you stride into the dim warehouse and pause for a minute while your eyes adjust to angular beams of light floating through wood-trimmed windows. there's dust everywhere. you choke on the thickness of it. rows of shelving rise to chest height displaying all sorts of blue and white pottery while you hear the sounds of the lone master at work in the back.
you came here on purpose and aren't going to leave until you get what you need. zigzaging through the shelving, you make your way to his workstation and introduce yourself.
"hello, im here to find a teacher - i need to be taught"
he doesn't look up. he doesn't react to you. you try shouting.
"I AM IN SEARCH OF A MASTER. I NEED TO BE SHAPED. CAN YOU HELP ME."
his hands remain busy at the wheel.
the anger fills you slowly, then all at once. reaching in to your backpack you pull out a baseball bat and take it to a piece displayed on top of the nearest shelf. a beautiful white vase covered in tiny blue flowers - an intricate display of skill, now lay shattered at your feet.
you cast a pleading look in his direction and in a much softer voice whisper "they told me to come to here. they told me you could shape me - *please*." the silence of the warehouse echoes back your desperation.
the master does not look up.
overcome, you lay waste to the warehouse.
frothing and yelling, you unleash yourself on work after masterful work. clouds of dust soon fill the room and shards ricochet everywhere. your rage is methodical and leaves nothing untouched.
when you have finished you are sweating, panting, wiping shards and sweat from your brow and picking bloody fragments out of your arms. you squat down in a corner, exhausted, to weep.
that was beautiful to read but i got disappointed when you started breaking everything. why did you choose to take it in that direction? I guess it will be good to meditate on what this feeling means, that is the silver lining for me as well.