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[writer's block] final day...FINALLY!
Jul. 27th, 2009 10:44 amNOTE: Piece takes place during Tommy's training for the building implosion, approximately three and a half weeks ago. Carbone is ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
mindisthemagic and mine to use and abuse.
He had a little bit of martial arts training, and he had the power to stop his own heart, but overall Tommy knew very little, intellectually, about meditation.
Calling his Fraternity brothers and sisters didn’t help much, none of their answers or advice were the same. Too little or too much, they told him, in the dark or in the light, on the floor and in a bed or a chair. There was no consistency to be had. If he had even one common thread, one fact to latch onto he could have gone the distance but he had nothing. He was as he had been in his days as Houdini: living by his wits, scraping by on borrowed pennies and sharing ill-nourished game foraged from the wild roadsides.
He was the one who asked the question, and he alone was the one who had the answer. His brain was the key that would set him free. It was the only key he had.
So he chose a room and locked the door. He shut the lights and opened the curtains wide. The dark room, illuminated by desert sunshine, softened into pale, vibrant hues that called him to the place he knew he had to go. He left no music on, but opened a window. The sounds of the street and the natural world outside sang a soothing melody as he moved to the center of the room.
Stretching his arms out on either side, he sank down slowly and shut his eyes. The old, familiar burn came, slow and steady as the minutes passed...he kept his shoulders loose and didn't fight it. It had been years since he'd held a square horse stance for so long, but the muscles were still strong and the body remembered where to banish the pain. It still felt right, familiar.
( ..... )
mindisthemagic and mine to use and abuse.He had a little bit of martial arts training, and he had the power to stop his own heart, but overall Tommy knew very little, intellectually, about meditation.
Calling his Fraternity brothers and sisters didn’t help much, none of their answers or advice were the same. Too little or too much, they told him, in the dark or in the light, on the floor and in a bed or a chair. There was no consistency to be had. If he had even one common thread, one fact to latch onto he could have gone the distance but he had nothing. He was as he had been in his days as Houdini: living by his wits, scraping by on borrowed pennies and sharing ill-nourished game foraged from the wild roadsides.
He was the one who asked the question, and he alone was the one who had the answer. His brain was the key that would set him free. It was the only key he had.
So he chose a room and locked the door. He shut the lights and opened the curtains wide. The dark room, illuminated by desert sunshine, softened into pale, vibrant hues that called him to the place he knew he had to go. He left no music on, but opened a window. The sounds of the street and the natural world outside sang a soothing melody as he moved to the center of the room.
Stretching his arms out on either side, he sank down slowly and shut his eyes. The old, familiar burn came, slow and steady as the minutes passed...he kept his shoulders loose and didn't fight it. It had been years since he'd held a square horse stance for so long, but the muscles were still strong and the body remembered where to banish the pain. It still felt right, familiar.
( ..... )
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