Solo The Uses of Fear

[Ianthe]

The Uses of Fear Timestamp: 6th Day of Summer, 514 AV Location: The White Orchid "I probably should have done this sooner." Ianthe rubbed the bridge of her nose and stared down at the blank sheet of parchment, half hoping and half praying that the words would magically write themselves for her. She had been at it for the last two bells (the hoping and praying part - not the actual writing), and Syna was no doubt beginning to fade on the hidden horizon. Goddess. What made her decide to host a workshop on her opening week? Or, more like, what made her wait until the day before to actually plan out said workshop? To be fair, she hadn't expected to have so much trouble with the planning part. She knew meditation - or, rather, she felt she at least had a decent understanding of its foundation. The practice had played such a large part in her life over the years; one might even say she lived and breathed it. Aha! A joke. Write that down. "Live... and breathe... meditation..." she muttered, inking the words across the top of her page in tiny black lettering. One joke down, an entire lesson plan to go. In theory, this workshop should have been easy enough: 1. Publicize workshop on deep breathing. 2. Plan workshop on deep breathing. 3. Teach workshop on deep breathing. It wasn't as though she'd never taught someone the basics of meditation. Never a group this large, true, but it was the first week that her business had been open - was she really going to pack the place? Besides, this was something she had always wanted to do - teach konti, particularly younger konti who had been gifted with Sight, how to calm their thoughts and focus their minds. The irony did not escape her. Instead of crafting the beautiful lesson plan she had imagined when she'd dreamed up this venture, Ianthe's mind went mysteriously blank every time she looked down at the parchment. Absolutely and completely blank. Wiped. Not a single thought did her brain make. There had to be a word for this affliction, Ianthe decided. Perhaps it was called getting a wall, or blanking. Something to do with an obstruction, maybe? Writer's congestion. That sounded questionable - like a nasal sickness. What would the Opal Order healers have to say about that? "You've come down with a bad case of writer's congestion, otherwise known as 'congestion of the brain'." ... Gross. "I'm doomed."

[Ianthe]

Ianthe's chest tightened as she counted all of the ways in which she was doomed. One: No lesson plan meant a scattered, unfocused workshop. Two: A scattered workshop (first workshop, she reminded herself) meant a decline in interest for her teaching services. Three: A decline in interest meant fewer customers. Four: Which meant fewer mizas. Five: Which meant not being able to pay back the Taviasa. Six: Which meant not being able to support herself and her daughter. Seven: Worst of all, it meant that she would be a capital-F Failure. Nope, nope, nope. That was completely unacceptable. She clenched her jaw and glared uselessly at the parchment. Fine. If her brain refused to be on her side, she would just have to force it to work. Ianthe picked up her quill and dipped it lightly into the black ink. In neat Kontinese, she wrote the words Meditation Workshop beneath her attempted joke. Underneath her heading, she then carefully inscribed the phrase, deep breathing. After a moment's thought, she drew a small arrow pointing at the still-wet phrase and wrote the word topic next to it. There. She was off to an excellent start - hyperbole be damned. One chime passed, and then another. Ianthe drummed her fingers along the table's surface. She narrowed her eyes, placed the quill to her page, and watched as a drop of ink created a blotch on the parchment. But still no words. "Shyke!" Her chair squeaked noisily against the wooden floor as Ianthe pushed herself back from the desk in a fit of frustration. She tossed the quill down and ran a hand roughly through her short hair. She had years of meditation to go on... How was it possible for nothing to come to mind? Ianthe felt her breath catch in her chest. The office air was stifling. She stood up with a jolt, nearly tipping her chair over with the force of her movement. She had to get out of there, though she wasn't sure whether it would be just for a moment or if she would make a break for it. Give up, leave Mura, sail away to a foreign land where nobody knew her or her failures... Eudore's voice echoed in her mind. "Who are you, our mother?" "Ughh..." She sometimes hated how Eudore - even imaginary Eudore - was always so right about her. Ianthe couldn't give up, not if it meant turning into the woman who had so casually abandoned her family and friends. She pinched the skin between her eyebrows and took a deep breath. What she needed was to calm down and refocus. She needed to meditate.

[Ianthe]

Several long strides took her to the building's above-water meditation room, where stone walls were bathed in toasted light from the sinking sun. Half of her mind wanted to congratulate herself on correctly guessing the time, while the other half wanted to shriek in panic. Ianthe did not wait to see which side won out. Instead, she hurriedly placed a meditation cushion in the center of the room and plopped onto it, as if speedy action had the power to overrule irrational emotion. With a more measured movement, Ianthe crossed her legs and straightened her spine. Her head bowed as she offered Avalis a short prayer to begin her meditation "Avalis," she began, "I offer You my thanks and look to You to guide me in my practice. Temper my weakness and teach me how to know strength. When I am afraid, as I am this day, I put my trust in You." She closed her eyes and reached inside herself to find her center. In spite of her prior inability to generate thought, her mind felt scattered, like a handful of sand thrown carelessly into the wind. She inhaled deeply through her nose, inflating her stomach with the movement, and then released the breath in a whoosh of cool air. Breathe. Release. Let go. Find your island. The konti silently repeated these phrases to herself, over and over and over again. Breathe, she thought, and filled her lungs with air. Release, she continued, feeling the air blow smoothly over her upper lip. Let go. Find your island. Thoughts of failure and frustration and worry snaked their way through her mind, slithering into view just as she thought she had let them go. But Ianthe persisted, targeting each thought with as much serenity as she could muster. Each worry that crawled across her mind was given equal time. First, the worry was acknowledged. Yes, I hear you, she thought. Yes, I see you. Then, the worry was gathered up - at this, Ianthe imagined her scaled hands picking up the thought up and placing it into a small box. Some worries fought her, wriggling away just as she came close enough to grab them. Undeterred, she would acknowledge them again - yes, I hear you. After a time, with acceptance and care, they would slow enough to allow her to close the box around them. Once boxed away, she immediately released the thought with a long exhale rather than let it linger any longer. Breathe, release, let go... It was in this way that, gradually, her mind began to clear. As each chime passed, the white space within Ianthe's mind - space that had started as a mere sliver - grew wider and wider until, eventually, it was all she could see. Now it was time for the hard part.