Buddha Dharma
Dharma Practitioner
Author's Note: I see this section has a few creative works of fiction, so I have been playing with an idea about a work set in Old Greece when Hellenistic Buddhism existed.
I basically drew on both Homer and Journey to the West, the high classic of Chinese Buddhism. This is probably a short story, but we'll see where it goes.
Maximus is a 13 year old Greek boy and follower of Greco-Buddhism, whose town gets destroyed by northern invaders, so he sets out to seek the help of the gods. I'll say nothing else for now.
Maximus coughed a raspy cough, trying to catch his wind in the cloud of debris still hovering about. The air was heavy and stale. The only light came in through the broken roof- the light of Helios in his going down. Soon Nyx would lower her curtain of night on the world.
The rafters of his house were broken, and most of the roof had caved in on the right side. He vaguely recalled what had happened.
"It's the Ustros!"
That had been the cry from the town watch. The people's only warning. Closer and closer the enemy horse hoofs thundered over the plain as the northern invader came on.
"Maximus no," his father had ordered at the door of their house, sword in hand. "Stay here, and ask the Blessed One and gods for help."
Maximus had lit the candles of their little house altar with trembling hands, trying his hardest to hold back tears. He must be brave, like his father...
"P-please help us," Maximus hiccuped, as the tears fell anyway.
The boy reached out shaking hands toward the shrine in supplication. His eyes took in the Blessed Lord Buddha standing in contemplation, clad in the toga worn by philosophers.
He must be brave- must not be mislead by temporal things and emotion...
He tried to recall what the traveling monk from the east had taught them.
The eyes of the thirteen year old fell on Zeus and their meager little images of the Olympians. Powerful Zeus, said to hold the great thunderbolt weapon...
"Please Lord of the Gods," Maximus cried out. "Help us. Help me!"
The horses were outside the house now. The thundering hooves clapped and shrieks of terror rang out.
Maximus restrained his pained gasps as his heart seemed to twist like a rope. His dad was out there...
"Gods of Mount Olympus, help me!" the boy supplicated.
Something hard slammed into the house. There was a mighty shifting of wood- a groan...
He'd only felt the impact when it was too late. Something walloped him hard in the back of the head, making his head spin.
He fell under the weight of something and went under. Darkness spun in his mind as consciousness ebbed away.
Hours later he had woken. Everything was quiet. The front door was torn off the hinges...
He knew with a sinking feeling that everyone was gone. He was the sole survivor of his village.
Silent tears fell, as the shadows of dusk fell with the sense of something sinister.
What would the boy do now? Was the Blessed One still looking over him?
His eyes fell on the little house shrine. The candle had long gone out. He drank in the peaceful, serene expression of the Buddha and their smaller Olympian idols.
Tears fell. Surviving was bitter and painful. His heart was broken in pieces. The gods had saved him. For what? To be alone in the world!?
For what!?
(This will continue)
I basically drew on both Homer and Journey to the West, the high classic of Chinese Buddhism. This is probably a short story, but we'll see where it goes.
Maximus is a 13 year old Greek boy and follower of Greco-Buddhism, whose town gets destroyed by northern invaders, so he sets out to seek the help of the gods. I'll say nothing else for now.
Maximus coughed a raspy cough, trying to catch his wind in the cloud of debris still hovering about. The air was heavy and stale. The only light came in through the broken roof- the light of Helios in his going down. Soon Nyx would lower her curtain of night on the world.
The rafters of his house were broken, and most of the roof had caved in on the right side. He vaguely recalled what had happened.
"It's the Ustros!"
That had been the cry from the town watch. The people's only warning. Closer and closer the enemy horse hoofs thundered over the plain as the northern invader came on.
"Maximus no," his father had ordered at the door of their house, sword in hand. "Stay here, and ask the Blessed One and gods for help."
Maximus had lit the candles of their little house altar with trembling hands, trying his hardest to hold back tears. He must be brave, like his father...
"P-please help us," Maximus hiccuped, as the tears fell anyway.
The boy reached out shaking hands toward the shrine in supplication. His eyes took in the Blessed Lord Buddha standing in contemplation, clad in the toga worn by philosophers.
He must be brave- must not be mislead by temporal things and emotion...
He tried to recall what the traveling monk from the east had taught them.
The eyes of the thirteen year old fell on Zeus and their meager little images of the Olympians. Powerful Zeus, said to hold the great thunderbolt weapon...
"Please Lord of the Gods," Maximus cried out. "Help us. Help me!"
The horses were outside the house now. The thundering hooves clapped and shrieks of terror rang out.
Maximus restrained his pained gasps as his heart seemed to twist like a rope. His dad was out there...
"Gods of Mount Olympus, help me!" the boy supplicated.
Something hard slammed into the house. There was a mighty shifting of wood- a groan...
He'd only felt the impact when it was too late. Something walloped him hard in the back of the head, making his head spin.
He fell under the weight of something and went under. Darkness spun in his mind as consciousness ebbed away.
Hours later he had woken. Everything was quiet. The front door was torn off the hinges...
He knew with a sinking feeling that everyone was gone. He was the sole survivor of his village.
Silent tears fell, as the shadows of dusk fell with the sense of something sinister.
What would the boy do now? Was the Blessed One still looking over him?
His eyes fell on the little house shrine. The candle had long gone out. He drank in the peaceful, serene expression of the Buddha and their smaller Olympian idols.
Tears fell. Surviving was bitter and painful. His heart was broken in pieces. The gods had saved him. For what? To be alone in the world!?
For what!?
(This will continue)
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