A stream of cold, crystal-clear water cascaded down Morgan's exposed and crouched form as he took the first real shower since starting the expeditions. He enjoyed the relaxing serenity that came from shedding the accumulations of worldly filth. Naturally, the man maintained his hygiene throughout the weeks of traveling, but soapy saltwater swims followed by a towel soaked in freshwater just couldn't compare.
A pot above his head tipped forward, spilling another stream of water over him, whisking the dirt and grime away to wherever the underground stream ended.
It was common knowledge that the act of bathing was sacred to humans; it was a time when individuals could allow their minds to wander while their bodies performed the necessary maintenance. Some people choose to reenact old conflicts, editing them so they come out on top. Others simply wished to prepare themselves for the trials the day will undoubtedly bring. Many, like the Professor, preferred to spend this sacred time pondering on whatever caught their interest.
The pot provided another cleansing gift, and Morgan furiously worked at his scalp, making sure all the dust and sea salt had been evicted from between the locks.
This bath was an exception, however. The Scientist was under strict orders not to think about anything, for he was to use this time to clear his mind of any earthly distractions. Any thoughts about the half a dozen burnt-out fire pits or dirty and ruined cooking pots he found strewn about the base when he woke up were off-limits. Attempting to puzzle out what the hell those scavenged ingredients were used for was a big no-no. And under no circumstances should the question of why he was blindfolded and guided to the river for a bath, ever cross his mind.
"Meh!"
Was all the warning given before the filled pot of water fell on his head with a painful-
*Wack*
"Ow," Morgan grunted before snatching the pot before it could be whisked away by the ankle-deep current. He handed it back to Momo, who nudged her nose against his knee as an apology. "It's ok, girl," he whispered soothingly. It didn't hurt that much."
Throughout the entire cleansing of his body, the Monk had been fussing with something up on the bridge connecting the eastern and western sides of the cave.
"You know, if your mind were truly free of all distractions, then you wouldn't have felt the pain," lectured Ego cheerfully from above the Earthlings' heads. "But I'm glad to hear you're okay."
"I'd be better if you didn't force Momo to wade in icy cold waters to help me do what I've been able to since I was three years old." He said neutrality, though to an outside observer, the comment might have carried some accusation.
Both the Spirit and the Beast found the first half of what he said amusing. Ego let out a burst of giggles while Momo snorted.
"As if I could force Monochrome to do anything. Besides, didn't you say she's not cold-blooded anymore?"
"I said she could maintain her body temperature now." He corrected, "Even if she can stand the cold, she isn't a fan." The Professor reached for the pot so the child could dry up on shore before the ceremony.
"Mmm." She rebuked and stubbornly refused to hand the pot over. Instead she
"I already told Momo how important it is that she helps as much as possible. The relationship between parent and child is a powerful one, and invoking that bond might prove auspicious for the ceremony." The Spirit paused before poking their head right through the solid bridge. Their black brows knitted in concern as they asked, "Did your parents really have you bathing by yourself when you were only three?"
"My mother wanted me to develop a sense of independence early on." Morgan dismissed with a shrug before pouncing on the opportunity Ego had unintentionally given him. "Since you asked a personal question, I feel I should do the same to maintain the balance."
"Let me guess, you wanna know where I'm suddenly pulling all this knowledge from if I'm supposed to be a lost Soul, stricken with amnesia?" They asked with a hurt expression. When Morgan continued to stare, they laughed again before pulling themselves back on the bridge. "Hee-hehe! Don't think I haven't noticed all the sidelong glances you keep shooting my way when you thought I wasn't looking."
"I knew you were looking." He deadpanned as Momo poured yet more water.
"Oh yeah? Either way, I'll tell you everything after the ceremony." Ego's spectral hand shot through the bridge and gave them a thumbs up. "I'm ready when you are."
Morgan and Momo made for dry land without even needing to share a word or a nod.
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Before bathing, Morgan was ordered to pick out whatever clothes he felt most in, minus the shoes. He decided that his lab coat, now scrubbed clean of his blood and dart stitched up, was the only item that fit that description. However, wearing only the coat might prove distracting for him if for nobody else. In the end, he included a set of white sweats that were his last pair of clean clothes.
The Mortal dressed silently and waited by the river's banks, steeling his resolve for whatever may come to test it.
"Professor Morgan, the 27th dawn will soon grace us with its blessing; it is time." Ego spoke at long last, though their voice somehow seemed different from how it normally sounded. "Please join this humble Spirit so you may be shown the way forward."
The scene that greeted Morgan once he climbed the slope almost made him stumble.
Lining each side of the black stone structure, like the lights of an airport's landing strip, were 13 lamp-plants with their luminous bulbs pointing towards the center of the bridge. There, concealed under the rain tarp from the camping gear, stood an object almost a head shorter than himself. Four blankets were folded up into perfect squares and arranged in matching pairs. The first pair lay on either end of the bridge, while the others remain on the eastern side and diagonal to the bridge's corners.
Momo sat alert on the left blank, a cooking pot turned upside down beside her, and a carved wooden stick gripped in her tail. The blanket mirroring hers also had a pot and stick placed beside it, though it remained unoccupied for the moment. Its intended occupant stood on the center of the bridge, bowed at the waist, and hands clasped over their heart.
["Guide greets traveler."] The Monk said and projected at the same time.
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Hidden by the lab coat, the Scientist's skin broke out in goosebumps, and before he even knew what had happened, Morgan found himself bowing at the waist, hands clasped, and answering in return.
["Traveler greets Guide."] He said and projected, a combination he'd never considered before now, let alone attempted.
Now that was interesting…
The Scientist straightened, his eyes a blur of blue and brown as they flickered every which way to reexamine every detail of the Spirit's avatar.
Flesh, far darker than the vastness between galaxies concealed, and more importantly contained, the light of a Soul that burned with the quiet authority of a quasar. Two twilights masqueraded as clothing, but the altruistic deception was undone as ripples from the endless cycle failed to perfectly mimic mere winds. The 108 mala beads that orbited their left hand ticked forward one black bead at a time, strung together by a force all matter marched to.
The changes in their presence felt so surreal that it almost made the man question whether he was still dreaming within the tent. Gone was the goofy specter that pouted for hours at the loss of their precious media or danced in unabashed celebration from the survival of a Beast they'd likely never see again. Seemingly replaced by a being considered ancient long before Earth was little more than gas and rubble. But such a conclusion would be superficial.
What the Human had momentarily mistaken as new discoveries were only the temporary suspension of an unspoken agreement between them—an agreement where one party didn't tell and the other didn't ask. Nothing had been revealed because nothing had been hidden in the first place. The Monk was Ego still, and the Professor had always known deep down he was never the elder in this partnership.
If Ego had noticed his examination, they chose to ignore it and only gestured towards the blanket on the bridge closest to him.
"Take your seat on the eastern mat," they said aloud in a voice that evoked images of still ponds mirroring the heavens above, "and take up the form I showed you for meditation."
Aww crap, not this again.
During Morgan's recovery, Ego wanted him to get a taste for meditation while he was still weakened by the blood loss. Their idea at the time being that emptying one's mind was easier without nervous energy distracting him. While sound on paper, in the field, the idea proved too effective. The Scientist, too exhausted to think and urged to become stationary, fell asleep and fell off the bridge.
Morgan ignored the phantom pain prickling the back of his skull as he shuffled forward to embrace the suck. He sat cross-legged and draped his left arm over the right leg, palm up and open. The right arm is held above the right knee, reaching toward the ground with the palm inward while touching the cold stone.
Hmm? Now that was strange; the stone wasn't as cold as before. Morgan subtly spread out the digits touching the floor and confirmed that the area was warm.
*Clap*
The Monk brought their hands together, and the Scientist returned all attention to them, though a mental note was added to the list of questions.
"This one promised to guide the Professor towards purpose, but does the Professor truly understand why purpose for the Soul is needed in the first place?"
Morgan shook his head after a quarter second, not realizing the question wasn't rhetorical. He knew why he wanted it, but that wasn't what was asked. The Monk continued after a nod.
"You already know that the Self and the Soul are one, yet separate. What you may not know is that the Self is simply a collection of imprints made on the Soul during a Mortal's life. With every new experience gained and memory made, the Self grows in complexity while the medium remains static. That is why the Self is ephemeral while the Soul is eternal." Ego paused, and a corner of their mouth twitched as they considered a recent topic. "Unless altered or diminished through unusual means, the Soul will return to the wheel of Samsara. Once returned, the Karmic debt is finally tallied, Fate is decided, and the imprints are wiped clean so the next life can start anew. Over and over, the Soul will reincarnate until Enlightenment is obtained… Has this information sparked any answers to my question, Professor?"
"I believe so." Morgan began awkwardly. "It's a matter of perspective and value, I think." They gave another nod.
"An acceptable answer. Purpose is the reason behind actions. Perhaps it could be said the temporary nature of the Self craves purpose as a constant driving force for action, allowing it to make the most out of its limited time. Following that line of thought, a permanent construct like the Soul would not require a reason to do anything. Eternity greatly depreciates all temporary actions. Eventually, it will escape the cycle of rebirth, and everything else is only filler until then. How could any fleeting purpose of a single life ever matter to such a construct?"
Oh? Now, that was a trick question if he'd ever heard one. But he was ready for it.
"To reach Enlightenment, traverse the Dao. To traverse the Dao, Cultivate the Eternal Foundations. To Cultivate the Eternal Foundations, Accept the gift of Vajrayana." Morgan answered with the familiar chant.
"An acceptable answer." The Guide said with a bow, and the traveler followed suit. "Enlightenment is the ultimate goal for the Soul, and in theory, any attempt by the Self to expedite the final escape should be considered valuable. That is why Spirit Beasts are such natural Cultivators; their Souls can sense the path to the origin. However there is an issue for Mortals, the price of Sapience is the severance of the Soul's native connection to the Heavenly Dao. Until that connection is reformed, the Soul will never willingly be swayed into action. Without cooperation, it is impossible to accept Aether in any usable amount, let alone fully Cultivate one's Foundations. That would mean forward progression is but a fantasy, would it not?"
"Hmm." The Professor hummed as he mulled all the information over. At first glance, the problem seemed like the perfect catch-22. Without a connection, the Soul couldn't be bothered to do anything besides exist until it didn't. Yet clearly, the Celestial Court and the ancient Cultivators managed to reforge the Dao connection. So there is an answer; he just needs to figure out how to enact one's will over the Soul... But Morgan already knew the answer, as Ego had essentially told him at the beginning of the ceremony.
"The Self and the Soul are separate, but they are still one. Even if my current consciousness is a result of the new shape of the medium, I am still that medium. The trick is not to connect the Dao to the Soul but to the Self…" Morgan paused as it dawned on him that his mouth wrote a check he couldn't cash. "I'm not entirely sure how to do that, but I am open to any ideas."
"An acceptable, if unique, answer. I have come to the same conclusion and was faced with the same question. My answer is to forge a connection of understanding. One between the Self and a Concept, or a lesser truth of the greater truth that is the Dao. However, the Professor can not simply pick a Concept; it must be one that resonates with the Self on every level of existence. There is a truth that is the primal driving force for your every action, but only you can know what that is." The Monk placed a hand on the tarp but moved no more. "Close your eyes and hear my words."
Well, he's come this far. He might as well do it right all the way. The world went black, and still, the only sensations that connected him to the world were his heartbeat and the stone, still warm to the touch.
[To discover the truth, you must accept what you are.] The Monk whispered into his mind. [As the Guide, this humble Spirit can only show you the way and offer the aid of this tool, a physical reminder. From this point on, the Professor must travel alone…] There was a long pause, and Morgan almost thought they had already cut communications. A moment before he decided to open his eyes, Ego spoke. [Purpose isn't hard to find, so long as you know where to "Look."]
The Professor's eyes were opened for him. Ego had disappeared from the bridge, taking with them the tarp.
Eh?
What Morgan saw was... unexpected. For hidden underneath the tarp, placed on top a tripod stand constructed from the longest and straightest pieces of driftwood, was a painting—one painted on a square canvas crafted from what appeared to be layers of notebook paper glued over the frame Ego was fiddling with earlier.
All this lead up, all the pain-in-the-ass ceremonious steps, all of it was for a... painting?
*Dun, Dun* Two sets of carved wooden sticks each strike a pot once at a beat apart, right first, then the left.
For the Professor, the drumming almost sounded like the hammering of a nail. A nail into the coffin of hope.