God and Other Fantasies

A small disclaimer:

I have got some reviews about this piece that have labelled it offensive and anti-[insert religion here]. Let me be clear: I do not in any way mean to offend or attack any particular religion or religious view. This story is based on a book called The Waiting Years, where the main character, Tomo, suffers horrifically at the hands of the socially-constructed paradigm in which she exists (Japanese Meiji society). To Tomo, this suffering occurs at the hands of the misogynistic society she lives in, it occurs at the hands of her 'duties', of which she has many, and it occurs at the hands of religion. She feels bound by her Buddhist ties, and I wanted to explore that. OK. Rant over. Please enjoy and review honestly :)







One month of the year, the pink sasanqua flowers lifted the snowy silk of winter and emerged within the small shrine, which most visitors confirmed was pitifully small for such a large establishment. It was, in fact, the only small and unforgiving relic in the Shirakawa residence, alone in its forsaken silence and unimposing intimacy. While heavy-hearted ghosts roamed inside the walls of the fortress called home, the shrine remained a place of constancy, small enough for memories and secrets to be recalled and left to simmer, engulfed by blossoms that ached and blushed until they were deep pink. Tomo did not come here to think, rather to work, sitting straight before the writing desk beside the black-lacquered safe. She sat, upright and composed, as she carried out all business and calculations, yet eventually her breathing calmed, safe in the knowledge that her loyalty went unchallenged amongst the leaves and the dappled light, where bemused shadows oozed comfortably onto the floor and settled themselves tenderly on her skin. Only when the sun began to sink, and the pink of the flowers started to bleed outwards into the world beyond, bathing the place in a careless feminine glow, did Tomo raise her head from the confines of her high, tight collar to look at where she found herself. It was then, in this stagnant pond of serenity, that Tomo thought of God.

         She had thought of Buddha before – continually and benignly gazing over her shoulder like an omnipotent older sibling – though these thoughts were always intermingled with memories of home, childhood and family, and were never reserved exclusively for him. She found that the Buddha who had contentedly followed her around the halls of her childhood home had left her when she moved away and married Shirakawa, he who took it all away, took everything and never even noticed. The Buddha of Before, who wore humble mendicant robes, shrank away from the silk kimonos and embroidered bed sheets of her new life. His soothing voice was drowned out by the bustle of the home, servants calling to one another, bells ringing and children crying. Something small and muffled sparked inside her when she thought of her abandonment, yet, she knew better than to mourn the irrevocable, and when the day came that he slipped away with a fickleness that stung, he left without a word of her reproach. Now the only image of Buddha Tomo could summon was one of protocol, a name to fill her mouth when the candles in the shrine had burned out, and needed reigniting.

         God – not one tied to religion but a spiritual God - was something else. The Buddha promised only life. Life, again and again, life after death, an eternity tied to this great and murderous lump of clay. “There is nothing more wonderful”, he whispered, “than to find peace in a place where there is none. That is what you must do, Tomo - undergo the torture that is living, in the hope that the burden will one day become lighter. Eventually”, he murmured, “you’ll learn to live in the blistering sun, for the world is not such an ugly place once your eyes have adjusted.”

         The pen fell from her hand and hit the floor with a clatter. She closed her eyes; she didn’t see the trail of black ink it left upon the white marble.

         God held other promises. There was no calm assurance that life would indefinitely and inescapably go on. There was, in fact, no guarantee of there being any life after death at all. Tomo allowed herself to bask in the palatability of this idea. It snuck into the shrine and warmed her bones, intensifying the heady stench and causing the flowers to turn their blushing faces down in shame. Tomo ignored the spreading pool of ink that blackened the tips of her shoes. A hazy image seeped into her mind; she swayed dangerously on the edge of a vast and precipitous cliff. She pictured her body falling slowly, exhausted of its every effort, hitting the ground with astounding force for a frame so small, and causing a cloud of red dust to rise about it. She imagined her mouth gaping, slack and wide, her every nerve released, and her soul spilling out like flames leaping over one another before shooting upwards into the brilliant white sky, where, her spirit suspended there for a second or two, sparks leapt from her and she burned like she had never burned before. The inferno became ever brighter until she was blinding, blinding to anyone who cared enough to look, and then came a great explosion, streams of light ricocheted from her blazing body and struck the earth in bouts of lightning, and in a final, heavenly blow, she simply burst out of existence, never to return.

Tomo looked down at her hands, white-knuckled as they gripped the side of the desk. She exhaled heavily, expelling the biting creature that clawed at her sensibilities, expelling God. She locked the documents in the safe and stood, fanning herself with a small, black fan and batting away large grey flies that swerved haphazardly in the bloody, perfumed air. It was customary to pray before leaving the shrine, yet death lingered in her mind and she felt dizzy, as if her soul itself were smouldering. She could not pray for anyone but herself, and then she could only pray for blasphemous things, grotesque and selfish things. Gripping the fan in front of her face, she left the shrine without a word, leaving

God, Buddha, and herself, encaged within.