My Mysterious Daisho

The grey, desolate streets stood as a painful reflection of the hollowness that lurked in the hearts of the survivors. Gone were the liveliness of a busy city that once boasted of life, laughter, cars and loud music. The bitter silence reflected the new reality. The dismissive moon weakly shone over the few lost souls. Survivors desperately roamed the empty, grey streets searching for what or who they had lost. What each person lost that night definitely varied. However, the losses that hit the hardest were undeniably those of the heart. Our heart may be the only part of our body that has a direct bond to our very soul. The power of the heart is infinite. It can change our mode of reasoning. A broken heart effortlessly may transform the genius into a madman. It is undeniable, within the realms of the human heart, lies the power to uplift or destroy our very mind and soul.

People desperately cried as they sought lost relatives whose whereabouts were still unknown. Tonight, a frighteningly obscure night, void of bright stars, reminded me of the mysterious night when our lives completely changed. The events of that apocalyptic night in October once again demonstrated that death reigned as the ultimate equalizer. It proved that no matter one’s wealth, level of intelligence, race, gender, skill or fame, there is one thing that unites as all; our vulnerability to death. It was incredible to acknowledge that the person with ripped clothes and filthy face that fought you for a piece of bread might well have been an arrogant celebrity who had used whim to determine if offer what were mere crumbs of his fortune to the hungry ones that crossed his or her path.

The events of that dubious night had transformed our city from monotony to chaos within seconds. The change had taught most of us a lesson about the meaning of life and relationships. I overheard what appeared to be an adolescent girl in the background crying over her mother. She whimpered as she said, “Mom, what I would do for your warm hug? How many times did I reject your words due to petty distractions?”

The incredible thing is that even with this new reality, not everyone had yet learned their lesson. Some people’s armor required additional drilling and pain to reach their heart. Laying over a dirty, broken blanket was a man probably in his late 50s that lamented the loss of his properties and money that he had accumulated for years. Cash was no longer even used anymore. Cash would lay around the streets with no one to claim it. Money no longer had value. Ironically enough the source of wars, destruction, death and betrayal was now reduced to being yet another piece of paper. Life had returned back to simplicity. Technology with its grandiose power no longer ruled our lives. The sources of all the modern life were now in ashes. The main focus of our lives became survival in its purest or most aggressive form. Some people possessed the wisdom to trade what they had to obtain a good someone else possessed. However, there were times where no one could find enough food and then the fight for survival would take a different route. Then the strongest one would fight by all means for an item until he or she could claim proud victory. Victory entailed continuation of our own life. It was our new, painful reality.

My mind had no pain; just numbness. I was not yearning love as a result of the loss of a relative or a friend. For I had no cognizance of who or what I had lost. All I knew was that I had lost my own truth. Losing oneself is the most painful loss of all. I was struggling with my own inner fears. I was not sure who I was, what I was passionate about and what were my greatest dislikes. My desperation turned bitter as time passed. I reached a pivotal point where I began to crave to know the identity of my enemies. Incredibly enough, knowledge of that negative information was key to make me feel like I was a real person again. My memory was just fragments and images that made no sense. My life was now broken segments of a ripped newspaper blown into pieces by tropical winds. My fragmented existence dwelled in the vast atmosphere awaiting for me to capture each piece of me. The furtive inner search made me feel like the closer my mind was to hints of my existence, the further the other parts of me would go. “Would I ever be able to piece together the parts of me that were no longer a part of my conscience?” I asked myself this question as my heart felt heavy in my chest.

That night a mysterious old lady almost glided in front of me. Her long, straight, gray and white hair blew wildly in the rough wind. She wore a finely knit white robe with a hood that laid on her back. Her expression was intensely pensive as her thin arms laid heavily on her sides. She looked down as her seemingly weak, fair hand offered me a gift, a broken brown box. My body at first tensed up. My mind told me that the prudent thing to do was to either disappear swiftly or fight her presence in case her intentions were to attack me. Everyone was an enemy in desperare times. However, every cell in my body went limp and weak as if I was fainting as I opened my hands to receive the package she delivered. My own body betrayed me. I had ordered it to retreat.

“It has been my duty and an honor to live just to deliver you the key to your daisho. It will give you the truth and power that you seek. In it you may elect to seek the centuries old wisdom of the Hakamotos or perish due to ignorance. You choose your destiny!” As soon as she uttered these words, she vanished from my presence.

I was shaking as my hands trembled to open the enigmatic brown box. I felt an instant, powerful attraction to its content. It was as if I had been dying of thirst and someone gave me pure water to enjoy. Inside the box was a golden knit cloth which elegantly covered what seemed like an ancient book. It included different types of valiant warriors, powerful swords, war images and different routes. Many of its brown pages had endured noticeable damage. The book had gone through the test of fire yet surprisingly enough many vivid images remained intact. I knew what I held in my hands were solid pieces of the puzzle that made up my life. I found inside the mystery book a copy of a black and white picture of a beautiful woman smiling. I felt love when I saw her. I felt she was possibly my mother or a sister. The only thing I knew was that holding this book made me feel complete. I was unaware of the reason why this package meant so much to me but it brought me comfort in the face of the unknown. I felt home as I stared into the unknown woman’s face. It was at that moment, that a stranger attempted to steal my box from me. My stance became that of a warrior. My skills were new to my mind yet old to my body. My body showed me that the art of war was natural to me. My fears completely perished for that brief time. I felt powerful. At that moment I became aware that I would never allow anyone to take away the only piece of me that I possessed.