[center][h2]Oryoki at Little Moriah[/h2]

[img]https://i.imgur.com/AvaDsAq.jpeg[/img]

[h3]Skyplex Little Moriah[/h3][/center]

To Lyen, a skyplex was a fascinating hub of commerce and beautiful sights and smells. On Santo, the idea of a skyplex had been completely foreign. Now, the nun had been to her share of skyplexes in her journeys since leaving the temple, but each time it felt, to her, like a marvel; a complete culture in and of itself. Though her Order was cast to the corners of the 'Verse, she usually happened to find a practitioner with which to commune and exchange blessings. This thought gave heart to her step as she exited her home of the China Doll, coiffed in her orange kasaya robe, her hair neatly braided in a long tail behind her.

Immediately, Little Moriah made itself known through the sizzling smell of kebabs, melted synth cheeses, and spices both familiar and unknown. The man behind a cart flagged her down, wafting the smell of his fare in her direction, "Finest meats in Little Moriah! No better prices from here to the rim!" The nun politely raised a hand in greeting, but continued on her sojourn toward the heart of Moriah. The station was roomy, with about ten foot high ceilings through the thoroughfare, clad in what had once been shining aluminum or steel--now scuffed and plastered over with flyers, posters, and wanted signs. She wandered up to a particularly covered alcove and perused the offerings. "Wanted: Castor Callum, $10,000.00, Alliance deserter and miscreant" and "Real canines, $4,000.00 OBO, healthy and ready to breed" along with "Synthflute lessons, cyberkeys, and drumpads, only $100.00 an hour!" She grasped a tearaway for lessons between a slender forefinger and thumb, pocketing the paper in the pouch that hung at her hip.

[i]'Synthflute,'[/i] she thought, [i]'that might be a fun way to pass the time on this long leg ahead.'[/i] The tearaway had all the relevant details, indicating a music shop at the heart of Little Moriah: "Thames Court." The Order of the Interverse supplied their sojourning Sisters with a stipend each month, to an account wired through Londinium. Alliance credits would reach most of the civilized skyplexes and terraformed worlds without issue, simply through her ident card. For those occasions where Alliance credits wouldn't do, the Captain had provided a tidy sum in cash as a part of her limited work aboard the China Doll.

Continuing from the corridor, Lyen watched the way open up from the outer circle of docking stations to the skyplex proper. Here, all sorts of shops and services had been set up, from money lending to old-timey portraits. The portrait booth had costumes from eras on Earth-That-Was. Their display consisted of boas and sequins, top hats and canes with a large sign which said, "Travel back in time to the 19-20's! Paper portraits for your travels!" She considered asking Edina and Abby if they'd be interested in a portrait before they left. The sheer size of this place was staggering; countless alleys and doors led to a spiderweb of connected passages to travel the whole length of the skyplex.

Through to the next ring, Lyen finally laid her almond eyes on the purpose of her trip: the Interverse shrine. A single monk sat on a mat out front of the shrine, clothed in the same color kasaya robe she wore, his eyes closed in meditation. "Amituofo, brother," Lyen said in greeting to the monk, who opened his eyes and inclined his head to see her bow, hands clasped in the prayer pose.

The man was stocky, with a heavy, but kempt, salt-and-pepper beard covering his lips and chin. His eyes were a stone blue, and the lines on his face rested high on his eyes, above pronounced cheek bones. His shaved head shone in the fluorescent lights of the cooridor. He returned the gesture and rose from his position, "Sis-tear, I welcome ye. May the [i]In-ter-verse[/i] guide yer pahth." He gestured for her to follow him into the shrine through the decorated, wooden archway, which had been crafted onto the nondescript steel opening to an inner room. She acquiesced, following him.

The shrine was humble, but ornately covered in carved wood; most were room partitions and dividers stacked against he cold, hard steel of the Little Moriah's meager rooms. An astounding amount of plants were present here, too, so much so that the air took on a heavy, moist texture as Lyen breathed in the fresh scent of wet soil. The space was about twenty feet long by fifteen feet wide, but somehow it felt expansive with wooden statues of Buddha leading the viewer toward the far end of the room where the shrine opened up to depict the largest statue of the Enlightened one, with the flames from myriad candles dancing, and offering bowls waiting to be filled. About halfway, an alcove had been constructed and coyly hidden behind some flowering bushes which offered the sound of a crackling fire.

"Please, take som' tea wit meh, and we c'n speak of yer journey," he said in a strong accent of what Lyen recognized to be Northern Scotland on Earth-That-Was; the experience was pleasing to her ear, and she replied, "Of course Brother, it would be my pleasure." The monk nodded, and indicated a small plastic chair and table covered in an elaborate table cloth indicating the symbolic pillars of their faith.

The cozy spot was warmed by a furnace on which the monk set a kettle to boil. It was customary for traveling Sisters and Brothers to carry a donation to shrines on the farthest reaches of the 'Verse. Lyen had packed her coin purse just for this express purpose. The stipend her temple on Santo supplied her was more than sufficient for her needs. Today, she carried this month's allowance in full.  The monk straightened at the table, from attending to the kettle. Lyen asked, "Brother, do you have a bowl? I wish to practice [i]oryoki[/i]."

"Aye," the monk replied, he craned toward the furnace and produced a cloth-wrapped bowl and a bell, setting them on the table cloth between them. He unwrapped the bowl with measured gestures, the cloth unfolding into a diamond shape which he then tucked on each side to resemble the lotus' petal. Utensils were also present in his bundle, as the Brother must have participated in oryoki for each meal, even alone here on Little Moriah. Today, however, he would gladly receive any gift from the Interverse which would meet the physical needs of the shrine. 

Oryoki is the practice of 'just enough.' It traditionally refers to meals, being an intricate ceremony of bowls for rice and soup. As a practice, though, it branches farther than the body's physical needs. We are oryoki ourselves. Everything should be appreciated as the container of the Buddha. Lyen reached for her coin purse and fished out the credits she had set aside for this purpose. She began chanting rhythmic phrases memorized while taking meals on Santo, and her cohort joined in her chant, lifting the bell. To Ly, the sound of the bell was most appealing, having none aboard the China Doll. Its clear, low sound filled the modest shrine as their voices joined it. Then, her slender hands placed the coin in the Brother's bowl. At oryoki's conclusion, the monk bowed to her, and she reciprocated, her long, flowing braid falling to her side. 

There was a palpable magic to the inclusion of common practice, even across these great distances. The 'Verse was as wide as the Interverse is deep. [i]It is all around us,[/i] Ly thought, [i]and it is inside all of us, connecting us.[/i] The practice of giving and participating in oryoki, filled her with strength. As she quit the shrine and the Brother, Lyen followed her feet to the center of Little Moriah's busy trade, almond eyes filled with care for each gaze that matched her own.