. But he has a secret defense. Even before it happens and if cracks start to show, there is at least one who will help and bolster him. Redo the bindings, with superglue if necessary. In his unbending resolve, one of the final layers is his stubbornness. Yes, Cho Hakkai can be as stubborn as rusty nails if he wants to be. He will not give in. Where once he would’ve welcomed death with a true smile. Now he has a will to live and that is his strength of purpose.
Nearly a hundred layers to Cho Hakkai, augmented by the fact that he is daemon after all. Multiply that tenfold.
owari.
________________________________________________________________________
Authors Notes: The character used in Gonou’s name I found to be the same as in Gojyo’s and Goku’s. As well as the no.5 being represented, Go also has the meaning on its own as perception, or to perceive. The character used for No in this case also is the same used in NO as masks of Noh, used in Kabuki theatre. I think that’s all that needs explaining here. Oh I know the premise is actually a good idea, but I probably didn’t do it enough justice. Constructive criticism is most welcome. I am learning always. Thank you.
Disclaimer: I don’t own these delicious boys! Sigh! I wish I did.
A Study: The Colour Wheel with Gojyo
And a colour wheel slowly begins its revolutions…
Red crowns his head. So it will always- whatever the length. A living and moving length of crimson silk. Sometimes it is loosely bound, sometimes to keep the strands out of his eyes a blue band of joy holds them at bay and sometimes it is a brown band. And to look at the world through rose tinted glasses…but he does not need the glasses for the world to be coloured so. No; the glasses- we will let someone else wear them. He sees the world just fine, with a smile nearly smirk.
To the child he was, the world is awash with colour. Even the dark days of black and grey, and when you’ve been hit so hard and all you see is the white, and the lights behind your eyes so bright you start seeing purple spots…it is all colour to him. It is his acknowledgement that he is part of it all, curse or not, unlucky or otherwise. Funny that traditions state that red is a lucky colour and newlyweds are garbed in red brocade, and on New Year’s Day, hong bao money packets are always red too. But yet here he was, living breathing taboo, half breed- hanyou- and the red marked him so.
And if the world was then sometimes fuzzy and blurred through tears because of the love and acceptance he sought so hard for himself- well that was okay. Anyway he hasn’t cried since he was little as the crying only attracted her attention. And now it wasn’t just colour that marked him- the scars did too. It did not matter that they had hurt like hell; the pain that just meant that he was alive and that was soon over with as well. The giving of the pain meant that she knew he was there. Then one day it just got too much and because being alive meant that she wouldn’t or couldn’t love him. That one day he was all ready to give up the colours- to stop being the grit, or sand in her eyes- in the hope that her tears would finally stop so that her world could be clear and then perhaps she could see him properly then and then perhaps she may love him even if for a few moments- then that was okay too.
And the world rained with a strong vivid orange red almost brown. As he watched in horror too numb for tears as the life slipped out of the only woman he would ever love- she was so beautiful really underneath the puffed eyes red rimmed from tears she had shed with him, over him and because of him; he watched in numbness as another he loved and looked up to slip out of his life. Turned around and ran…to be more accurate. Into the sunset, and he had sat frozen till the sun’s yellow rays came up in the sky again. And of all the sunsets and sunrises that he had witnessed, he remembered it that night into day. When the red had bled from the sky turned into the blue black of night and as the warmth started to creep back and rose bright and shining yellow gold.
After that day, the colour seemed to drain away, and it was the drab, non colour that filled his life, punctuated only by the red he would make himself, just like the pain she used to dish out. Maybe it was a kind of gesture in mourning, still seeking acceptance through it somehow. Who knew? Eventually he stopped that kind of thing. Learning street smarts and earning to keep going. Life became a cyclical routine of gambling halls, bars and bedrooms. And some things he enjoyed…and some things he’d rather black out and never look at again.
And when he left it all behind and had managed to find himself a place in a backwater town where people didn’t know what the colour of his hair and eyes marked him to be…he considered himself a lucky man. So he set up himself there a semblance of a home. Somewhere basically to crash in what remained of the night and wake late halfway into the day so the cycle could begin again. Card sharking and deck stacking, and then finding a warm bed to lose himself in. The momentary pleasures of having a body move beneath him, soft and warm. He could pretend then that the world was filled with colour, black, brunette or blonde; hazel, green or blue; pale, olive or tanned. And it didn’t matter that in the faint cold light of dawn just waking to pink and orange sky that today would be just another day. Unchanging…could it seriously be called living?
But in spite of it all there was something about him that made others want to colour their world with him. Why? Perhaps it was the tanned skin, vivid hair and limpid liquid eyes; or the language- colourful, loud and brash enough indeed. Or maybe it was his tall, slim and angular form and long legs. Perhaps most of all it was his transparent sincerity. All those who lay claim to his friendship, and all those women who lay…to claim him even for a short while...strange but they were happy with that, that knowledge he wasn’t theirs to own but share. And that was fine by him.
Always trusting; in spite of what life had thrown at him. He perceived and wanted so to believe in the purity- the good side of those about him. He knew this was oft his downfall; it made his judgement of character slightly skewed to say the least. But this never deterred him. Even if the reward was a broken rib, bruised chin and blackened eye, but never a broken heart. He never bothered to look for love, he didn’t want it, got on fine without it and he probably wouldn’t know it if it came knocking on his door.
And in spite of all of that he had been through or perhaps because of it, Sha Gojyo was always filled with a zest for life and merriment in his eyes. Tinged as they were with sadness but no less beautiful. He was living colour. He never forgot, but just adroitly wrapped it up and put it away somewhere so it wouldn’t intrude too much with the everyday things.
And one day he found a pair of smiling eyes, midori cool and wet from the rain.
“Are you dead?”
“Are you death?” Green eyes smiled.
And it was as if suddenly Gojyo saw the world anew. Uncertainty came and went in a heartbeat. Gojyo didn’t want to share him with the Grim Reaper, so he brought him home, hushed and cared for him and hoped to see those eyes open again from the dream fevered slumber into which they had fallen. These eyes were set in a face delicate and pale, framed by hair the colour of dark chocolate. And three silver cuffs adorned his left ear. Daemon.
It calmed Gojyo somewhat that if he sat by the sleeping stranger and talked he seemed to sleep a little easier. It calmed Gojyo somewhat if he laid a hand over the sleeper’s hand his pulse would slow and attain normalcy. It was soothing him, having this stranger in his house. And he didn’t know how, and he didn’t know why. Hell! He even gave up his smokes and women, and not daring to leave the sleeping beauty on his own for too long he only gambled when it was necessary.
And they did awake, those sleeping eyes. They spoke softly to one another. Gojyo didn’t ask, perhaps if he did the spell, or whatever would be broken…he knew that soon enough he would have to say goodbye, so he didn’t want to rush it you know. He knew this when he took the stranger home, but he had done so anyway with some kind of urgency; it was as if some time was better than none and anyway he could not have left him out in the cold damned rain now could he? Perhaps Gojyo did it for himself, his own selfish reasons.
Inasmuch as the stranger never said aught of himself, Gojyo never offered up anything of himself either. A Jack of all trades and master of none. They were the same- or were they. It must have been then that 60watt smile, which clashed with the horrible yellow pullover, Gojyo had dug up from somewhere to give the guy to wear. Gojyo was reeled in a second time and he was still unawares.
And the stranger stayed for a while, and for those moments Gojyo could believe that the sky was a light blue and cloudless, and the days were cool for the green that tinted them cerulean. And for a while they both could forget the world outside, play cards and talk.
And love never did come knocking; instead it was a blonde with his habit wrapped up too tight. Oh it was getting good this. This time it was the cool; no- cold hardness of amethyst. They fairly glittered as he bristled with the invasion of his personal space. Another beauteous creature almost feral in the ferocity of his sense of purpose. Alas he was looking for green eyes and not him. But Gojyo didn’t want to share even as he thought he saw something else in the violent violet flashing with fire and fury. And HE dared call Gojyo hotheaded! Really he was a priest?
So the red clashed with the violet. They could mix you know. But the result would be a fight for dominance, and it wouldn’t be pretty. Both were brassy and unyielding as each other in their own ways. Besides what did he want with the stranger, he already had his own company it soon became apparent. The priest’s very own complement, golden yellow eyes. Feisty and lightning quick. And the kid had tried to pull his hair out as well…some nonsense about it being as cold as the rest of him, even if it did look like it burned. Hn! The kid should try the priest for cold!
And in the dark they went. The monk, monkey and himself, walking a path that wound its way through wood and forest; following a murderer. And in an instance of foreboding, as if someone had brushed his shoulder, he turned but there was nothing but air and disregarded it.
“You’re in danger of sounding attached.”
Gojyo thought of what Gonou had said that about his eyes and hair reminding him of the blood that stained his hands. Gojyo had saved his life- after all it may have been himself that wanted to be saved. Selfishness on his part, just as Jien may have been selfish and had wanted Gojyo to live, even though he had to kill his own mother. He had thought to himself; I tried to save someone who thought I was important.
He leaned in close again to the monk, looked him in the eyes; ignored the dangerous glint in the purple that screamed get-out-of-my-space coupled with disdain, and asked him if he knew the significance of the colour of his eyes and hair, and the implications it had for Gonou. It was the realization of the essence; the meaning behind the colour of his hair and eyes. Epiphany. Gonou had said.
“Do you seriously think blood is the only thing that’s red in this world?”
They caught up to the runaway. What they found was someone who seemed suddenly not quite ready to go just yet. For the first time (and it wouldn’t be the last) they walked together, all four of them. But their destination, no HIS destination, was a barren wasteland. Where once stood a monstrous structure of foreboding, now there was nothing.
“When I read a sutra…it’s not for the dead.”
So in the light of the awakening day, it seemed that everything had been washed gold, and under that golden light and in the silence, Sanzo’s voice rang as clear as temple bells chiming in a quiet breeze. It was all around; it suffused them and brought them together. It was as if a skein of gold silk now weaved and bound their fates. And to Gojyo the sight was breathtaking. This was another sunrise he would remember; an orange sphere climbing the sky, so blue.
And in the end Sanzo took Gonou away. And it was as if there was a void in his life. It was an empty space that he couldn’t seem to fill, even if he could go back to old habits and haunts, he could even sleep in his own bed! And then Sanzo had come round to tell him the news.
“Cho Gonou is dead.”
With that kind confirmation; all the ‘whoosh!’ seemed to go out of him as Gojyo sank into a chair. So what eh? He’ll just go back to how things were…before…that’s all. What could be so hard? He’d gotten on fine before…before…Well now he wouldn’t need to wait for the dawn anymore. He’d get used to it…he damn well would. Come hell or high water.
In another gesture, of mourning perhaps…or perhaps Gojyo just did not want to be reminded of what IT reminded HIM off; he cut his hair. For a moment when he looked at his mirror image- the scars looking more bold unhidden by a mass of hair- and he looked into his own eyes…for a moment he thought he saw his eyes were not red but dark blue almost black, and his hair not red but also a dark hue. He blinked but the image was gone. Aah! This thing was driving him round the bend. How could he miss a shade of a person who was not all there to begin with?
And just when he thought things were going to be fine, that he- Gojyo was going to be fine- he was caught out…again by red. Apples so deep in colour you could smell the crispness and taste the sweetness; Sanzo’s words came back to him- about blood not being the only thing that was red in this world. He growled and gave the finger to the monk mentally, even as he smiled sweetly at the pretty vendor picking one of those delectable fruit. As a hand closed over the fruit in Gojyo’s hand that was not his. And crimson met verdant and it was that light-bulb-turned-on again smile. Gojyo is reeled in a third time, he notices it now. When had they begun this dance of the fisherman and his catch? To a tune only they could hear. This was no shade, and Gojyo’s knees threatened to give way…and he asked for four, amending his original request for one. Perhaps he could do some growling and fingering to the face.
My name is Hakkai now. I would like to live with you again if I may. Live. Life. The temple…it is not for me. I need colour. Not just as a reminder but for balance and to render me strength of spirit. I don’t want to die anymore. I would like to try and not let anyone down.
Gojyo barely heard the words even as he took it all in and ruminated on them. ‘The name suits him better’ he thought. ‘Live with me? Yeah sure’. They were all shy (shy?) smiles and sidelong glances, and soft conversation. There was a different smile now; it did not seem to touch the eyes that he’d noticed. Gojyo was beginning to feel a slight detachment, an outer body experience almost. But still managing to find their way (who was leading whom here?) to Sanzo and Goku. ‘Yeah’ Gojyo thought ‘we think the same now’, and he smirked at the gods ‘any kind of struggle is a big waste of time’. They will adapt. And they will bend with the wind, like willow.
And something in Gojyo’s mind clicked, it was akin to the realization that you’ve come home from a very long walk, and it was nice to sink into the cool comfort of it that was the healing hue of green.
And later when they stepped out into the noon day sunshine, it was as if a wheel was being spun out fast with all the colours flying, melding and coalescing; red, yellow, green and violet- so fast it was just a bright white light…it dazzled your eyes just to look. The silk skein of the fates was weaving their own tapestry of colour, cast and spun out of Heaven. The loom was just continuing its work.
Owari
~”~”~”~”~”~”~”~”~”~”~”~”~”~”~”~”~”~”~”~”~”~”~”~
Notes that may be of interest:
Kanji characters used by Minekura-sensei for Sha Gojyo transliteration:-According to the Daler-Rowney
colour wheel, it is divided into 6 parts starting with Red, going clockwise Orange,
Yellow, Green, Blue, Violet.
Primary colours being Red, Yellow
and Blue.
Secondary colours being Orange,
Green and Violet
Complementary colours are
opposite each other
I hope I got some of it right at least, and that this pleases someone at least.
Author's Notes: Thank you to Ditch Gospel for always encouraging and sending inspiration my way!
A Study: Seventh Sense by Zan
…
The general populace largely are born with five senses. Some of us believe in a sixth sense. Fewer of us believe in it enough to be able to tap into it. More rare is the person who can touch intuition and act on it. Hakkai does not believe in it. Gojyo visits his intuition every now and again labelling it a gut instinct. Goku’s spare sense wires directly into Sanzo’s well being! We cannot speak for Hakuryu for no one knows much about shape-shifting wyverns and their dragon-sense. So, of the travelling circus we all know as the Sanzo-party, what of Sanzo. A monk extraordinaire; gun-bearing, smoking, drinking and foul-mouthed. What strengths of senses does he allow himself?
The aura of a person is not something a pure scientist will accept. Not, that there are many men of pure science. Men of religion especially are a different class to your standard everyday Gojyo. Gojyo with his gut feelings will attest to that even if he will not say anything aloud. Gojyo may complain that the only thing that Sanzo emanates with is irritation, moodiness and anger. A more purpose driven, high-and-mighty, prissy priest Gojyo hopes never to meet again, because one in this lifetime is plenty.
For Hakkai, Sanzo’s strength is his will and his clarity of thought – usually. Hakkai will always be grateful to Sanzo for giving him a second chance at humanity, even though being again human is impossible. Sanzo does not like the idea that anyone entertains such thoughts about him. Down the long road that they are travelling, Hakkai will follow him even though they disagree on quite a few things.
Hakuryu thinks that Sanzo must be powerful indeed. To be able to cause someone with astute and intelligence such as Hakkai make Hakuryu drive an endless road.
For Goku, Sanzo means life. Being in a prison for five-hundred years does not constitute life. Goku seeing the same scene, tasting the seasons in the changing air, hearing birdcall just out of reach, smelling the change in seasons in the earth and touching the same ground underneath his form as he lay sleeping, not alive for five-hundred years.
The man Sanzo is now is not the boy Kouryuu. The self-doubt and guilt bearing down on his shoulders as heavy as the silk parchment that lay about his shoulders. Humming and tingling with power, as it does. The first time Sanzo leaves Kinzan temple in search of information. The weight of the newly acquired gun, and sutra as they nestle next to each other in his satchel, lay comfortably with thoughts of fear and death, warring with determination and survival, with grief shining with a dark glow in the back of his mind. He is angry and feels guilt because a part of him is glad that he is alive. How he would play with the shiny heavy metal thing, slide it up and down against his temple in meditation. Suicide so tempting all those years ago, losing its lustre and definitely not an option now just as he never reads Sutras for the dead, for only the living can change the world about. The dead are dead. It is meditation, just that. A thinking pose. The coolness of the metal metaphorically clears his mind. The lines of the weapon fit snug in his hand, in turn moulds around it now after years of companionship. Willing neither to welcome nor entertain Death on any terms, unless to send those idiotic enough to try sending him first.
The initial grief, the ensuing search, the eventual acceptance of his ministerial duties of running a temple and the errands the floating heads give him; are all what Sanzo – on a good day – will label as training days. However, on this mother of all errands, good days are few and besides far between. There have been times when he might be tempted to off Gojyo and Goku. Of course, Hakkai may then decide not to drive him to the West then, so the argument against shooting them outweighs the momentary pleasure Sanzo is sure he will get from it.
Although he will himself still indulge in bouts of remembrances and grieve, this is just a way of reminding himself why he is on this journey in the first place! It is perhaps a heady cocktail of revenge, determination, an ‘up-yours’ to the powers that be and a search for peace of mind.
Peace of mind so that Sanzo can deal with the daily running of his body and interpreting information that comes his way. His brain – as with us all – is responsible for maintaining homeostasis that allows Sanzo to function as… well Sanzo. Peace of mind is thus essential for the switching unit - that is his brain, the place impulses flow to and from - to work smoothly.
His conscious thought always sharp whether it was for sweeping up leaves, absorbing lessons from Koumyou Sanzo, or evading youkai assassins. Whether it was for learning the language, sound and song of ancient texts and scriptures, trying to remember a past beyond Koumyou Sanzo and being able to judge whether the acolytes and monks from the lowliest to the high ranked were sucking up or being honest. Who he is now, is more due to nurture as opposed to nature. Water is the only nature he knows, for a river brought him to the life with Koumyou Sanzo. That trust is earned and mistrust learned the only way life, knows how to teach its lessons. Who he is now is from how he sees, hears, tastes, touches and sniffs out the world and the people in it.
With Sanzo, it is as much as how the world looks at him as how he views the world. Like an angel, shining and golden, the chakra to mark his third eye, blessed and favoured son (or nephew) of Heaven. In this land his violet eyes and sunshine hair, mark him as an oddity and being inconspicuous is just a joke. Sanzo still asks himself “Why?” Why it is that he is travelling with three of the world biggest idiots? The words of his bosses come floating back at him.
“So that the eyes of your heart may see.”
Sanzo feels that one day he will learn what those cryptic words mean. He has an inkling that it will be something so simple, and even more than a hunch that someone is having a fine time at his expense. He studies his companions. He entrusts his life to them on a regular basis, and many question his sanity in doing so. Sanzo figures he can guess at the reasons why Hakkai and Goku will follow him. The wild card is Gojyo. He can only deduce that the redhead tags along because of Hakkai.
“I just fixed that guy up, I’m not about to let him die.” Sanzo remembers vaguely.
There is something there in Gojyo, that Gojyo keeps hidden. It is in his eyes. Sanzo knows that there is just something just out of reach. If the wild card is Gojyo, the open book Hakkai must be. All the smiles, those that glint off the prosthetic eye, those that touch the healthy one, the set of the jaw when the healer is not happy, the whitening of the knuckles on the steering wheel when he worries, and wry laugh when he is finds something to laugh at. Huh! Gojyo is not the only one who can read Hakkai. The real mystery is Goku. Goku looks to Sanzo in a mirroring of Kouryuu and Koumyou in a different time and place.
“What will you do when you hear a voice calling you?” The words echo in his ears, alongside Goku’s whine of hunger. Unceasing.
The ear is not just for hearing but also for balance. It is able to detect stimuli that make us aware of our movement that aids us in keeping our balance. Perhaps then, hearing Goku – his calling – is as much a need for balance in his life at a time when there was none. Adrift and losing sight of what it is he is searching.
It was all very well to say that he will shoot anyone who makes such a din in his ears, but when push comes to shove, at the end of the day, Goku is an innocent. With no memory, of his past, starving from contact with the world, his taste buds will never have enough. Sanzo does not let innocents die unwarranted. Perhaps that is why he finds himself standing before Rikudo’s spear. Perhaps that is why he feels strongly enough about Goku that the strength of his will is able to remake the diadem power limiter, twice. Sanzo laughs at the ironies of life, because you have to.
As much as his beauty holds people, Sanzo’s voice also captures. Always chasing sunsets, Gojyo does not remember many sunrises, but he remembers that first time the four of them watched a sunrise together. That is the first time that Gojyo hears Sanzo saying that he does not read Sutras for the dead. Gojyo can only guess (at the time) that it is as much for Sanzo that Sanzo recites scriptures, as the rest of them. A voice low and ringing clear but not loud. Over a barren wasteland, the sunrise playing with shadows and light casting Sanzo in an ethereal glow. Just like an angel.
“Gonou is dead,” Sanzo plays with Gojyo when he tells him that. It is the idiot’s own fault for taking him literally. The angelic illusion balances out with real-life once more when the redhead finds out the truth later. You cannot believe everything you hear and sometimes you need to see with your eyes.
Hakkai sees salvation in Sanzo and in gratitude will watch over his health and heal his wounds as they occur. Though sometimes when they sit and watch the rain together, soaking in grief and memories, Hakkai is not so sure he is appreciative enough. The indulgence means different things to both men nevertheless; it is something the outside world sees that they share.
Goku does not understand this need to remember. The here and now is very important to Goku, because the past hides behind a curtain and pulls at heartstrings and he cannot understand. For his world is Sanzo and as long as Sanzo is all right, Goku will be the earth in orbit round his sun, and all is right in this world. Goku does not ever want to know true darkness again. Although sometimes when Sanzo tires, Goku can see, as much as sense the clouds about his Sun’s shoulders, like grey wings. He tries to help dissipate the grey though sometimes all Sanzo needs is space; breathing space to find peace of mind. Stillness of mind for balance, balance to strengthen his will and resolve to go on. For, it is beginning to feel like they have been on the westward road forever.
The tiredness hangs over Sanzo in a cloud of Red Marlboro smoke. Stale and still. Like gunshot residue, invisible to the eye, but you can smell the acridity of it, faint but still tangible. Like the blood smell, of a death so long ago, mingling with the metallic tang of copper and iron that may be his or that dead youkai’s just now. On this road, he must be strong enough to be able to bear the sin of killing. For only by living and surviving can he do anything about his life. Once upon a time, the stench of blood may have frozen him, not now.
“Perhaps, the smell that you can smell is that of blood. It is the blood that is running through your veins,” or so someone old and wise says to him. Blood is not the only thing that is red, and the smell of blood indicates life and you can hear it in your ears – and your mind. You can taste life and you can touch it. You make a choice to live and die by rules your way. The lessons belong to somebody else though.
The texts say that taste and smell are chemical senses. In the case of food, you need both smell and taste to detect flavours. Perhaps that is why food is an intrinsic part of Goku’s daily rituals. Sanzo is sandalwood, smoke and sweet life for Goku. Yes, Goku really can smell him out as much as Sanzo can ‘hear’ Goku. His reasoning on why Sanzo picks at his food and eats so little is that Sanzo forgets that life has its many flavours. Comments along the lines of ‘not enough calcium’ are common around Sanzo. Nutrition is not his strong point. He likes his beer and sake well enough and needs that nicotine fix, yesterday. The taste of it playing around in his nerves and feeding his mind and psyche. The fools that dare cross Sanzo’s path when he is in a state of nicotine and caffeine deprivation; are fools indeed. Not long for this world!
If Sanzo picks at his food, so does he pick at life? No, he chooses to live. It is no kind of life for an everyday layperson. Not for any of them really, but it is theirs.
Of all the senses, touch is the most palpable. However, to invade Sanzo’s personal space is likely to invite an encounter with his Smith &Wesson. It is a special kind of touch. However, when Goku first arrives at the temple ‘officially’, he sometimes awakes on Sanzo’s lap. The child’s nightmares seem to vanish at Sanzo’s interjection. He makes allowances for Hakkai’s healing hands. He fights off Gojyo’s attempts at close contact. It is besides the fact that Gojyo does not really get close unless he needs to, sometimes though - just to wind him up. It is just to help Sanzo out of trouble, you know. Gojyo knows better than to expect thanks, but that is fine. For, Gojyo actually understands quite a lot about keeping the world at arm’s length. Just to keep the pain to yourself.
Apparently, pain receptors are located throughout the skin. That touch can be pain. The sensation of pain can come to you as a prickling, fast pain or a burning and aching slow pain. Electrical, chemical, mechanical or thermal energies are the stimuli, which cause the pain receptors to react. They do not tell you of the slow and fast pain that you feel in your heart as your mind overloads when you see someone you love die in front of your eyes. That the thing that touches you is all these energies and not a mark on the skin will show. Sanzo knows this, as does Hakkai and few know of the double blow that Gojyo bears. Sanzo carries the chakra and Hakkai wears a monocle, one enlightened and one a third eye blind. Gojyo wears two stripes down the side of his face. Goku with his purity of innocence is their lifeline to healing. One day the chakra will not weigh so heavy, one day Hakkai will get proper eyeglasses, one day Gojyo’s scars will fade. Maybe.
Sanzo hears Goku. It is not just something his ears catch. He hears it in his head and denies that he hears it in his heart. Goku is not the only one he can hear. Sanzo is also able to hear people who have lost themselves to powers not of their own calling. He is able to save them. Even Gods concede to this gift of acuity. Is this a sixth sense? Perhaps you can argue it scientifically, by saying that everything gives off an electric field; therefore, if a person has finely tuned receptors, you may say that they have an electro-sense. Just like a shark. A kind of ‘animal sense’ that is able to calm down bears, endear Sanzo to cats and the ability to calm children (namely Lirin and Goku) down.
So what is that sense which saves Sanzo many a time? The feeling of foreboding, which hails a prelude to an attack, be it from humans, daemons or gods. Is there a sixth sense and a second sight? Something about the change in air pressure and temperature, that warns him of the approach. Very like a warrior. All senses sharp, aware at all times, the smell, the sound, the taste, the sight and touch of all that surrounds him. Add to that, the extra awareness. Call it what you like. Sanzo just is.
Owari
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Nothing more to see here now move along. Move along.