3. Meditations on Pain - Keira's perception

Meditations on Pain - Keira's perception


  • No-one chooses evil because it is evil; they only mistake it for happiness, the good they seek.

    Keira knelt on the tower, watching the woods. The goblins had fled and it was likely to be a quiet night. She sighed, thinking of the problems again. It had never mattered before; there was a hierarchy at the order. It was easy to know what was right, who to obey. Out in the chaos of the world it was different. None of them were right. Blind obedience to their ideals wouldn’t serve Her will, yet so many of them would bring great suffering to their victims. It should be easy to watch, to let them fall, to let their destiny overtake them. Watching, listening – that was easy to do, easy to report. Anyone could do that so her action was not relevant.

    Murder. That was different. She’d watched people die, that was easy. She’d chosen to watch some die rather than help them, and that was easy. She’d killed many, all who’d opposed her or meant her harm, and that had been easy. She’d hunted them, one by one, those responsible for the destruction of the Order, that had been a glorious effort of devotion. A true measure of justice and vengeance. If she’d been stronger sooner they would have died sooner. If they’d have died as they should, that night, they wouldn’t have burdened the others. Keira rubbed the scars on her thigh, remembering. Some had run, some had left Helmsdale, some had raised new families. All had died by Hoar’s will and her hand. The children had been hardest. Were they innocent, responsible only for their own actions? Were they aberrations, people who should never have been, if their fathers had died when they should. They didn’t understand.

    That was choice, her choice to return, her choice to kill, her choice to avenge. She could see it coming. This death might be one she would observe but there would be another. We all walk our own path. Perhaps their destiny to die at her hand if their actions bear consequences that requires it. To kill for another, out of some loyalty or for pay was not right. Keira frowned, thinking. Their destiny… If it’s their destiny then that allows any action. That way absolves responsibility and implies a written future. She could do anything at all, with only the consequences of the world to face. Her choice, the ultimate arbitrator in their lives. It was wrong. She knew she couldn’t kill like that, not for those reasons. (Why is it wrong). That was one of the mysteries, not to hurt everyone, lest they turn against you. She smiled at the memory, overheard in a cold cell in the mountains. Back when she knew what to do, when she was (weak) safe.

    Out here though, who was there to trust and obey. The Banites were flawed, posturing, arrogant fools for the most part. Blind to the fact that their indiscriminate actions brought them to the attention of others. Unable to see that to progress their plans they had to survive. Keira couldn’t join them, she was (afraid) wiser than that. The monks of the Four Winds still didn’t trust her, still felt she was something to be spurned. The paladin said no-one accepted you for being good and they were right. The servants of the crypt were distant, and strange. It was horrifying to consider the self bound to flesh, yet unfeeling of pain. An abomination in Her sight. Yet their plans too would cause suffering in the world above, would bless many with Her touch. The Militia were accepting, encouraged random cruelty and openly praised her work with the prisoners. Most offences had been confessed to now, sometimes even the sight of her in the cells was enough to make people eager to admit their crimes. Such declarations always had to be verified, but to see the anticipation in their eyes, the hopes that maybe, just maybe, she’d pass them by… Keira sighed dreamily.

    All the time she’d lived here, all the years – never hurting anyone that didn’t want it, never killing anyone that didn’t attack her, never doing anything wrong. Still they watched her, waiting for a chance to destroy her. Waiting for an excuse. They were blind too. To make her feel this alone, to drive her to what tolerance she could find in others. As they hate her, so they shape her into something to be hated. Action and consequence. Keira ground her knuckles viciously into her leg, blinking back silent tears as the sparks from her gloves scorched her flesh. Why not act that way? Why not be reviled, shunned and hated for what she did, rather than what they only thought she did? Why not give shape to their nightmares?

    Her eyes flickered over the quiet woods and the South road. She heard the faint screech of an owl finding its dinner in some unsuspecting animal. She thought of the plan, again. It wasn’t like her to feel anger that way, but the pain had cut through it like it always did, bringing her Truth. Not today, but soon. She’d have to choose a side. The Banites or the Militia, the Banites or the servants, the servants or the Doomguides, the Doomguides or the Militia - All without considering what lay beyond in Peltarch. As soon as she finds someone, they leave. As soon as there’s strength in her life, someone to follow, they leave.

    Soon she’d have to choose.


  • Personality is born out of pain. It is the fire shut up in the flint.

    Memory is not Truth. Perception is not Truth. Words are not Truth. They can be, but we fog ourselves with expectation. Which would venerate Her more, great pain healed and repeated, or less severe pain unchecked. Keira pondered, sitting on the hill overlooking the Orc plains. A year since she’d seen Noria here. Alone again. Everybody leaves. We’re all alone. She marvelled at the nuances of the often repeated phrase, wondered at the times she thought she’d understood and learned what it meant, only to have it rear up and confront her again. Only through acceptance of what is can we move forward.

    Elor had left, moved on to Selune. Arizima had left, leaving Arnath for Lathander’s light – if that shone wherever she was now. Elissa had left, maybe to exact her revenge, maybe pursued. Noria had left her, for whatever reasons she had. What is it trying to teach? They leave, some for light, some almost certainly not, but they leave. Often without words, or message or apparent consideration. Is that betrayal? Is it just easier? They leave because you’re nothing to them, a tool to be discarded. They leave because you’re weak. They leave because they sense you need them more than they need you. They leave because they know it’ll hurt you.

    We’re all alone.

    The path is not just choice as Elor thought. It isn’t a game of deciding to weaken yourself by choosing a life without weapons or armour. It isn’t ego or hubris to say ‘I can learn to avoid the blows’. It’s not about the fighting. It’s about boundaries. It’s about knowing where you are and what everything else is. It’s about self, that foundation. He’d asked if it could all be a dream, a rare flash of insight for him. It could be. He failed to understand, again. She saw it in his eyes the next pointless questions about why it mattered, how we could tell, what it allowed us to do. He thinks she’s stagnant, unchanging. He thinks she doesn’t see what is, because he dreams of what should be. Change, learning and growth all require a place to begin. The only place that can be is here and now. Without recognising what is, how can that be changed to what should be? Precision not power. Keira sighed. He would likely never understand the difference between action and chaos. He would never learn focus beyond himself.

    We’re all alone.

    Her path was one of strength and devotion, one of hardiness and endurance. All suffering is individual, because everyone suffers differently. Yet the order, Her priesthood, the teachings… These were all activities with others, all striving to enlighten others to Her mystery and Truth. There was a lesson to learn. How to teach without needing to teach? How to be alone within the crowds? How to watch them leave, as they always will, without losing too much of herself with them…?

    She would leave, no matter how steady her hand or pleasant her smile. She was promised to another. She is not here… None of them are here for you, they’re just here. Watch them, listen to them, learn from them, use them. Your concern must be for yourself. None of them are constant. They’ll be swept away soon enough. Watching them as the inevitable Truth consumes them will be worthy devotion. Watching them as their noble plans spread more suffering and dissent will be fitting retribution. Already they sow the seeds of their downfall. All of us do.

    We’re all alone.


  • 'The choice of inaction is in itself an action'

    Keira smiled, looking through the bars. She thought he'd never understand. Elor's voice drifted on, talking about choice but still not understanding. His eyes flicked to hers again and she nodded slightly, reflexively so that he'd continue talking. She watched the muscles in his jaw and his throat work, imagining their touch underneath her fingers.

    Elor had stopped talking and was watching her. She smiled slightly. 'What do you want me to do when I get out?' he said again. Another pointless question, on many levels. Why dream of a future that might never be? The one that is will be here soon enough. Why would she have an expectation or a desire for his behaviour? That's his responsibility. What does he want to hear? He's asking the wrong question. Again.

    Yet, maybe he was right. It had to be considered. There were fragments of wisdom in what he said, even if they were mangled by vague assurances of light and hope. Her answers for him swept though her head, Learn, live, die, choose, all of them too close to Truth for his ears. Elor was a dangerous man, always too trusting, too willing to believe he'd found Truth. She'd seen what he was capable of in blind service of what he thought his truth. He'd have to learn for himself.

    She said: 'I d-don't know' . She'd learned enough to know that you don't tell them you don't care.


  • All sides in a trial want to hide at least some of the truth.

    Fitting recompense will always accrue for one’s actions. Keira rubbed the scars on her thigh idly, feeling the ridges of the design there. Give pain to the deserving. He’ll learn, in time. He wanted life without me, and he has that now. He wanted to run, blindly, to the answers and certainty of light. Word becomes action.

    She’d watched him in the Jail, deceiving himself. Heard him desperately justify his actions, hoping that his certainty would overcome the Truth. She’d watched him at the trial, listening to the words arrayed against him. Watched his actions chip away at his certainty in his eyes. He’d lied to his counsel. Nate had no idea what he was getting involved in. Another hope, another expectation crushed. She’d seen it in Nate’s eyes when he realised that this case would not be won. This case was lost from the beginning.

    Uphold true justice. Temper suffering with kindness. He’d not understood. Keira remembered the note in the Boarshead, so blunt, so innocent. Action. She remembered the fire in Elor’s eyes leaving the Temple of Tyr, a new man, free to pursue his own path, not the twining indecision and conflict of his demon. She remembered his zeal, his conviction that in the glow of his new light others would understand. We learn when we’re ready, not when we’re taught. He’d wanted to leave pain behind but he didn’t understand. Pain and death are part of life. To reject them is to reject life itself.

    To leave pain behind. Keira smiled at the ridiculous idea. You can’t ever leave it behind, only choose what can hurt you and ignore all else that others call pain. If you truly didn’t care, you might come close. What ignorance, what impotence that would foster. Another path of victimhood. Elor bore Her mark. Keira remembered carving it into his shoulder, remembered the devotion in her heart. Remembered recognising one of Hers, even if he chose to deny it, furthering his own torment. She knew he’d seen flashes of Her at the hands of the slavers, his family. She’d told him how to move on. To leave those specific pains behind, or to carry them forward at his decision. Still he persisted in anxiety and doubt. He still suffered, as he should, as he chose to.

    Then he chose to leave. Declared he wanted nothing more from her. Keira remembered the snow falling on the near east road, the one-sided conversation punctuated by foolish hobgoblins. She remembered him talking, his thoughts solidifying in his head, his certainty building as he spoke. He convinced himself he didn’t want her as she watched him. Until he needed her ears again, her advice, her help in his decisions. He’d decided such advice no longer needed his love to pay for it. Keira sighed, remembering. A scourge wouldn’t have been so easy to let go. With training she could have offered him some hope to re-kindle his desire, to lead him. She still didn’t deserve a name. Rejected again, alone again, as always.

    He couldn’t see that either choice would lead to suffering. Every choice leads to pain. Without pain, there would be no suffering, without suffering we would never learn from our mistakes. To make it right, pain and suffering is the key to all doors, without it, there is no way of life. So he chose to purge himself, chose to seek some light to banish what he thought was his darkness. He didn’t see that we can all do evil, or good. He didn’t see that we don’t need a Demon within us to justify our action. There is only our will, our choice, our actions and their consequences. He tried to leave pain behind without understanding how it was bound to him, dragging it with difficulty rather than accepting it and bearing it well.

    He chose his path, without me. He chose to run to the light. He chose the weakness of certainty over the wisdom of doubt. He chose. Keira sighed, remembering his last chance in the Lucky Ferret. She remembered asking whether he should fear the Sharran he hunted, or her allies. She remembered warning him to consider the consequences of his choices before acting. She remembered asking him what he was planning, in the crowded Inn, in front of Amaliel. Remembered her choice of which questions to whisper and which to ask aloud. She remembered sadly, his conviction. She remembered his devotion to that path, not realising it justified many others. A just and fitting vengeance for that persecution. A small measure of pain in return for rejection.

    Keira remembered the trial. Remembered Elor’s face, watching her. Remembered him shaking his head as her perception differed from his. Remembered him shaking his head as his perception differed from Amaliel’s, from Natanya’s, from Anah’s. Remembered Nate, asking the wrong questions – briefed only from Elor’s perception. Without consideration, we cannot tell the inevitable from the things we can change. Without consideration, we can’t see how to change the things we can. Keira smiled, hoping that a simpler life, an austere routine would breed understanding and wisdom in him. Pain has its own noble joy, when it starts a strong consciousness of life, from a stagnant one.

    Keira smiled, knowing she could wait to see the result.


  • Belade Galadon mumbles something about punish, Loviathan and not fair when she hears about all of those pain addicts


  • Lovely. 😎


  • The pain of love is the pain of being alive. It is a perpetual wound.

    Keira remembers. The ground swinging up, damp grass on her cheek. Darkness. Another day, another slaad from the portal. One day, they will not be content with show. One day it will be final. Death is not an event in life: we do not live to experience death. What comes after is without time, not eternal, and so to experience all we must focus on now. If that was my death, what should I have experienced before then? What more can I do, to seek, to strive, to learn? We don’t choose the day we die, but still our choice is our responsibility.

    Keira remembers the Order. She remembers the Scourges leaving for their paths outside, to enlighten others to Her truths. Bright, confident, attractive. She knows her smile is a weak shadow of their resolve. She heard them say that
    ‘There is no pain equal to that which two lovers can inflict on one another. This pain is the beginning of wisdom, strong enough to contaminate the rest of their lives’.
    They learned so fast, moving on as she was left behind with the younger novices. Even at the end, she thought that her path would not lie outside, but in quiet contemplation, in teaching, in meditations. Not out here, not with the weak and unenlightened.

    Keira smiled, recognising anger and shame within her. Shame at her inadequacy, anger at those who’d forced her onto this path, away from what she’d wished for as a novice. She smiled, cherishing the anger against the inevitable past, before accepting it once more and calming herself. The past is gone, now is all there is. To learn we must suffer. Even in our rest, pain that cannot forget falls drop by drop upon the heart, and in our own despair, against our will, comes wisdom to us. She felt blessed. Like all experience in life, the test was how to perceive events, how to endure and how to act. She had not been trained for this, but that too was a test. Many of the trials were unexpected, and yet once immersed in them, the application of will and focus revealed the path. We always know more than we believe.

    Love. A horrifying concept, one of the cornerstones of joy and happiness in the world. She remembered snatches of sound, gasps heard in her cell. Watched folk touch, hug and kiss with a detached eye. Watching for flickered glances, watching for the expressions to change when their lover couldn’t see, waiting for the inevitable sorrow and grief. She’d felt bodies, massaged muscles slick with oil and blood, always with care and devotion. But not Love. Is it just will, just intent to choose to love?

    Keira remembered what he’d said to her, un-asked for.
    “I will always love you” - “You’re beautiful” – “I want us to be together forever”

    Lies. Worse than lies – they were obvious lies. Bad lies. How can anyone say ‘Always’ more than once, to different people. How can the meaning of love change when they want it to end. Not Forever at all. Just for as long as he felt that way. She wasn’t beautiful, the Sunite had been perfectly clear on that and they should know. Keira sighed. They all deceive themselves to live in the happy weakness of certainty. Bow, Elor, Nicholai, Natanya, all of them. They choose that blindness over truth. They see what they wish to, because it’s easier than doubting perception. They must learn. They must learn, even if accepting the Truth they choose to deny it.

    Keira considered, thinking of the couples she’d seen. Remembering their words, their actions. Hands drifting over hands. Looking to each other. The things unsaid, but there in gesture, small movements. Why did they love?
    The gift of tea…
    Why?
    She smiled, opening her eyes, hearing herself whisper to the empty room.
    ‘They see themselves in another’ .
    Who could I love? Who could love me? Thought becomes word. Word becomes action. Action becomes habit. Habit becomes character. What can I show them of me? If they see a pale mirror of themselves… Will they love? She thought of Elor, angry, seeking answers he wouldn’t let himself provide. Bow, wanting a quiet elf of the woods, comfortable with silence and contemplation of trees. Something of themselves, and something they can give… They want to be needed, valued, wanted.

    Keira thought for a moment, knowing she didn’t have the confidence to lie. Knowing she didn’t need that love. If action becomes habit becomes character… They’re unreliable. To need them, to become weak and dependent. To beg for crumbs of their appreciation. To become one of them. She hovered over the thought, reaching for the consequences of that choice. To trust, to pass control of yourself to another, to mutely accept their will regarding your life, your pain, your death.

    To be a victim. One of His.

    Keira took a deep breath and let it out evenly. Pain is the breaking of the shell enclosing understanding. To remove that pain from another, to deny them that chance to learn is wrong. His way is wrong. Without Her, He would be nothing. Without Him, She would still be as glorious. Wisdom through doubt, through consideration and suffering. If that choice leads to His way and His way is wrong then… I cannot love, or must learn to lie, or…

    Keira smiled, the next few steps on the path becoming clearer to her.


  • In life there are neither rewards nor punishments – there are consequences.

    Keira traced her fingers over the fresh wounds on her leg, feeling the raised edges of the cuts, slick with blood just starting to thicken and scab. She breathed evenly, smelling the straw and damp wool of the bedding, smelling the heavy coppery scent of the incense mingling with the pungent smell of the acid she’d used sparingly. They’d never understand, never listen, never learn. She smiled at her ridiculous certainty, acknowledging it as false. They could learn, would listen, and would understand if they chose to. To seek Truth, we must doubt everything, completely, at least once. From that doubt, certainty can be built.

    She folded her hands, focussing on the feelings from her legs, opening her mind to everything. Noting the dull ache and numbness in her feet from the cramped kneeling position. Considering the difference between the burning throb of the injuries and the contrasting sharpness of fresh sensation as the cool air from the window gusted over the raw flesh. Cherishing the perception, the experience, the illusion of reality. She’d said you only feel when you bleed, but that was not a complete truth. Keira poked her leg again, tweaking the design between her thumb and finger, cracking the scabs and watching a few bright drops of blood ooze to the surface.

    Keira sighed, contemplating Truth. If we act as we wish to be, we become how we act. Her name will always rouse fear in their minds and that fear is a barrier to understanding. We learn when we’re ready, not when we’re taught. Dragged back, thrust into the dead flesh of her body and woken. Why? Not because I’m needed, not because She wouldn’t claim me. That is past. Moving on from here, always more to learn. Brought back because they chose to, Action and consequence, not motivation. To learn, I must live. To learn, they must not kill me. I should have run… next time I will.

    She smiled, chanting her way softly through the Truths and the Litany. Doubting each one, labelling it false, and considering the consequences of such thought. Ordering them in her thought, accepting them, noting which would be more obvious, less likely to reveal Her. Remembering the books and the teachings, considering the words that would guide action. No discipline without punishment. Punishment must fit crime. Hurt the deserving. Violence will meet violence and evil will pay back evil. Suffer blows that can’t be avoided and deal pain back to those who offend. Avenge all attacks, lest they be repeated.

    Certainty will bring happiness, but doubt brings wisdom and Truth.


  • ‘When you’re dead, you’re dead. That’s it.’

    Keira smiled, feeling the unbroken skin of her throat. She looked over the drifting red sands, swirling about the ruins. She looked down at her naked body, scarred as she’d expect but unwounded. No bite to the hamstrings, no frostbite, no raked claws down her side. She felt the sand warm beneath her feet and took a deep breath. She pinched herself viciously, feeling it, feeling her fingers grip her skin, then stopped.

    Last time she’d been here she was scared. Last time she was younger. The place and the reason haven’t changed. As our time wears on, the only discernible change is to ourselves. Now that was over. She would come and then there would be much more to learn. Here there is no pain but where She would lead there certainly would be. Until that time it would be correct to consider the past, to clear her mind for the future. Here was the perfect place. Without the illusions of the body to cloud perception perhaps greater clarity could be found. Keira looked at her feet, lightly dusted with sand. Listened to the wind drifting over the ruins. She knelt, closing her eyes and prayed that She would come when the meditations were complete. The sensations of this place were illusion and falsehood. No sand under her knees, no eyes to close, no breath, no body. Only the self, alone in the darkness.

    Keira woke in the Boarshead, frowning at the rain beating on the window. She chewed some dried meat from her pack, sipped the water, ripped a chunk off a small loaf bought the day before. Always the mornings felt blank to her. The day stretching ahead, unwritten, unplanned. No responsibility, except to herself and to Her. There is only the responsibility to accept the lessons of the day and to try to learn them. She walked downstairs, careful to avoid meeting Misty’s gaze as she hurried out into the rain.

    They were standing near the signpost. Keira walked up, standing on the edge of the group until Elissa noticed her and smiled. The others acknowledged her too, making her real to them and to herself. She listened silently as the dwarf they called Tolin planned his trip to Ormpur. Watched as they carefully warned of the dangers of the wolves on the road. Keira heard Angelina ask if she’d go too and nodded. There seemed to be many travellers, Angelina’s friend Beki, the dwarf and a couple of half-orcs she’d seen around Norwick. If the wolves can be killed swiftly enough to prevent the deaths of the weak all will be well. She watched Elissa excuse herself to another errand and briefly allowed herself a moment of indecision as she considered who to follow. Then the group left for Jiyyd, with Keira following.

    The road out was unchallenging, except for a gnome’s insistence that he should tame the wolves to make them fight each other. Seeing the strength of arms we could show as a group and still leave some back to protect the weaker ones it was unnecessary. Keira heard the persistent whines of the gnome and relented. For the return journey, she agreed not to use her bow and let the gnome plan the attacks. The gnome, Budo. She pictured his eager little face, his red robe, him smiling as he apologised for his rudeness. She smelled again the heavy scent of the bear Budo became in Ormpur to destroy the town’s trashcans and signposts. She remembered Nate’s story game, a miserable tale of injustice and tragic love, the sole woman doomed to be the plaything of her various suitors. Yet she heard them claim it was just a story. They don’t understand. You think, you act. What you choose to say and do contains the seeds of the listener’s perception.

    Waking again, in a different Inn. Keira felt a moment’s panic, that maybe the snows outside were the snows of home and that she was too close to rest in an Inn, then she remembered and was calm. Another breakfast of cold meats, watching Kull squabble with the other half-orc over the food, hearing Nate plan the return and Beki grumble about the privacy of the rooms. They left, pausing outside the gates to cast in preparation. She remembered the chill of the wind on her skin as she stretched, testing her muscles, preparing herself for the future.

    It was the gnome. His insistence not to engage the wolves so he could tame them led to one running through the group. The wolf-pack hunting our weakest as we attacked theirs. Beki fell, tossed aside by the worg as it ran on to pursue another. Keira watched the blood pulse out of her onto the snows as she tried to bandage the dying woman. She felt the wound close under her fingers as the gnome cheerily called down nature’s blessings, apparently oblivious to the consequences of his plan. She saw the others were badly mauled as well, Angelina and Kull limping slightly from leg wounds. Keira remembered the rest of the pack bounding from cover, several wolves brought back by Budo, one of them happily trotting at his heels, the others less obedient. It was almost beautiful, the graceful dance of wolves, the sprays of blood from the swords, the silent grace of Budo’s panther as it struck at the heels and throats of the distracted. Then all quiet again. Feeling the chill again as perception broadens to include things outside the fight. Another mess of twisted limbs marked where Beki had fallen, Angelina tending her this time.

    Keira smiled. The road seemed longer returning than it had leaving Jiyyd. Another falsehood of perception, but one that was different to the usual. The rest of the road had been handled better. No-one else downed. She raised a hand to her throat, remembering.

    It was quiet. She hear the sounds of weary footsteps as the deeper snows of the East road gave way to the grasses and trees outside Jiyyd. She felt the snow on her face and whispered a prayer of thanks to Auril, the Frostmaiden, for her touch on these damp lands. Some had headed onward into Jiyyd while the rest followed behind. She heard faintly behind her someone mention the last wolf. Again, she felt herself turning, watching the last ‘tamed’ Worg rip apart a deer to the south of the road. It looked much less obedient now, its huge head turning to survey Tolin uncomfortably closely.
    I should have looked.
    Keira saw again the wolf, crouched to spring as she ran toward it. Felt its shaggy pelt as she drove two swift kicks into its side to draw its attention. Saw it turn, ignoring the dwarf. She remembered feeling the teeth close on her arm, gnawing, trying to shear the meat from her bones. She remembered some relief as her punch to its nose made it release its grip.
    I should have run.
    She saw Tolin back away slightly, before swaying easily out of the way of a swiping paw. Keira remembering, notices that the paws on the large worgs are as large as her head. Keira fighting, spins and punches, aiming for the spot between the eye and the ear where a firm blow can stun a weak opponent. She feels the blow glance off to little effect. Another feint, another strike and the wolf is moving slower; foul breath fogging in the still air of the woods. Keira fighting, sees the wolf stagger sideways and smiles. Keira remembering sees the wolf focussed and cunning, sees herself time a kick badly. Keira fighting, feels the teeth rip out most of her calf and hamstrings. She doesn’t smile, she runs. Remembering limping away, forcing her injured leg to work by will and the other mysteries and Truths. Remembering fleeing a similar wolf, knowing that unwounded, she can outrun them.
    I should have kept running.
    She ran, savouring the variation between the dull burn and the stabbing pain when her left foot hit the ground. She felt the grass turn to the beaten earth of the road, maybe twenty metres from where she’d fought the wolf. Couldn’t hear pursuit and thought of the dwarf, the others. She knew she wouldn’t leave them, wouldn’t have left Elissa, had she come. She remembered turning, unslinging her bow, nocking an arrow and loosing fluidly at where the huge worg had been.
    I should have left them. They chose their path
    Remembered seeing where the worg was, seeing the arrow strike despite the snow, despite her injured arm. Keira remembers how snow dampens sound, how deep sounds like wind or thudding paws are muted. She sees the worg far too close as it leaps onto her and forces her down, the wounded leg giving up. She smells its rich, coppery breath, feels the snow falling on her face. Keira remembering feels the teeth close about her throat again, knowing what will happen. Our choice leads to our destiny. She remembers the bite, knows that damage alone will kill her, her throat crushed. She will suffocate before the loss of blood is fatal.

    Then, she remembers a moment of clarity. A snowflake in her eye, but blinking it away was unimportant. A scream of outrage and will, locked in her chest. The tearing as the jaws worried her neck, more blood lost. It will be luck now if they can reach her before the end. All her focus on her neck, a silent prayer to Her as the wolf jerks its head, ripping her throat out. A brief shower of blood across her eyes falls like a curtain.

    Pain is perception, the promis’d direction
    Above all it masters, all it outlasts as
    The senses grow weaker, or focus diminish,
    Strike as Her wishes for all life is Pain

    Keira remembers, and waits for Loviatar to claim her.

    ((Thanks to Nate, Tolin, Rebekah Blackwood, Kull, Vrognash, Angelina and of course – Budo RunsFast. A wonderful expedition I never hope to repeat…))


  • When one's body gets hurt, it feels that hurt. That is its intelligence.
    When one's mind gets hurt, it suffers from that hurt. That is its ignorance.

    Pain does not kill. Our bodies are fragile and easily damaged. The pain warns us of harm and prompts us to avoid it if possible. The body knows. The body remembers. Heed the message of pain, without fear. Fear denies focus and clarity of perception. When judgement fails, we are likely to act poorly – either through inefficiency or haste. We must strive for acceptance of the unavoidable, and through that to focus on what is.

    Pain does not kill. Extended application of pain is noted and if unavoidable, the sensation is lessened. This is automatic. To override this requires focus and training to appreciate the Truth of sensation. With practice we learn to vary sensation enough that it does not become expected and ignored. Work always with care and focus and devotion. That will be invaluable when working upon others.

    Pain does not kill. Carelessness will kill a subject through fatal damage. Pain alone will not. What kills is a loss of hope. We all strive to live, if living is worthwhile. If the subject of your attention feels that there is no release, no way back to a worthy life, they will die. This is also careless. Brutal mutilation, loss of function, facial scarring – all of these have great impact in the mind. An unwilling subject will always hope to return to their life, their friends unchanged. A vain hope. Nevertheless, if the injury is too great, if that hope is shattered, if there is nothing to keep them alive, they will die. Pain must be balanced with less severe sensation, with relief and even with pleasure to encourage the mind to focus on the sensations it receives. We must learn the ways of the body, know how it functions and know how it fails. The knowledge that can heal can be used in many ways.

    The mind is the ultimate vessel of suffering. It can be trained to ignore suffering, but for most they are prey to weakness and fear. The memory of pain can last longer and be more influential than pain itself. Fear of pain is more powerful than experience because deep down we know that it can get worse. That is why we strive to accept the inevitable and not let that fear drive us. Fear is only as deep as the mind allows. Where fear is present, wisdom cannot be. This is Truth, but it must be learned, not told. As fear is close companion to falsehood, so Truth follows fearlessness.


  • 'Pain isn’t punishment, it’s training'

    There is self and there is all else. To perceive Truth we consider how the self perceives everything else. To measure anything we compare with a standard. What standard can there be when only Self is Truth? We need some basic awareness, some nothingness or background against which we can consider our perception. We all walk our own path. As we walk it, we discover things we can’t avoid. We’re hurt, by others, by ourselves, by circumstance, by falsehood and by Truth. All life is pain, and while we strive to avoid that which we can, some is inevitable.
    If time is the currency of our life, then pain is certainly the currency of our experience. All living things feel pain, if not as we do. We all walk our own path.

    We are conditioned from birth to recognise pain as important. This is something none need to be taught. It is a universal Truth of our life. For this, it is ideal as a personal measure of awareness. It can be used to enhance meditative trance, to focus the mind, to increase strength of spirit, to build self-awareness. All pain has a lesson attached and we should consider those lessons before addressing the pain. Above all, in the spirit of acceptance of that which is unchangeable – Pain is in the past. Pain is perception. We can learn to view it with new eyes, to see Her Truth within our perception.

    What is our body?

    It is not self, since it can be destroyed and recreated in exceptional circumstance. It is therefore potentially false and our perception of our body must be examined rigorously. To ease this we strive to perfect the body’s function and use it in the most efficient manner. The body is our tool, a filter through which perception is channelled before it reaches the Self. We should distinguish between the Truth of what the body needs and what our false perception of what it wants. Through hardship and need, we can discover Truth and build strength in spirit. Through study of the body we learn how best to use it, how best to teach. There is no pain in death, only a disconnection from the body. Through study we can understand the limitations and vulnerabilities of the body. That understanding enables clearer perception with the body.

    Pain exists to teach. We should not fear to learn its lessons. Many fear pain due to false perception. Fear can make us act poorly it can affect perception. Through acceptance and understanding we can learn not to fear pain. Pain is perception. Recognising that physical pain is only a response to damage by the body, allows us to focus on the pain. It allows us to consider that perception, to accept it, to cherish it as all perception. It allows us to choose to act, unfettered by the fear of pain.

    Pain is perception and all life is Pain


  • _A chilly wind gusts through the Rawlins, rustling the branches on a rare clear day. The woods are safer now; only rarely do goblins advance this close to Norwick. Keira watched the peddler leave the gates, watched him chat to the guards about the safety of the road, watched him wander southwards into the wood. She sighed, wrapping her book carefully in an oiled skin before packing it away. Then she stretched and followed the human, quietly.

    A few hours from Norwick, further than most would go to gather wood, the peddler pauses at a stream. Keira watches calmly from the shade of a tree several metres away. He's given no sign of having noticed her. He hasn't turned, or looked all the time she'd crept through the woods, parallel to his path. For him, she isn't there… She watches him shoulder his pack, smaller than when he came to Norwick. Watches him pat the concealed pouches at his boot and thigh, a common safeguard against bandits and pickpockets. She sees the peddler smile, hears him whistle a tune as he sets off deeper into the woods, keeping to the path. She follows, soft boots padding silently over the leaves and earth.

    Night falls swiftly in Narfell, the peddlers experience on the road has taught him well. She sees him sit, by a small fire of deadwood in a clearing set a short way back from the road. She watches the smoke rise into the starlit sky, drifting southward with the wind, drifting deeper. Still, he hasn't shown that he knows she's there, watching him. She smiles, sadly listening to the sounds of the woods, watching the peddler kick a rock from his makeshift camp, hearing him scrape a hollow for his hips in the soft earth beneath the bedroll. He is real to her, a slightly sweaty man, smelling of wood smoke and faintly of the rabbit he cooked over the fire for his supper. She is nothing to him, not even a pale ghost in the woods. She nods as she listens to him pray briefly but clearly to Shaundakul for a quiet night's rest on the road.

    The moon has risen, bathing the clearing and the camp in a soft light, easily enough for her eyes. The woods are nearly silent, save for the sighing wind and the occasional rustle of an animal. Keira sits, eyes closed, listening to it all. She listens to the rustling, tilting her head slightly. She listens, concentrating, focussing on the sounds to the south. Maybe 4 of them, careful hunters, not badgers, not wolves... only 2 feet each. She licks her lips slightly and smiles.

    Watching from the edges of the clearing, silent and still. She watches from a moonlit shadow, watches them advance on the clearing. One passes within metres of her, yet intent on his prey in the clearing. She watches the goblins look at each other, then look at the man. Sees them look around again before looking back at the man, still asleep. The goblins advance on the man, hefting a rough club each, when she hears one of them – better armoured now he stands in the light of the clearing – howl like a wolf, unconvincingly. The man startles, wakes. She sees him reach for his sword as the first club swings and strikes him. She sees, bathed in moonlight, the skin of his forehead split. A shallow gash, just a line of shadow on his face before blood wells up out of it, dark in the night. The other clubs are falling too. She hears a crunch, maybe 2 ribs. She smiles, watching the blow to the knee that prevents him rising. Sees the man’s sword catch the light as it’s drawn, hears the hiss as it leaves the scabbard, smells the rich, sour, coppery scent of blood as the blade scrapes across the legs of one of the goblins. The clubs keep swinging and she feels a slight thump as the man’s body falls. The big goblin is already rummaging through the pack, metallic sounds as items are discarded and thrown carelessly into the trees. She sees the wounded goblin clutching at its legs, watches the dark blood pool shimmering on the forest floor where it lies. The other two are fighting over the belt pouch, arguing incomprehensibly in some guttural tongue, beady eyes fixed on each other.

    She steps from the shadow into the light, deliberately scuffing a foot through the leaf-muck. Another frozen moment. She sees the goblins hear her, watches the wounded one crawl backwards and away while the blood still pulses between its fingers. Sees the big goblin look up from the pack, then look to its companions. The two squabbling ones turn, neither willing to be the first to let go of the pouch. Keira smiles as she sees resolve and focus take hold of the two goblins. She watches as they grab for the clubs and charge the few metres across the clearing. She hears the soft thump of their advancing steps as she turns, feels the impact as her boot hits the first in the head, the second in the chest as she spins back to face them. The first is falling when she feels its throat collapse under the edge of her hand. The second swings futilely as her other leg sweeps into the back of its knees. Keira looks about calmly as she stamps on the second goblin’s chest. The wounded goblin is still, blood no longer pulsing from its legs. The big goblin looks at her, looks at the bodies at her feet. Keira smiles happily. She watches silently as it runs back into the forest.

    She hears the wind and the pop of dying embers. She feels the man’s neck, cooling and dead. She watches the goblin, contorted and choking. Sees it clutch at its throat weakly. Watches it see her, watches it as realisation seeps across its eyes. Listens as the strangled wheezing sounds fade. Watches the goblin die.

    The man’s body is cold to her touch, but not yet stiff. She straightens the limbs, closes his eyes, smoothes his features. She cuts away the cloth of his trousers at the knees and inspects them carefully, before unwrapping the book from her pack. With a few strokes of charcoal, the blank page starts to fill with drawings of a knee. Deft strokes with a knife, deft strokes with a pen add the shadings and structure of muscles. The ligaments anchoring the joint together. She feels the joint flex, watches the mess around the kneecap move and grate. She cuts away more of the skin of the good knee and compares them critically. Keira takes hold of the knee, feeling the resistance, pressing with her thumbs on the good kneecap. She flicks backwards through the pages, text and drawings interleaved. A hand, a ribcage, major vessels of the body drawn with care and devotion.

    The sun is rising when she’s finished. The smell of blood hangs thickly in the clearing, the flesh around arteries in the goblin’s legs revealed, neat incisions show the skin peeled back from the man’s broken ribs. The head wound was fatal, pressure building up beneath a crushed section of skull at his temples. She washes her hands carefully, watching the blood swirl away downstream like smoke eddying in the wind. Keira carefully wraps her book up in an oiled skin before stowing it in her pack. She hears the birds starting to call in the treetops as she starts to jog back to Norwick._
    “How are you, Keira?” – She liked the Friar’s voice. It sounded warm, reminding her of an innkeeper in Heliogabalus who’d let her stay in his barn. She smiled hesitantly, offering a small pouch of gold to him.
    “A donation? Thank you!” - She nodded slowly and walked back to the warmth of the fire.


  • 'In the beginners mind there are many possibilities, but in the expert's mind there are few'

    Perception and Action are entwined. To learn of one without consideration of the other would be unbalanced. Yet we all act, and we all perceive. Which should we address first? To consider perception without action will invite hesitation. Action without perception could invite rashness. We all choose our actions - so by acting well we free ourselves for deeper consideration. Act the way you’d like to be, and soon you’ll be the way you act.

    Our path stretches forward from now. The past is gone, now is all there is. Not to disregard consequence of past action, but to recognise and accept that the past is unchangeable. That is Truth. Accept what is unavoidable. Undue consideration of impossibility is time wasted, time that could better be used to consider the things that can be changed. One must focus on Truth and not be distracted from the path.

    So, act with your whole heart. Act with focus and commitment. Once complete you free yourself to consider your new reality. Indecision during action is weakness and inefficiency. Once considered and chosen, your actions should be decisive and complete. Our intent and Will drive us forward along the path. Strength is the flower of Wisdom, but its seed is action.

    We don't see things as they are, we see things as we are. There is Self and there is everything else. When a bard sings, we all hear a different song. We colour our perception with labels and falsehood unless we prepare ourselves to perceive Truth. When struck, we do not feel the fist, we feel ourselves responding to the blow. When we lift a stone, we do not perceive the stone - We feel cold weight in the hand, see the stone lifted. All perception is within ourselves and all our perception is unique. We all walk our own path.

    Preconcieved notions are the locks on the door to wisdom. How does an apple taste? Watching the sunrise - Do not say,"it is morning," and dismiss it with a name of yesterday. See it for the first time as a newborn child that has no name. Thus we strive to see the Truth, and not what our experience interprets for us. Perception while travelling the path is not in seeking new landscapes but in having new eyes.