Post by Saaga Sun on Aug 14, 2012 7:23:03 GMT -5
During her childhood Saaga had never been one to be called spiritual or in tune with natural energy or any of that jazz. There had been a small shrine in the village and her mother had often taken her with when she’d gone to pay her respects. Saaga had always participated in the burning of incense and clapping of hands and ringing of bells, but she’d never really understood why it was so important to do those things.
She’d grown up thinking stories of spirits and bending were magical and inspirational, but also fairy tales. They had not been real to her.
As a child she had been bored out of her mind every time they visited the shrine and as a teenager she’d snorted at her mother’s beliefs, choosing to follow in her father’s footsteps in that aspect too. No one ever saw her father on a shrine visit or praying or even talking about the subject of spirits. He seemed to have no opinion on the matter, neither for nor against. And of course his silence on it had translated to rejection in Saaga’s young mind, so she had promptly adopted a negative attitude to anything relating to the ‘supernatural’ in her enthusiasm to be just like her father.
But after she had first watched her father fall ill and eventually die and then witnessed the many deaths of her fellow islanders, after she had suffered through that hellish boat ride and quarantine and had starved in the ghetto…after all that she had found some solace in visiting the local shrines and temples.
She never prayed, but something about the ambience of those places made her feel like she was closer to her parents and home. Some fleeting childhood memory come alive again just by smelling the sweet incense they burned.
And so it was on this day as well.
Normally on a day off, she would have gone to the park to play paisho, but she felt she owed her parents a visit after all that had happened recently. Neither of them had a real grave, so Saaga had dressed in her formal clothes and picked out a cozy little temple at which to pay her respects.
She wore a white and green dress with a wide embroidered obi and had even made the extra effort of curling her hair and putting on a pair of silver hair clasps, borrowed from her roommate.
The temple was almost empty when she arrived, with only a handful of worshippers going about their business. She preferred it that way. She went on to light an incense for her parents and then found a quiet little spot in the temple yard under a wisteria tree and sat down to fold paper cranes. When she was a child, Saaga had often decorated their home with all sorts of folded paper animals, but the cranes had delighted her parents the most.
“Hmm, I really should practice making these again. It was much easier when I was a kid,” she muttered when some of the cranes turned out more or less misshapen.
She’d grown up thinking stories of spirits and bending were magical and inspirational, but also fairy tales. They had not been real to her.
As a child she had been bored out of her mind every time they visited the shrine and as a teenager she’d snorted at her mother’s beliefs, choosing to follow in her father’s footsteps in that aspect too. No one ever saw her father on a shrine visit or praying or even talking about the subject of spirits. He seemed to have no opinion on the matter, neither for nor against. And of course his silence on it had translated to rejection in Saaga’s young mind, so she had promptly adopted a negative attitude to anything relating to the ‘supernatural’ in her enthusiasm to be just like her father.
But after she had first watched her father fall ill and eventually die and then witnessed the many deaths of her fellow islanders, after she had suffered through that hellish boat ride and quarantine and had starved in the ghetto…after all that she had found some solace in visiting the local shrines and temples.
She never prayed, but something about the ambience of those places made her feel like she was closer to her parents and home. Some fleeting childhood memory come alive again just by smelling the sweet incense they burned.
And so it was on this day as well.
Normally on a day off, she would have gone to the park to play paisho, but she felt she owed her parents a visit after all that had happened recently. Neither of them had a real grave, so Saaga had dressed in her formal clothes and picked out a cozy little temple at which to pay her respects.
She wore a white and green dress with a wide embroidered obi and had even made the extra effort of curling her hair and putting on a pair of silver hair clasps, borrowed from her roommate.
The temple was almost empty when she arrived, with only a handful of worshippers going about their business. She preferred it that way. She went on to light an incense for her parents and then found a quiet little spot in the temple yard under a wisteria tree and sat down to fold paper cranes. When she was a child, Saaga had often decorated their home with all sorts of folded paper animals, but the cranes had delighted her parents the most.
“Hmm, I really should practice making these again. It was much easier when I was a kid,” she muttered when some of the cranes turned out more or less misshapen.