Description
Journey to Temple: A Tale of Mandalas
The night was cold and dark. I had been walking for some time. For how long exactly, I did not know, except that I remembered feeling the warmth of the sun at one point. It felt like long ago.
The path forward was relentless, nearly vertical with impossible switchbacks cutting back and forth across the mountain face. I stumbled along, sometimes on my hands and knees when the darkness was nigh impenetrable.
The first raindrops were cold, shockingly so. Indeed, I must have passed out momentarily because the mud was cool against my cheek but the raindrops colder still as they fell upon me.
As the raindrops washed away my dirt and grime, I increased my pace. The rain I could deal with, but the storm was close behind and I had no desire to find myself at the top of a mountain in the middle of a thunderstorm.
Spying a break in the ridge line, I rushed forward and breached the divide.
Thunder clapped and lightning struck, momentarily blinding me as I hurried through the gap.
I stumbled. Bumbling forward, I fell to my knees and slid a ways down the muddy path on the far side. Looking up, I squinted, blinking away flashbulbs from the flash bang from God, I saw what I could only describe as a Temple across the valley atop the ridge opposite. A fire flickered somewhere out of sight lighting the mystical building from afar.
Having wandered far and feeling cold and weary, I kept the Temple in my sight as I continued my descent down to the valley floor. Hurrying quickly through the shaded depths, I kept to the path and discovered the path turning to well worn stairs as I started my ascent of the path to the Temple.
As I got closer, I paused to catch my breath. The stairs were steep and I had been walking long. The storm, threatening to return, rumbled in the distance.
Lightning flashed, and I caught azure glimpses of majestic purples and royal blues. The building seemed to shimmer in a heat wave from the path of the lightning strike.
In the aftermath, I noticed…something…perched atop the building. It was aware; the awareness noticed me. I shivered and then felt relieved as the awareness passed me by.
Inconsequential, I must be.
The path of well worn stairs straightened and leveled out. Red brick walls appeared, the path running straight through an ornate gate of burnished bronze. The gates opened slowly and soundlessly as I approached.
While a gong would have been appropriate, the atmosphere was silent except for the quietly flapping prayer flags that threatened to float off but managed to remain connected by tenuous thread.
A metallic heartbeat rang out rhythmically further down the path. I continued along, drawn in by the musical bass.
I smelled the fire before I saw it. A barrel burned, a forge glowed. Two monks in saffron robes stood before both, hammer and anvil clutched in forearms that swung rhythmically upon the material that rang musically throughout the Temple grounds.
The blacksmith monks worked upon something that was hard to discern it glowed so fiercely. It appeared to be a type of unbreakable ceramic that retained heat and incandescence from the forge long after leaving the warmth of the hearth.
I thought about trying to get their attention, but the singleminded determination for which they approached their craft deterred me.
I continued along.
Approaching the Temple proper, there was another set of giant, double doors, engraved with angels, demons, and deities. Carved smoke and ivy grown wild vied for dominance upon the face of the door. These, too, opened before me.
Light spilled from the opening doors. There was a vast wall in front of me. The light shone from hundreds, no thousands, of spinning, glowing mandalas that refracted colorful fractals in a kaleidoscope of neon lights and lasers.
I found myself amazed at the sight. Warmth emitted from the wall of art, and I felt a sort of communion for the craftsmanship that guided the construction of such elegant devices. As I stood there, mouth agape, a mandala popped off the wall and clattered to the floor in front of me. The column shifted to fill the gap and the absence was no longer discernible. Another mandala, as mesmerizing as the first, had slid into place.
I picked up the mandala and felt its smooth surface. There was a solidity and heft to the mandala that belied its relatively small footprint. The designs wrought into its surface undulated, coiling and uncoiling as I attempted to trace the mesmerizing maze of lines. Losing myself, I jerked awake spastically, fearing the depths that beckoned from the mandala.
I tucked it into my robes so I could feel its cold surface against my skin and turned to face the way I had come. The secrets of the mandala deserved closer inspection in a safe place where they could be explored more fully.
The storm having finally decided to make an appearance round two raged apocalyptic outside. The musical hammering of the monks was barely discernible over the roar of the storm. Their flimsy overhand appeared to keep them dry, but the wind whipped their ropes back and forth. They appeared content in their craft.
Warm and dry in the Temple, surrounded by works of inspiration, I watched the storm from a point of safety. While the path forward was dark and filled with shades of malicious intent, I no longer felt apprehensive at the journey ahead - I felt emboldened, but for now I think I might rest awhile and watch the storm from the comfort of the Temple. Who knows I may even forge something for a weary traveler to take with them on their journey through space and time.
Your weary traveler,
n0Madz
#roughdraft #fiction #short #story #flashfiction #mandalas #temple