@deretto || continued from 🦋
His whole being is a dark chant; perpetuating to the dawn of growths and blossoming. Hearses with parading drums march in procession through his mind. He is grafted to fire, flame kissing his soul. As he knows it, life is the ever-present feeling of being burned alive. Life is also perhaps the pink blooms in spring. Life is perhaps the rope with which a man hangs himself from a branch. Life is perhaps the repose between two lovers.
As the vagabond speaks, Yoshitsugu looks on to the beautiful DECAY of flowers— cries of the end of summer. Snow would layer on top of their foundation. Then, after months of death and barren, the snow would melt and new flowers will grow where these ones once stood. Such is the cycle of LIFE.
He does not particularly care for the Maeda’s orphan, but his words strike Yoshitsugu as pleasantly surprising. Initially, he thought of the other as too similar to Ieyasu— standing on a cliff bathed in sunlight while the rest crawl about in the swamps below. He accepts that assumption was a bit wrong, but it is clear he still has a rose-colored view of the world. Of course, Yoshitsugu cares not for saving the life of any during this war. Chaos, death, and ruin follow his path. To him, it was debatable whether or not they deserved to die. Clearly, Keiji views humanity as inherently good and innocent, while Yoshitsugu views humans as inherently vile.
Although, Yoshitsugu’s view of life is likely warped ( though he would say he is enlightened ). He is jaded. His own life cruelly cut short and to be denigrated by those he once called comrades. To him, that was not fair.
If everyone was forced to SUFFER just a bit, then they would have a better sense of empathy. Maybe, with that sense of empathy, they wouldn’t go around starting wars. So perhaps the two’s goals are not too unalike.
His gaze flickers down to the caterpillar inching it’s way across the ground as Keiji muses about it’s life.
“I am sure as it approaches it’s death, a butterfly will believe it has lived a long, fulfilling life.” He answers, meditative, “I suppose I can relate. A long life for me will not be the same as a long life for you.”
He outstretches an arm to the ground, fingers splaying to allow the caterpillar to slowly crawl onto his bandaged hand.
“Who is to say this caterpillar will survive long enough to become a butterfly? It may get eaten by a bird, or end up smeared beneath someone’s boot. Such is life, Maeda Keiji.” He continues as he attentively watching the creature worm across his hand.
A cold way of thinking, but life is cold.
“However, I believe life is a constant cycle. Energy cannot be destroyed. One’s energy will simply flow elsewhere. A caterpillar’s energy will be given to the bird when it is devoured, and that energy may become the bird’s young. If stepped on, it’s innards will be absorbed into the dirt and may become blades of grass. Who is to say?”
Yoshitsugu finally frees the caterpillar, allowing it to inch back onto the ground.
