Nonviolence In Action
The Abysmal Dollhouse
She walked carefully past the Muirhouse, taking her time, placing her feet just so, making sure nothing was underfoot. Her robe brushed just above her ankles, wound so it would disturb nothing but the air she passed through. There had been no conscious thought that brought her through the door of this place, nothing that she needed, for she needed nothing. The feeling pulled her in; being Jainist, peace was her only reason, doing no harm to others. Her Satyagraha, her truth-force, was strong. It was right to be here, otherwise she would not have taken the path that led her here.
The Shopkeeper had had her broom in her hands, ending her sweeping just as the door chime tinkled. She had felt nothing stirring before the sound, and turning she uttered a simple “Oh” at the figure before her. The woman’s mouth was covered, her hands tucked in fabric folds, small brushes hanging from delicate hooks around her waist. The Shopkeeper simply stood straighter, bowed her head slightly towards the woman, and remained silent. Her hands stayed on the broom, leaving the state of her dress as it was.
The woman had begun a circuitous wending through the shoppe. She deftly avoided some of the dollhouses, her brow furrowed at those times. The Muirhouse caused one such reaction. The movie palace another. She veered away completely from The Wall of Death behind the glass cabinet doors.
It was the Shopkeeper’s norm to offer assistance, but she knew it was not necessary. The woman practiced ahimsa; the Shopkeeper did not know this. She just knew this woman posed no threat to her or her inventory. Looking over to the far corner, she did wonder what the doll was feeling if anything at all.
The woman made her way around the shoppe, observing the many decors, the many feelings emanating all around her. Passing of the counter, where the Shopkeeper waited, that the woman, she took three steps and stopped. She lowered herself to her knees, balancing so that the contact she made with the floor was minimal. She reached out her right hand towards the lowest shelf and stopped. Her head turned towards the Shopkeeper. Their eyes meeting, the Shopkeeper again bowed her head, this time in a nod of consent.
Turning back to the shelving, she gently moved The Singleton House out of her way. Behind it was a structure that caused the woman to gently gasp behind her mouth covering. She reverently pulled it closer to the front of the shelf, letting the light of the shoppe dispel any darkness from falling on it.
A Derasar, her Derasar, left so far behind. It was exactly like the temple she left, winged arches over curved roofing. Her shrine had been small, a one-room structure, servicing a small grouping. Rice paper doors open, beckoning all to come and commit to the peace that is inside, the temple and the people.
Her hand went to her waist and detached her oldest, softest brush. The brush tip, after a silent prayer, was lightly placed in front of the open door. She began her gratitude for cleansing. Her mind was focused, as were her hands with the brush.
Forgotten were the cruelties she encountered on her journeys. The meaning of her life and faith had been tested often, and often harsher than she had thought possible. She visited places of contemplation along the way, taking the inner sustenance. she needed to go on. She did no harm in her actions or inactions.
Brushed inside and out, she crossed her legs underneath, placed her palms up, and closed her eyes. She valued the ideal of perfection that the Tirthankaras have achieved. It brought her peace. It calmed, it soothed, it became her.
She fell asleep, her dreams floated with her. When she awoke, there was a warm presence by her side. She felt no alarm as she raised herself into a sitting position. Malcanisen was asleep, a soft snuffling snore leaving his drool covered lips. She had been so tired she had not been aware of the dog creeping in while she slept. She placed her hands on his dark gray fur, smoothing out the matting as best she could.
Giving morning gratitude to her gods, she left Malcanisen in his slumber, took her brush in hand, and began the cleaning process once again.
During the month of April, 2018, the challenge requires that we write 26 posts, starting with the letter A on April 1st (yes, it’s not an April Fool’s Day joke) and ending with Z on Monday, April 30th. A week or so later, there will be a reflection post that will wrap up this experience, for me as well as my readers.
*I’ve decided to reblog past Abysmal Dollhouse stories on Sundays since we’re not required to write those days. The reblog will not correspond to any specific letter. Just thought you might enjoy some of the previous entries that I’m fond of.