THEE: A Novel of Spiritual Efficacy
THEE: A Novel of Spiritual Efficacy
Thinking about change seemed to tie his stomach into knots as he fought spiritedly for the law of righteousness and with an enormous backlash to his allegiance, it produced such a swift indiscernible moment that it compelled him to impulsively disrobe. And with his hands, he twisted, bunched, and bundled his hot and itchy robe into a giant ball and with the strength of ten men; he flung it across the room of his tiny quarters in the monastery, and shouted, "leave me be," he commanded with his fist. He needed the robe invisible for the time being. Invisibility was something he longed for after his mother died. And because of her death, he could not manage to do his duties as a monk. Monks were expected to deal with death, but without the ability to cope with his own mother's death, he could not reach out to help himself.
Ellis experienced a range of terrific emotions towards his mother's demise. The other monks were patient trying to help him, but he just pushed them away. His mother was a controlling influence in his life. She often wanted him to perform great feats that would demean him in front of other people.
Ellis Gentry no longer wanted to be a monk. He had decided to leave the monastery without consulting his faith, and that was wrong. He wanted no part in being a thirty something indigent Tibetan monk for the rest of his life. He did not want to chant mantras or sutras anymore.
He had plans to escape to America, which was where his father, Foly Gentry, lived. He did not hear from his father over the many years. He did not know if he was dead or alive. Ellis' mother, Lawa Pemo, died two weeks ago of an infestation of worms, which took over her organs in her body. It seemed the word of her demise did not reach his father right away, or not at all.
After disrobing, Ellis touched on buck nakedness at zero hour. His five-foot ten-inch chiseled frame was slim. He was the carbon copy of his father except his hair was black and his eyes brown like his mother. His handsome face was thin. And his forehead, nose, chin, and ears were pleasingly in proportion.
He remembered his mother bathing him around four years old. He fought his mother in order to stay longer in the tub splashing water with his hands. And when his mother finally wrapped a towel around his little body, he fought to get loose, running so freely around the house, jumping-off furniture, trying to emulate the birds he watched when he played outside. And for an instant, Ellis' lips curled as if wanting to smile about his toddler moments; however, days of unclean hygiene brought him back, extending an enduring stench of decline. The elation of being free from the robe hit him like a whiff of smothered funk. He could really smell himself now.
It was a struggle for Ellis to move. His mind was discomposing at a beehive pace. His slow drawn-out painful movements in his arms, legs, and hands confused him. Ellis sat in a hot bath soaking. He fumbled several times, trying to keep hold of the slippery bar of soap, to clean his skin. Honestly, fumbling the soap was his tipping point, for he put his face in his hands and began sobbing uncontrollably. His spirit finally caved in on him; he cried, though with every tear he shed, bits of sorrow lifted from his soul.
All that Ellis accepted from age seventeen was now unpalatable. How could he stray from his teachings? Or was it something simple as ignoring a weightiness problem? Deep down, he knew he needed to be whole to move forward with his life, and this was catastrophic for him; he thought. His bath turned cool, and he stopped sobbing to release some more hot water.
The soap was, submerged, somewhere in the tub, and searching for it angered him, to the point, where he found and gripped the bar of soap, hard, to cleanse his body; it was a beginning. He knew his well-being could be preserved. He would come around