Chapter 03: Planning the Journey

Yi resists the temptation of rushing to his quarters right away and absorbing himself in the mysterious journal. The Head Priest had told him to steady his heart first, and this he would do.
The morning had faded and a bright afternoon sun began to emblazen the sky. He tucks the journal into the fold of his robe and walks to the prayer room of the first temple building. It is a massive space, mostly uncluttered except for a table at the front of the room, nearly embracing the wall, covered with an assortment of items. His gaze drifts across the table, taking in the array of items arranged with intentional care. A fan, its bamboo ribs splayed open, showcases delicate calligraphy, the inked characters dancing across the paper. Beside it, an assortment of small mismatched bowls: one holds a curl of incense, another, a cluster of ripe fruits, their colors vibrant against the room's muted tones. Tucked neatly alongside these, a precarious stack of chicken eggs.
He seats himself on a thin mat made of woven reeds that has been worn by years of use. Sitting comfortably, but not so much that it causes him to fall asleep, he closes his eyes and begins to quiet his mind.
"Wait, how long am I supposed to mediate for?" he asks himself. He has never done an unguided meditation before.
The answer floats into his mind almost as quietly as the Head Priest's voice: steady your heart.
"So...until my heart is steady? It's somewhere to start," he concludes and begins to watch his thoughts pass by, unattached, as if they are clouds in the sky. At first his mind is very loud, asking himself many questions...
Why did the Head Priest give him this journal? How old is the journal? As old as the Head Priest? Was it always his? What exactly is the journal? Why is he going to a village to get lotus root? Is the lotus root going to be any good? How was he going to get there? How was he going to carry it all? Had anyone else been to the village before from the temple? Why wasn't he being punished?...
Slowly he begins to release all of these questions and leave them unanswered. The answers would come with time. Now to connect with the now. Fewer questions bubble to the surface of his mind, and soon all words fade as well. Nothing but the something that is now. Eternal and fleeting, quiet and loud, empty and full.
Time seems to pass in a strange way, no methodical hums or sounds of bells, not even the sound of others around him breathing. Only himself, now, in this moment, steadying his heart.
After a while, Yi finally opens his eyes and feels more balanced. He slowly comes back to where he is, and when he is, and moves his toes and fingers. Blinking a few times, he focuses on the light coming through the windows and realizes this is evening light, a glow that has made the world feel as if it has been turned to gold.
He stands, stretches, and then slowly realizes he has not done anything else the Head Priest has said. A new found anxiety begins to close around him (or is it excitement?). He again steadies himself and decides it is time to read the journal.
--
At the far end of the temple there is a small garden that is cultivated, persistently, by Brother Zhang, and at the far end of this garden there grows an immense May Chang tree. It has helped supplied the monks with medicinal oils, wood, and even perfume for the living quarters. Its citrus sweet smell can be identified as soon as you enter the garden, but sitting below it engulfs you in a world of its fragrance. This is where Yi chooses to open the journal for the first time. He did not see Brother Zhang when he approached, so decided to make his way to the tree and read in solitude.
He had heard stories from a few of the monks that pieces of silk with handwritten notes were arranged like this in other lands, and he knew that there were methods of making paper. The journal in his hands is an enigma, bound in leather that shifts in hue from black to deep blue to a subtle purple, depending on the angle of light. The material is remarkably supple, almost alive to the touch. Its pages, varying in texture and shade, are a plethora of different handwritings – some entries bold and assertive, others delicate and meandering. Interspersed throughout the text are stamps, some of unknown origin, each bearing intricate designs.
He flips carefully though some of the pages, quickly passing his eyes over the writings, drawings, and maps that he could he make out. He could tell from the texture of the pages and fading of some of the ink that it must have first been used long ago, maybe even before the Head Priest's lifetime.
Turning to what he felt was the beginning, a tiny piece of nearly translucent paper frees itself from the pages and flutters to Yi's feet. He bends over and picks it up gingerly, reading the short script.

Part of what you seek lies within, part must be found without.