He folded his silken robe lovingly, and placed it on the top of the two camel hair blankets resting on his woven bamboo sleeping mat.
Puffs of humid rain were misting into the little square window of his room. An elderly moth rested awkwardly on its ledge - his furry feet were caught in the remnants of an obstinate web.
The low moans of the morning’s chant could be heard from all around, although as though, from one voice alone. This deep song found its way into the gardens, the wash house, and the temple; punctuated with the rhythmic swish of the switch calling to action the will of the spirit in all quarters of the Monastery.
Duty thrummed throughout the community’s heart; motivating the aching hand, thrashing the strained and tired back - consoling fervently the ever reaching mind … seeking out the peace of the Heavens.
-Gabriel Brunsdon, Finding Self - Second Guesses- Azlander Series
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