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Willie Wit
Siddhartha
The atmosphere, and mood in the temple was as it should be, calm and serene.
A group of men clad in drab colours are spread across the main area, kneeling, intense with concentration. Sweat forms on brows, muscles flexing as great changes are taking place within.
This daily ritual had been carried out over months and years. Some had begun this journey as soon as maturity had been reached. Others now near old age still knelt daily, something they had done for decades. This action provides the food on their plates, and the luxury of life’s simple pleasures. Occasional groans could be heard but the general tone was a positive one.
The drinking of tea was an important part of the day, steeped in ritual, it gave the passing of time a defined structure. Some believed they could taste this constantly, always during lapses in concentration though, one of the dangers of daydreaming. The strict times for this ceremony were adhered too, regardless of other duties needing to be completed. A much needed respite for knees that would ache as the day progressed. Younger students secreted soft pads under loose garb, something frowned upon by the more mature. Generally seen as an unnecessary frivolity.
Silence was the norm, unspoken words passed between all. Gestures, a subtle nod, and the briefest of looks belied great understanding. This atmosphere was often found oppressive by outsiders looking in, but it was something borne of countless hours in each other's presence. They had now completed the day's tasks, incense holders were returned to their time honoured places, candles were lit once more, and flower vases filled with life's colour again. The mood changes subtly as the days work now ends. The simplest daily celebrations are restored once more, the old would now be experienced as new; as is the way.
A silence now fills this space, not unlike the one found after a tree falls in an empty forest.
The group quietens, tired legs are stretched, a feeling of satisfaction is shared communally. Unspoken thanks are given, as weary, yet fulfilled souls shuffle towards the door. The temple bell sounds, as if to announce their departure, now moving into the entrance area as one. The leader of the group stands waiting, his demeanour one of substance. Posed in front of a statue of Buddha, his bald head shines despite the low illumination. He strokes his long grey beard, allowing them a chance to relax and be still.
A voice as deep as a cave now speaks, one with a timbre that brings weight to anything said. He begins...
"...Sid, Arthur... The new carpet is laid, great work — the furniture is back in place... Job's done;
It’s Friday, so get the gear in the van — and let's get back to reality!"
Overtime... Part 1
I suppose he was lucky to get a job at his age really, but realistically it is more suited to someone with a lot of life experience. So I shouldn't complain... it's just one of those things. It`s not something that would suit everybody as well, but it has to be done. They made that very clear at the interview. No room for any messing about at all. My husband has never suffered from being very cheerful, but was he was happy to get this. I just made myself laugh when I said that.
The training course explained all the ins and outs. It emphasised how important it was to take the position seriously. And how to deal with the inevitable customer complaints. "You will be more unpopular than a Traffic Warden" they had warned him, but they provided a nice buffet lunch, and that made it a good day out as far as he was concerned.
The hardest thing really has been all the paperwork, he has never been one for complicating things "If it ain't broke" I can hear him say. Its been nothing but 'Risk Assessing' and 'Health and Safety' since he started, "you wouldn’t believe how much paperwork using one blade at work can generate" he ranted after his first day. "Showing me how to hold it properly — like I am some young kid." They even made him trim a few inches off of his work clothes, as they said it might be a 'Trip Hazard'. I couldn't help but laugh at that one.
It's the hours that get to me though, I knew it would be like this but I can't get used to it being so unpredictable. His messager 'beeps' and off he goes, regularly in the night... never a word of complaint though, bless. Unfortunately he is always busiest in the winter, "Plenty of overtime for our nest egg" he always reminds me. I got him 'Long–johns' for Christmas... "Any colour so long as it’s black”. He laughed when he saw them.
Oh good... I can hear him coming home now... I had him put some nice gravel on the drive, for when he started coming home in the dark. He used to give me a bit of a scare when I didn't hear him approaching the house...
Cooee!... I'm home.... how has your evening been Mrs Grim Reaper?
Not Waving...
Taking my glasses off, the pouring rain ran down my face. Far in the distance I could see her waving, I waved back, but she kept on... The dog ran ahead barking loudly, I started running — slowed by the thick mud.
Still waving, frantically now... fearing the worst, panic rose in me. Moving faster, adrenalin driving me forward... Getting closer, realising now I should have kept my glasses on...
She wasn't in distress... she was cleaning the windows...
The Free Indie Reader #1 Page 11
