Edward L. Dizon
Chakras
The old man stood up from his stool, and pulled out seven different colored stones from the shoebox.
“What do you know about chakras?” The old man asked mysteriously.
“Chakras? What are chakras?” The boy asked.
“Chakras...are pools of energy located in different areas throughout your body. They direct and control the flow of energy that resides within you. There are seven chakras in total. Each chakra is represented by a different color...”
“But what do you do with them?” Interrupted the boy, again.
“They must be unlocked, one by one, and the first one,” paused the old man, looking at the boy with a piercing gaze, “is the most likely to kill you.”
The boy’s head twitched as he tried to focus more intently on what the old man was telling him. He did not want to die.
“The root chakra controls your survival and is responsible for your fight, flight, or freeze response. Each chakra can be blocked by different emotions. The first one, the root, is blocked by fear.”
The boy nodded as if he understood. “Ok? So how do you unlock your root chakra?”
The old man looked at the boy for what seemed like a long moment. He ducked behind the front counter, re-emerging suddenly, he began walking towards the boy with a quiet intent. The boy looked down to see a gun in the old man’s hand.
“How important is your life.” Said the old man.
“What the fuck?” Said the boy.
Feelings of fear and uncertainty overtook him like a boat in a strong current. He took a step back from the old man, but he knew he wouldn’t make it to the door.
“Fear will not help you survive.” The old man said calmly, taking a step forward. “Why are you afraid?”
“Because you have a fucking gun in your hand!” The boy shouted, his heart beating faster.
He just might have to fight this old man for his life! He knew this was a bad idea. This crazy old man was probably going to shoot him dead in the middle of the store and put his organs in little jars on the shelf like a horror movie.
“Or is it because you do not have a gun as well, and feel powerless to stop a certain death?”
The old man returned to the back of the counter, then reappeared with another gun. This one was significantly smaller than the one before it.
“Your current state of mind can lead to a heightened awareness that is necessary for overcoming fear. Your natural instincts will run through a scenario of what if’s. There is no what if. There is only now.”
“You must decide whether or not your life is worth protecting.” The old man set the gun on the counter. “Do you know how to operate a gun?”
“No.” The boy admitted. “I’ve never even held one before or even seen one in person besides the ones that the police have.”
The old man extended his arm out with his palm flat. There sat a small black gun the size of his hand. He pointed to a small protruding button on the side of the gun.
“This is your magazine release.” The old man pressed the button with his thumb and the magazine fell out.
He picked up the magazine and revealed the bullets inside.
“This is what holds your bullets and feeds it into the gun.” The old man put the magazine in his pocket, and slid back the chamber of the gun. “This is where the bullets are loaded into and fired. Always check that there are no bullets when handling a gun. You do not want to kill yourself or others by being careless.”
He released the slide and the gun made a loud snapping noise.
“The gun would now be ready to fire.” The old man pointed said expectantly. The old man aimed the gun at the floor and pulled the trigger.
The boy heard a dry, metallic CLICK echo in the quiet shop.
“NEVER put your finger on the trigger, unless you are about to shoot. NEVER cock the gun back unless you are ready for combat.” The old man exhumed the magazine from his pocket and loaded it back into the bottom of the gun.
Click.
He grabbed the gun by the barrel and presented it to the boy. “In old times the master would arm his apprentice with a sword. But these are not old times, and you should never bring a knife to a gunfight. This is yours. This is not a toy. This is a weapon. This is a tool meant to kill.” The old man told the boy with a very stern voice.
The boy took the gun and held it cautiously in both hands. It was heavier than he thought it would be, and cold.
“Come back tomorrow at 7am. We will begin your training. For now, go and organize your thoughts back to the way they were.” The old man said mystically.
What the hell does that even mean, thought the boy.