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noladyme · 4 years

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The Crown Princess of Charming - part 16

Welcome to Charming - its name says it all. Cat needed a fresh start; and though she hadn’t planned on that being in the arms of the crown prince of this little town’s bikerclub - that was what happened. Charming CA would either be the death of her - or a whole new life.

Rated M

Thank you all who have been reading. I hope you’ll enjoy the final chapter of this story.

Tags @wonderlandfandomkingdom @edonaspanca

A year is a long time, when you’re spending every second of every day, missing someone so bad your heart is in physical pain.

The first week after Jax turned himself in, Gemma took turns with Lyla – sleeping in the nursery with Abel – so I wouldn’t be alone in the house. I never cried in front of them – only when I was alone in our bed; holding on to Jacksons pillow.

The morning of the 8’th day; Gemma woke me up, and handed me her phone. “You’re gonna want to take this call, sweetheart”, she smiled; and left the room.

“Hello?”, I croaked. “Cat… it’s me”. “Jax?”, I whimpered. “How… are you ok?”. “I’m good, baby”. He sighed. “It’s so good to hear you voice… are you ok? Gemma said…”. “I’m sorry, Jackson… I promised I’d be ok… I miss you so much it hurts”. “I miss you too, darlin’”, he breathed. “Look, I only got a few minutes to talk… Are you wearing the ring?”. I looked down at my hand. “Never take it of”, I said. “Good… Cat, listen. I know it’s hard… But I need you to be strong for me, ok? Be strong for our boy… It burns a goddamn hole in my heart, that I can’t be there to hold you”. “I’m sorry…”. “Don’t be. It’s ok. I understand… I feel it too”. “Ok…”. “Ok?”. “Yes…”. I took a deep breath. “51 weeks left”. “I’ll be there. It’ll be like I never went away…”. “Can I come see you?”, I asked. “I can get visitation in a month. I’ll let you know”. “I love you”. “I love you too”. I could hear his smile in his voice. “Get up, baby… Dance for me. Ok?”. “I will”, I smiled. Someone was calling out for him. “My minutes are up… I love you, Cat. I lov…”. The call ended.

I sat up in bed; and put my feet on the floor. Dance for me. I had to.

I went into the kitchen; and handed Gemma her phone. Abel was in his high chair; and I picked him up – kissing the top of his head. “I’m sorry, baby boy… Momma Cat’s back now”. Gemma smiled at me. “I was gonna take him with me for groceries…”.

I put the baby back in his chair; and walked over to her – hugging her tightly. “I’m sorry, Gemma…”, I said. “I’m back”. She kissed my forehead. “I knew you’d be”, she whispered.

---

About a month later I was seated by a metal table; in a large cold room. All around me, men and women we’re talking quietly to each other – the men all in light blue pants and shirts. Spread throughout the room were uniformed men, with hard expressions on their faces. Every time the door opened, I jumped in my seat; hoping to see the man who’s absence had keft a gaping whole in my life.

The wait felt like forever – but suddenly the door opened – and a blonde, blue-eyed face grinned at me from the entrance. My breath hitched, and happy tears filled my eyes; when Jackson rushed over to pull me into his arms; planting his soft lips on mine. “Teller! No touching!”. A guard stepped towards us. “Yeah, I know. Just…”. He looked over his shoulder at the man, and let go of me.

We sat down next to each other – our fingers linking under the table. “God, I missed you!”, Jax grinned. “I missed you too”, I smiled. “Are you ok?”. He nodded. “I’m good. The guys are all good… Happy has to pretend to be Juice’s sugar daddy – but otherwise our asses are all in the clear”. I laughed. “Hey! Keep it down”, the guard growled. “Sorry”, Jax said, and looked into my eyes. “He’s a bit on edge… we better watch it”. “Have you had any trouble?... You sentence…”, I whispered. “No, we’re all on our best behavior”, Jax smiled. “We’re not risking doing all 3 years”. “Good”, I said.

“How’s our boy?”, Jax asked, furrowing his brow. I smiled brightly. “Growing… 7 teeth. He decided to let two grow at once”, I said. “Shit… you can’t have gotten much sleep”, Jax grinned. “I’m fine… we’re both fine”.

We stared at each other for a moment; both unsure what to say. “I wish I could kiss you…”, Jax whispered. I bit my lip. “No, darlin’. Please don’t do that. My hand is already callused, from thinking about those lips”. I had to stifle a laugh. “I’ll keep them nice and warm for you”. Jax grimaced, and groaned. “Shit, you’re so beautiful”. “And you still have a nice ass”, I smirked.

The guard came over. “Teller. 10 minutes are up. Let’s go”. Jax frowned. “Can I kiss my girl goodbye?”. The guard looked at me with hard eyes. “Hurry up”. Jax’s hands went to either side of my face; and he pressed his lips to mine again – for a second letting his tongue meet mine. “Ok, that’s enough. Wrap it up”, the guard said.

“I love you, Cat”, Jax breathed. “I love you, Jackson”, I replied.

The guard grabbed my old man’s arm; and led him out of the room. It would be another month before I could see him again.

---

The next two months went by slowly. I’d only been able to see Jax once; because Clay needed to use his visitation rights for club business. Jackson called me once a week, for a few minutes – making it difficult to share more than a few sweet words, and keeping Jax up to date on how Abel was doing.

We celebrated the baby’s first birthday at Gemma and Clay’s house. That was also the day, Abel decided to take his first steps, without holding on to anything. It was a bittersweet moment; to see our boy walking three steps; and then falling to his butt with a happy squeak – knowing that his dad should have been there to share the experience with the rest of us. Gemma squeezed my hand gently, before walking over to pick up her grandson, and kiss his chubby cheeks.

That night, I broke my promise to be strong – and let my tears fall into Jacksons pillow again.

Ray called me shortly after the birthday party. He wanted me back at the school; and apologized profusely for not having called sooner. I agreed to take on the arts position; along with 7’th grade English – wanting to have time to be a parent to Abel.

After settling in at work, I began dancing again, as well. In one of our short phone-calls; I was ecstatic to tell Jax how I’d managed to rent a small space in town; where I taught women the art of keeping them waiting, two nights a week. One of my students was Lyla – who in turn taught me how to use a pole, and her secrets in the arts of caffeine. “It’s perfect, baby! Gemma takes Abel the night’s I’m teaching. The space needed a fresh coat of paint; but I had the guys help me out”. “It sounds good, darlin’. I can’t wait to see it”, he said happily. “How’s my boy?”. “Walking around the house faster than I can catch him… and refusing to wear pants”. “That’s my boy!”, Jax chuckled.

After a recommendation letter from Wendy’s rehab, Jax agreed to let her have monthly visitations with the toddler – as long as I or Gemma was there to supervise. Gemma couldn’t promise not to punch the bitch in her stupid face; so I took on the visitations with Abels birth-mother. Wendy was kind. She was trying to turn her life around – and though it was difficult for her, to see another woman taking on the role as parent to her son – we grew friendly. I even began to look forward to her visits.

---

Six months and three visits, in to Jax’s sentencing; I was running down the hallway of the house – trying to catch Abel. “Pants, Teller!”, I yelled after the squealing toddler. Once I’d finally caught him; and wrestled him into a pair of blue pants – I placed him in his high chair, to get him some lunch.

The door knocked; and Chibs and Opie stepped inside. Their faces were both white. “Hey, guys”, I smiled. “Breakfast?”. Chibs swallowed hard. “You’re gonna want to sit down, luv’”, he said. I went cold. “What happened?”, I said. Abel began fussing in his chair; and Opie picked him up; kissing the top of his head. “Opie?”, I whimpered.

Chibs took my hand; and pulled me over to a kitchen chair – coaxing me to sit down. He pulled out another chair, and sat down to face me. “Cat… Jackson was stabbed”. I let out a desperate gasp; finding it hard to get air back into my lungs. “He’s alive, luv’… they’re working on him right now”. “No…”, I whimpered. “No, he’s not…”. I began sobbing. Chibs pulled me into his arms; and stroked my back. “Breathe, Cat. Don’t black out on me”, he muttered. “He has to come back… we said…”. My whole world crumbled.

Opie handed Abel to Chibs; and pulled me up to stand – a hand on each of my shoulders. He looked deep into my eyes. “Jax is strong, Cat. He’ll come back from this”, he said. “But he needs you now. Abel needs you”. I looked at the whimpering boy in Chibs’ arms. He was reaching for me, and I took him from the scot. “I’m here, baby… I’m here”. I looked at Opie. “Gemma?”. “She knows”, he said. “She’s at TM. We can take you right away”.

We drove to the clubhouse, where the rest of Samcro was waiting. Gemma’s eyes were full of tears; and we embraced – Abel between us. The whole day, we waited for a call from the state penitentiary, to let us know what was going on. Clay finally got Tig on a prepaid. Jax was alive, but in critical condition. Some pissed off Russians had – for some reason – decided that Samcro needed to learn a lesson on humility; and had tried to take out the VP. Tig couldn’t tell us much more, and had to give the phone back to the person he’d paid to borrow it.

We waited at the clubhouse the rest of the night. I slept restlessly in the dorm – Abel cradled in my arms. Calling in sick to work, the next day – Monday – I told the office I’d be out for a week. I decided not to fall apart. Our boy needed me. He didn’t understand why momma Cat was sad, and it wasn’t his fault. I did my best to smile every time he reached for me.

Around noon, state pen called. As I wasn’t married to Jax yet, Gemma was next of kin; so she was the one recieving the information we’d all hoped for. Jax was alive and kicking. Literally. After waking up from surgery; he’d kicked a doctor in the face, thinking he was under attack. The doc had been kind enough, not to report him officially – but was nursing a black eye.

The news made the whole room erupt into cheers – and Gemma and I held on to each other for a good two minutes afterwards – crying in joy.

Jax was well enough to call us himself the next morning. I’d slept Gemma and Clay’s, and the call went there. After a few minutes on the phone; Clay handed it to me. “Hey, darlin’”, Jackson croaked. “Jax? Are you ok? How do you feel?”, I whimpered. “Shanked”, he chuckled, before whispering an Ow. “I’m alive, baby. I’m ok”. “Thank god…”, I breathed. “You didn’t think you could get rid of me that easily, did you?”, he said. “Not funny… I was scared to death”. “Yeah, well; I was almost stabbed to death – so that should make us even”, he said. Once again, I could hear his smile in his voice. “I’ll be back in gen pop in a little over a week”. I frowned. “Is that safe? What if they go for you again?”. “I’ll be fine… Clay has something set up”, he muttered.

I looked at Clay, who was on his burner – talking to someone.

“Babe, I have to go. The doc is back”. “Ok. I love you”. “I love you, Cat. I’ll call when I can”. He hung up.

The russians decided not to make anymore attempts on any of the incarcerated Samcro-men. Apparently, someone named Otto - who had trouble seeing, due to his eyes being almost carved out - had tripped, and landed on one of their own; as he was holding a sharpened screwdriver.

---

9 months in, I was getting frustrated. I’d only seen Jax once since he was stabbed – and honestly; being a single mom was taking a toll on me. Samcro was on a “blooddrive” up north – transporting whatever it was they were transporting these days. Only Rat and Piney where left in Charming.

One night; after I’d left dance class – which Lyla had not attended that night – I got a call from a number I didn’t recognize. Thinking there might be a chance Jax gotten a hold of a prepaid – I picked up. “Hello?”. “Hey, it’s Ima”. “Hi… why are you calling”, I said. “It’s nice to hear your voice too”, she sneered. “What do you want?”. If you say “your man”, I’m gonna track you down, and burst both of those implants. “Lyla needs your help. I can’t get a hold of Opie”, she muttered. “What happened?”, I asked. “Can you just get down to the studio? Please? She’s asking for you specifically”. “Fine. I’ll be there as soon as I can”. I didn’t say goodbye – just hung up.

Gemma had Abel for the night; so I was free to go see what was wrong with my friend. Ima met me outside the large building that housed Cara Cara. “She’s inside… freaking out”, the blonde muttered, and showed me the way into the building. “What happened?”, I asked. “She took something…”, Ima said.

Ima walked me past a setup that resembled a doctor’s office; where all instruments where replaced with dildos and buttplugs. A pretty girl – who I recognized as broken nosed porn-star, from the lockdown months earlier – waved smilingly at me. It was then I realized, that the barely-there outfit she was wearing, was supposed to be a nurse’s uniform. “Hey Ima! Get your lazy ass back on set”, a bored looking man with a camera said. “Chill out, Dondo”, she said. “And get Lyla! She was supposed to be ready an hour ago”.

Ima led me to a door, adorned with a star. Inside, Lyla was curled up on the floor, sobbing and shaking. I fell to my knees in front of my friend. “Lyla! Sweetie, what happened?”, I said. “I’m sick…”, she cried.

There was an empty pill bottle on the floor next to her. “What did she take?”, I asked Ima. The porn-star shrugged. “Some uppers… I think”. I frowned at her; and began stroking Lyla’s hair. “Honey, come on. Sit up”. I pulled her up into a seated position. “How much did you take?”. “Two…”, Lyla croaked. Her pupils were blown.

“We need to get her to a hospital…”, I said, putting my friend’s arm over my shoulder – trying to get her to stand up. “No…!”, Lyla whimpered. “I’ve been clean so long… they’ll take away Piper”. “Shit…”, I muttered. “Where are the kids?”. “Piney… cabin”. I nodded. “Ok. Help me get her to my car”. Ima rolled her eyes, and put her arm around Lyla’s waist; and we walked her out of the room.

The guy with the camera saw us, and frowned. “What the shit, Lyla… What did you do? We got a movie to finish”. “She’s not shooting tonight”, I snarled, as we moved towards the exit. He walked towards us. “And who the hell are you?”, he growled. Miss nose-not-broken-anymore came over and grabbed his arm. “That’s Jax Tellers old lady”. The mans face went white. “I’m sorry, ma’am. Of course. Let me help”. He stepped over to us; and picked up Lyla in his arms. “Get her to my car”, I said.

Ima followed us outside. “She said she had a headache… I just thought she was faking it to get out of shooting”. I narrowed my eyes at her. “What did you do, Ima?”, I hissed. She rolled her eyes again. “Roll your eyes one more time, bitch…”, I warned. “What did you do?”.

Ima sighed. “I gave her a couple of pills. Told her they were advils, so she’d take them”. “You drugged her?”, I growled. Dondo managed to open the door to the back seat of my car; and deposited Lyla there. “They were just uppers… thought they would get her in a better mood”. I drew my lips back in a snarl. “Dondo. Movie’s dead. Pay the girl inside”. “What about my money?”, Ima asked. “Find a corner, skank!”, I roared at her; and got behind the wheel to drive away.

I took Lyla to my house; helping her into mine and Jackson’s bed. She was shaking and crying. I frantically called every number I had to the men on the blood drive – trying to get a hold of Opie. No luck. I spent the night stroking Lyla’s cheek, and holding her hair, when she threw up. In the morning, she finally fell asleep. I called Piney to let him know he needed to keep the kids for at least another day; and Gemma, to ask her to keep Abel.

Opie called me back around noon. Once I’d explained the situation, he promised to head back as soon as possible. Lyla was out cold for most of the day. In the afternoon, she woke up; and I helped her into the shower. Afterwards, I wrapped her up in my robe; and fed her toast and coffee. Opie arrived in the evening; and she fell crying into his arms. I left them alone in the living room, and went into the kitchen.

A little while later, Opie joined me. “She’s sleeping again”, he muttered. “Thanks…”. “Of course, Ope… you did the same for me”. A smile ghosted his face. “Ima did this?”, he asked. I frowned. “She’s a bitch… but she wasn’t trying to hurt her. At least I think she wasn’t”. I sighed. “Don’t hurt her, Ope… she’s just a sad, stupid woman, who doesn’t know better”.

Opie looked down. “Can Lyla stay here tonight again?”. “Sure. You both can”, I smiled. “Take the pullout in Abel’s room”. He hesitated for a second, before walking over to give me a slight hug. “I get it… why Jax loves you”, he said. I blushed.

After getting the couch in the nursery ready; Opie carried his fiancée into the room; and tucked her in. We shared a smoke; and both turned in for the night. The next day, Opie took Lyla home.

Jax called in the evening. “I heard about Lyla…”, he said. “How?”. “Opie called pen. Said she was my sister, and that I should be told about what happened”. “Why?”, I asked. “Guess he wanted me to know how amazing my old lady is…”, Jackson muttered. “I’m pretty awesome”, I joked. “You really are”.

---

A year. 12 months.

I’d lived. Danced. Been a momma. And I’d missed Jackson so fiercely, I felt it in my bones. This was the day.

Abel was seated with me on the tabletop of the picnic-table, where I’d first kissed his father. “Daddy”, he chuckled. “Yeah, daddy’s coming home, baby”, I smiled. “Bike”. “Yup, he’s coming in on his bike, in just a few minutes”.

A roar of engines sounded from the street, and our boy made sputtering sounds with his lips, to join in on the sound. Gemma walked out onto the middle of the lot; shielding her eyes from the sun. Bikes came driving in, Clay leading the group. He got off, and went to kiss his wife – before looking towards me and Abel with a big smile on his face.

I closed my eyes; and listened. I recognized the sound of Jax’s bike. For some reason, it was separate from the others. More cheerful. Opening my eyes again, I saw him driving into the lot, surrounded by the three men who’d been with him on the inside.

My heart skipped a beat; and I stood up on the seat of the table.

Jax drove all the way up to the front of the clubhouse; and halted – killing the engine. He got off his bike; and looked at me for a second; before running over – letting me falls into his arms. I straddled his waist; and held his face between my hands – looking into his bright blue eyes. His hair was cropped short, and his smile was brighter than the sun, but I had only a second to enjoy the beauty of the man I was looking at; before he put his lips to mine, in a passionate kiss. All around us, people were clapping and cheering for the returning heroes – but all I could focus on in the moment, was the man I loved; in my arms again.

“Hey, darlin’”, Jackson smiled against my lips. “Hi… you’re back”, I almost sobbed. “I am”, he said. “I’m here. It’s over”. I chuckled in glee. “I love you”, I said, and kissed his lips again. “I love you too, Cat”. “Are you going to put me down?”, I grinned. Jax shook his head, and squeezed my bottom. “Not in a million years”. “You mom might have a problem with that. She wants to hug you”.

Jax sighed, and set me down on the ground gently – pecking my lips one last time; before his mother attacked him with a hug. “I’m home, mom. I’m good”. I turned around, and helped Abel down from the table. Jax looked towards us. “I didn’t know you were bringing him”, he muttered, his eyes filling with tears. “Of course we did, baby”, Gemma smiled.

“Go say hi to daddy”, I whispered to our boy; and the toddler did a waddling run towards Jackson, who crouched down, and caught his son in a loving embrace. “Daddy!”, Abel squealed. “Yeah, I’m home, little man”, Jax croaked. “You’re so big!”. He kissed Abel’s cheek – who wiped it instantly – and picked him up from the ground; walking over to put his arm around me as well. “Thank you…”, he whispered into my ear. “Thank you, Cat”. I smiled, and kissed the top of Abel’s head. “No!”, Abel grimaced. “Ok, baby”, I sighed with a grin. I turned my head to kiss Jax instead.

“Yo, princess!”, Happy called out. “Don’t we get any hugs?”. I tore myself from Jacksons arms; and ran over to jump into his embrace. The big guy lifted me of the ground, and swung me around. I followed up with Juice and Tig – Tig flipping me backwards, and planting a wet one on my lips. “Tig! Hands of my girl, shitstain!”, Jax barked. “Sorry, brother”, Tig grinned. “Haven’t touched a woman in a year”. “We got some waiting inside for you, brother”, Chibs smiled, and pulled his friend into the clubhouse; where drinks, women and food were waiting.

Jax set down Abel, who went to climb into his grandmother’s arms. He walked over to me, and kissed me again. “Shit, I missed your face”, he grinned. “Just my face?”, I smiled. He raised a brow at me. “There are a few other parts of you I’m hoping to get my hands on, once we’re alone”, he smirked, and slid a hand down to grope my bottom.

He was home.

---

We celebrated the homecoming in Samcro style – with alcohol a plenty, and a pair of pretty girls for each of the former inmates – save Jax, who had a hand on either my waist, my butt or my shoulder the whole time. The only times he wasn’t touching me, was when he was playing with Abel, or changing him. “Shit, kid… we need to get you potty trained!”, he laughed; after the toddler had delivered an especially putrid gift in his diaper. “Good luck, daddy. He’s terrified of toilets”, I grinned from the doorway to the dorm. Jax frowned. “Why?”. “He went into the bathroom here; after Piney had been there”, I sniggered. Jax took Abel into his arms. “Then, I don’t blame you, little man”. He kissed Abel’s cheek.

“No!”, the toddler squealed; and slapped his father over the nose. Jax was guffawed. “He’s at a no kissing stage”, I grinned. “Well, he doesn’t take after his old man”, Jax said, and winked at me. I came over to pack up the diaper bag for him. “Or me…”, I said – not sure whether to continue the conversation.

Jax cleared his throat. “How’s Wendy?”, he asked quietly. “She’s good”, I muttered. “She split up with her girlfriend”. Jackson’s expression darkened. “She stumble?”, he said, clenching his jaw. I smiled and shook my head. “No, she’s been doing really well, Jax”, I said. I looked down at the floor. “She… offered sit for us, for the wedding”. Abel was reaching for me; and Jackson handed him over. “Neeta can’t do it?”, Jax grumbled. “Yes, she can… she could be there as well”. I took his hand. “She’s not going to be alone with him… and I trust her”.

Jackson looked at me for a moment; before his eyes grew warm. “Call her. Tell her she can be there, if Neeta is”. I kissed the corner of his lips. “This is right, Jackson”, I whispered. He smiled slightly, and nodded.

Out in the bar area; the party was going into high gear. When Abel suddenly pointed at a redheaded girl in Juice’s lap, and exclaimed Boobies!, we decided to take our leave. Outside, Chibs, Opie and Lyla where standing – laughing at a story Chibs was telling them. “I’m telling you, Fiona refused to wear a ring. I’m not your property, Filip. Free Scotland – free Fiona!”, he chuckled. “God, I miss her sour face”.

“We’re taking off”, Jax said. Lyla ran over to hug us both; planting a lipstick mark on Jax’s cheek. “I’m so happy we waited. Opie really wanted you next to him tomorrow”. “Of course, sweetheart”, Jax smiled. “We’ll see you there”. He went over to hug Opie and Chibs; taking them both in his arms at once. “I’ll never forget what you did for my family this year”, I heard him mutter. “She’s a strong lass, Jackie”, Chibs said, and looked towards me. I smiled warmly at him. “Any time, man”, Opie said.

I went over to strap Abel in, in the back of my car, and Jax went to get on his bike. We drove home, Jackson constantly within view of my back mirror.

---

Once in the house, Jax went to tuck in Abel in his room. I slipped into the bedroom, to make two minor alterations to my outfit. Closing the buttons of my summer dress again, I went into the kitchen, to start the dishwasher.

“The wall…”. Jax was standing in the doorway, with a soft smile on his lips. “It looks great”. “It was just something to keep me busy”, I blushed. I’d finished the mural of the nursery wall a few months before. The motorcycle on it was a copy of John Tellers – which was to this day displayed in the Samcro clubhouse. “Well, it’s beautiful, babe… thanks”. I smiled softly, feeling strangely embarrassed.

There was a strange silence in the room. It was the first time in just over a year, we’d been alone together. I cleared my throat. “I’m, uh… I have the rings for tomorrow. You just have to put them…”.

Jax stormed towards me; and threw his arms around me. His lips were on mine; greedily kissing me. “Jax…”, I panted; pulling my face away. “Air!”. He grinned at me; and suddenly I was over his shoulder – his hand meeting my bottom in a soft clap. I giggled, as he walked me into the bedroom, and put me down on the floor – once again attacking me with kisses.

I pushed his cut of his shoulders; and he went for the buttons on my dress – almost tearing them off. “Slow down Jackson”, I giggled. “I like this dress”. “A year, doll”, he grinned. “I’d like it better on the floor”. I shrugged the garment off, pulling it down my body – leaving me in a bra and panties – as Jax shed his shirt and t-shirt.

I stopped, and looked down his torso. On the right side of his torso were three white scars, I’d not seen before. I ran my fingers over them. Jackson grabbed my hand, and kissed my fingertips. “I’m ok, Cat”, he smiled. I swallowed hard. “I thought…”. He pulled me close to his naked chest. “I know… me too. But I’m here”. He kissed the top of my head.

I looked up, and met his lips again. Warmth spread from my core, all the way through my limbs. Hooking my fingers into his belt, I smirked. “Pants, Teller”. “Yes, ma’am”, he grinned; and opened his belt and jeans; pulling them down. I bit my lip in glee, looking at the straining fabric on his boxers. Jax looked down himself. “Yeah… he’s been a little lonely lately”, he smiled embarrassedly. I reached over, and gave his member a gentle squeeze through the fabric - making Jax gasp, and send me a menacing grin.

He ran a finger over the top of my breasts; meeting the lace of my bra. “Take it of”, he said. I tilted my head. “I thought you’d want to do that”. Jax’s eyes lit up, and I braced myself for what was coming up.

With shaky hands, my old man reached under my arms, and behind me – opening my bra, and pulling it off me. His eyes widened, and his jaw dropped. “Holy shit!”, he gasped. I grinned, and looked down at the tassels adorning my nipples; before meeting his eyes again. “I thought I’d give you a welcome home present”.

Jax dropped down to sit on the edge of the bed. He ran a hand over his face; before holding it out, as if he was admiring a work of art. “This… darlin’, you are the most…”. A smile, wider than any one I’d ever seen from him; spread over his face. “Did… could you…?”. I rolled my eyes, and bounced my body up and down for a second. The movement made the tassels spin around slightly. “Happy?”, I smirked. Jac lifted a brow at me. “Panties; off! Foreplay is over”.

He ripped my underwear down my legs; and with an arm around my waist, he threw me on the bed. His boxers disappeared quickly; and he began kissing the area around my nipples with a fervor. Moving his lips north, he licked over the sweet spot on my neck. “I want you – on top – making those tassels twirl!”, he growled into my ear. “Yes, sir”, I whimpered. He slid his hand down my belly; finding my folds; and sliding a finger inside me. I closed my eyes, and mewled. “You ready?”, he asked. I nodded.

Jax laid back on the bed; and I sat up to straddle him. Looking down on his wanton hardness; I took a deep breath; and began lowering myself onto it. Every inch that entered me, was heaven. Jacksons hands were on my hips – his fingers digging in to my skin. A desperate look in his eyes; he groaned. “Tighter…”, he gasped. “Bigger”, I panted. He grinned; and I began moving.

I put my hands on my head – making my breasts perk – and Jackson laughed, as I moved my body to make the tassels twirl. For a while I danced on top of my old man – moving my hips so that his penis thrusted in and out of me. I clenched my walls, and bit my lips. “Cat… please”, Jax pleaded. I did it again. “Holy sh…”, he almost roared. “Better than that calloused hand?”, I panted. “You don’t even know…”, he whimpered. “Show me”, I said.

Jax twisted his body; so that I fell to the mattress – his penis still inside me. He began thrusting rhythmically; and kissed me. Our tongues met and battled for dominance. “Pancakes again”, Jax smiled, when he came up for air. I rolled my hips upwards, to get him to hit my sweet spot inside. Jax caught on, and linked his arm under my knee – pushing into me hard, with a desperate groan. Before long I was feeling the warm sensation of an approaching orgasm. “Take me with you, baby”, Jax almost whimpered – and his words sent me over the edge.

I cried out; and came – my violent orgasm pulling Jackson into his own. He thrusted into me a few more times; trying desperately to prolong the sensation for us both. I was almost sobbing from the extreme jolts moving through my body; and I scratched my nails across his back. Jax let out a last hoarse groan, before – with a final thrust – he let himself go, and collapsed on top of me.

I held him in my arms, and kissed his temple. We were both panting, and had large smiles on our faces. “I love you”, I said. “I love you so much…”, he replied, and softly kissed my lips; before pulling out of me, and laying down next to me. Pulling me into his grasp, it was as if he thought I would disappear if he let go of me. “I’m here, baby”, I whispered. He smiled.

I looked down at my breasts. “Can I take them off now?”, I smiled. Jax grinned, and tore the patches off my nipples for me. “Ow!”, I yelped, as the adhesive pulled at my tender skin. “Sorry”, Jackson grimaced; and sucked gently at each of my nipples – sending another jolt through my core. He let out a slight chuckle, and put his arm over my belly; holding on to me.

“Thank you…”, he muttered. “This year… I only made it, because I knew you were outside, waiting for me”. “You had Abel”, I blushed. He shook his head. “I wouldn’t be able to be the father he deserves, without you”. I smirked. “If I’m so great, why don’t you marry me?”, I said.

Jax took my left hand, and kissed the crow on my finger. “I plan to”.

---

And he did.

Opie and Lyla got married the day after Jax had returned. He and I stood beside each of our best friends, as the two of them exchanged vows – all the while, sending each other knowing looks and smiles.

Six months later, Jax stepped in to the bedroom where I was getting dressed. “You know, we forgot about the part where the groom isn’t supposed to see the bride before the wedding”, I smiled – struggling to close the zipper on the back of my knee-length, off-white dress, with a red lace overlay. “Well, we’ve already broken every rule in the book, doll”, Jax chuckled; and stepped behind me, to help. His finger brushed down my spine, before pulling up the zipper. “You’re telling me! Your mom is pissed, I’m not wearing white”, I muttered. “You still can…”. “It didn’t feel right”, I said. “And I like this dress”. “Me too”, Jax whispered; and ran his hands over my breasts. My neckline wasn’t plunging – but it was deep enough to reveal a good bit of my cleavage. “Jax, we’ll be late…”, I whispered. He kissed my neck, and pressed against me. “Come on, darlin’”, he said. “Gemma already picked up the kid… We got a few minutes”. I laughed. “Since when did you only take a few minutes?”. “I’ll take that as a compliment”, he smiled.

Jax sat down on the bed in front of me, and put his hands on my slightly swollen belly. “How are you doing, baby girl?”, he whispered at my tummy. “She’s good”, I smiled, and stroked his cheek. “Don’t kick your mom too much today. She already has to pee every 30 minutes…”, Jackson grinned. I yanked slightly at his beard, and scowled at him. “Go finish up, Teller”, I chided. He looked at me questioningly. “You sure about the flannel?”, he asked. “Absolutely”, I smiled, and bent down to kiss him.

Jax slipped away to get his blue flannel from the dryer, and I finished getting ready – putting on some red lipstick. I looked at my smiling face in the mirror. “Let’s do this”.

---

A large group of motorcycles were parked on each side of the TM lot – making almost and aisle for us, as Jax and I came riding in. Cheers erupted all around, as suited and leather-clad people saw us arriving.

Jax stopped his bike, and I gingerly got off it – Jax holding my hand to support me. My center of gravity wasn’t the best these days. After he’d parked his bike, I took Jacksons hand, and we went over to greet Clay and Gemma – who was holding Abel’s hand. “Momma Cat’s pretty!”, our boy exclaimed. Gemma looked me over. “Ok, I surrender. You’re beautiful”, she smiled. I hugged her tightly, and let Clay kiss my cheek. “Looking good, teach’”, the president said. “Thank you”, I smiled.

Jax pulled at my hand. “We have out of town guests”, he smiled. I turned around, and saw the grinning face of Mike, and his guys from Chicago. I stepped over, and gave him a warm hug. “Hey there, miss Rose!”, he said. “Not much longer”, Jax said, and hugged his Chicago brother. “We talked about that”, I said with a chuckle. Jackson rolled his eyes. “Rose-Teller. Whatever”, he said. “Let’s just get married”.

We walked into the clubhouse; Gemma and Clay at our heels – and Abel sitting on his father’s hip. Inside stood friends and family, and all of our brothers from Samcro. They cheered and whooped, as Jax pulled me in for a slight kiss. “Hands off, Jackie! You’re not married yet”, Chibs barked. “Does that mean the rest of us still got a shot?”, Juice grinned. Jax smiled at him menacingly. “Funny, man. Keep it up”.

I stroked Jax’s cheek. “You know what…?”, I said. “Let me have at ‘em, while I’m still a free woman”. Jackson looked at me with narrowed his eyes. I patted his butt, and moved towards to the group of bikers. Behind me, Jax set Abel down on the floor. “Any of your uncles get to handsy with momma Cat, kick their asses”, Jackson muttered to his son.

Waving at people to move back, I smiled brightly. “Move back people. Pregnant lady coming through!”. People stepped away to give me space. “Line up, boys”, I grinned.

The entire crew of The Sons of Anarchy, Redwood originals; lined up in a row – and I went from biker to biker – planting a soft kiss on each of their lips. Opie grinned; Rat and Phil – who’d both finally patched in – blushed; Clay, Bobby and Piney smiled; Happy let out a silent oh yeah; Tig licked his lips, once I was finished with him – and once I got to Juice, he slipped an arm around me; holding on just a little longer than I had planned. A tiny foot kicked his shin. “No touching!”, Abel yelled; and Juice grinned – ending the kiss, and letting me go.

Lyla came over with a beautiful little bouquet of red roses; and a crown to match. She put the flower wreath on my head; and kissed my cheek. “You ready?”, she whispered. I nodded.

Someone opened the door to the chapel, where a flower arrangement with a reaper cutout was displayed on the table. “I charge by the hour, people!”, Lowen cried out, and stepped up to stand in the doorway. I was happy the club lawyer was also a registered officiant. It didn’t feel right to have anyone else wed us. Abel went over to hold Gemma’s hand; and Opie and Lyla stood on either side of the door, as best man, and matron of honor.

Jackson came over and took my hands. “Last chance to run, darlin’”, he said earnestly. “I wouldn’t get far before I had to stop to pee”, I smiled. “Besides… There’s nowhere in the world I’d rather be, than here”. My old man gave me his trademark smirk. “Let’s get married”.

Hand in hand, we walked over to stand in front of our officiant. “Who gives this woman to be wed?”, Lowen said. A resounding We do!, came from the entire Samcro charter. “All right”, she smiled. “We’re gathered here today, to witness the union of Jackson Nathaniel Teller, and Catherine Rose. If anyone sees any reason why these two should not be wed, let them speak now, or forever hold their peace”. Gemma looked menacingly across the room. “I’ll put a 5-inch heel so far up your ass, you’ll be able to taste the dogshit I stepped in outside”, she growled. A low murmuring chuckle sounded all around.

“Jackson”, Lowen said. “Do you take Catherine to be your lawful wedded wife?”. Jax grinned – his blue eyes sparkling with joy. “Hell yeah. I do”. My cheeks flushed red. “Catherine”, Lowen continued. “Do you take Jackson to be your lawful wedded husband?”. “I do”, I smiled. Jax looked at Lowen. “Can I kiss her now?”, he asked. Laughter erupted. “Not yet…”, Lowen smiled. “Rings first”. “Shit, yeah”, Jax chuckled.

He waved over Abel, and took two bands from the boy’s hand. They had been JT’s and Gemma’s wedding rings. I sent my almost-mother-in-law a loving look. She nodded, and wiped away a tear. “Thanks, son”, Jax whispered, and kissed his son’s head. Abel hugged my leg for a second, before running back to Gemma.

“Do you have vows?”, Lowen asked. Jax nodded, and handed me the larger ring. I took his left hand, and held the band in front of his ring finger. “Jackson; with this ring, I vow my love and affection. I promise to try to learn how to cook, to dance on folding chairs whenever you ask me to – and to protect and cherish you and our children, with all I have. I will always be a faithful, devoted, and – sometimes – obedient wife and old lady”. I slid the ring onto his finger, and sent him a warm smile.

Jackson blew out a deep breath; and took my hand, holding the smaller ring in front of the finger I was already wearing my crow on. “Ok”, he said. “Catherine; with this ring, I vow my love and affection. I promise to do the dishes more often, to let you wear this flannel whenever you want…”. He gestured to the blue flannel he was wearing under his cut. “And to protect and cherish you and our children, with all I have. I will always be a faithful, devoted and respectful husband, and old man. I’ll treat you as good as my leather”.

Opie patted his shoulder. “What else…?”, he muttered. Jax grinned. “Come on! I already ride her, more than my Harley”, he chuckled. The whole room erupted in laughter, and I scrunched up my face in embarrassment. “But I promise to continue doing so”, Jax finished; and slid on the ring – kissing my hand in the wake.

Lowen looked at us both meaningfully. “Then; by the power vested in me, by the state of California – I now pronounce you; husband and wife”. Jax looked at her questioningly. “Now?”, he asked. “Now”, Lowen nodded with a smile.

Jax yanked me into his embrace, put his hand my cheek – and we kissed as husband and wife. The room erupted in applause. Abel’s tiny foot met his father’s shin. “No touching!”, he yelled, to loud laughter.

Jax looked at me, and smiled. “Nah, kid. I’m holding on to this one. And I’m never letting go”.

THE END

#jackson teller #jax teller x oc #jax teller fic #jax teller #jackson teller fic #sons of anarchy #sons of anarchy fic #soa

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garywonghc · 6 years

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Just When You Think You’re Enlightened

by Andrew Holecek

Sooner or later it’s going to happen — it might be the very first time you meditate or only after years of dedicated practice, but someday you’re going to have a spiritual experience. These experiences come in many forms, ranging from simple tranquillity to radiant ecstasy. In their fullest expression, they are spiritual earthquakes that can transform your life. The Tibetan sage Marpa shared one such experience:

I was overwhelmed with joy. The hairs on my body stood on end, and I was moved to tears… My body was intoxicated with undefiled bliss… There dawned an experience beyond words.

— from The Rain of Wisdom, translated by the Nalanda Translation Committee

At more modest levels, they can manifest as the total cessation of thought, an out-of-body experience, or sensations of bliss and clarity. You might have an experience of profound meditation, or of union with the entire cosmos, and say to yourself, “This is it! This is what I’ve been waiting for.” Like the endorphin released in a runner’s high, these experiences are the meditator’s high. And they are addicting.

These events are a time for celebration — and a time for concern. They’re cause for celebration because they can be genuine markers of progress. You’re getting a glimpse into the nature of mind and reality; you’re starting to see things the way they truly are. You’re waking up. But such experiences are also cause for concern precisely because they feel so good. Surprising as it may sound, the spiritual path is not about making you feel good. It’s about making you feel real.

Spiritual experiences can be the sweetest honey covering the sharpest hooks. Because they can be so transformative and blissful, it’s almost impossible not to grasp after them. You want more. That’s the hook. And anytime grasping is involved, even if it’s for a spiritual experience, you’re back in samsara, hooked into the conditioned world of endless dissatisfaction.

Spiritual experiences are by-products of meditation. The problem is that we think they’re the final product of meditation. Traleg Rinpoche said, “The main cause of misperceptions regarding meditation experience is that after the loss of the initial fervour, we may forget to focus on the essence of meditation and its purpose and instead place more and more emphasis on the underlying meditative experience itself.”

Spiritual experiences are called nyam in Tibetan, which means “temporary experience,” and every meditator needs to be aware of them. Nyam is set in contrast to tokpa, which means “realisation.” Nyam is like pleasant vapour. No matter how good it feels, it always evaporates. Tokpa is like a mountain. It stays. A nyam always has a beginning and an end. One day you soar into the most heavenly meditation, but eventually you drop back to Earth. There are no dropouts with authentic realisation.

Tsoknyi Rinpoche refers to nyams as “meditation moods” and says, “Nyam has thickness; tokpa is light and fine. The problem is we like thickness more; it’s more substantive and satisfying.” We like the substance of our moods.

Nyam and tokpa are themselves the last two phases of a three-phase process of complete assimilation or incorporation of dharma: understanding, experience, and realisation. This shows us that experience is indeed a good thing, a necessary but intermediate phase in absorbing the dharma. We start with understanding, which is traditionally referred to as a patch because eventually it falls off. With study and practice, understanding develops into experience, which is like the weather — it always changes. With sustained practice, experience matures into realisation, which like the sky never wavers. This is the three-stage process of full embodiment; it is how we ingest, digest, and metabolise the dharma until it almost literally becomes us.

If you relate to a nyam properly, it blossoms into realisation. If you don’t, it rots and becomes the most subtle and serious of all spiritual traps. Tai Situ Rinpoche said that you can get stuck in a nyam for an entire lifetime. More commonly, people waste precious years thinking that because they had a spiritual experience they’re enlightened, when in fact they’re merely shackled to a nyam. If you’re attached to your grand experience and start to identify with it, you have simply replaced a chain made of lead with one made of gold. Dilgo Khyentse Rinpoche said:

Meditators who run after experiences, like a child running after a beautiful rainbow, will be misled. When you practice intensely, you may have flashes of clairvoyance and various signs of accomplishment, but all they do is foster expectations and pride — they are just devilish tricks and the source of obstacles.

— from Journey to Enlightenment, by Matthieu Ricard

Attachment to anything, no matter how spectacular, is still attachment.

I have a special interest in nyams because I, too, have been hooked. The first nyam to get me was the experience of non thought. This caught me when I was introduced to Transcendental Meditation (TM) nearly forty years ago. As my TM instructor guided me into meditation, I slipped into profound meditative absorption. For the first time in my life, I felt fully awake without a single thought running through my mind. I had never thought such a blissful state was even possible.

What made the experience so striking was the contrast of having arrived for my instruction feeling speedy and anxious, and then within thirty minutes dropping into a state completely free of thought. It was like diving below choppy waves into tranquil deep water. Because the contrast was so dramatic, I thought I had attained some level of enlightenment. It took me years to realise that this is a common experience and that I was far from enlightened.

The good news was that I had tasted an aspect of the awakened mind and wanted more. The experience inspired me to pursue meditation with gusto. I began a daily practice that hasn’t waned in four decades. The bad news was that I tied myself in knots trying to reproduce that experience. I had set a bar that was ridiculously high and caused me all sorts of unnecessary anguish when I couldn’t measure up.

RELATING TO SPIRITUAL EXPERIENCE

Because these exalted states are so delicious, it’s hard not to cling to a nyam. On one level, they’re just spiritual candy; having some of these sweets is okay now and again, but feasting on them will make your meditation sick.

How do we properly relate to a nyam? Let’s say that you have an experience of bliss in your meditation. It’s okay to celebrate it. Give yourself a pat on your back. But then let it go. Reinstate the conditions that brought about the experience in the first place. In other words, most of these experiences arise when the mind is open, spacious, and relaxed. William Blake, in Songs of Innocence and Experience, wrote:

He who binds to himself a joy Doth the winged life destroy But he who kisses the joy as it flies Lives in Eternity’s sunrise.

If you grasp after the event and try to repeat it, that contraction around the experience ironically prevents it. In order to let realisation come, we first have to let experience go.

Another aspect of improper relationship is talking about the experience. It’s very tempting to share, proclaim, or even advertise your awakening, but it’s important to check your motivation. Ask yourself, why do you want to do this? Do you want others to know how realised you are? If so, let your actions speak louder than your words. Live your awakening. Don’t voice it.

Spiritual experiences often arise in the sanctuary of silence, and they should be kept in that sanctuary. There is a reason for secrecy in the traditions. If you remain silent, the experience tends to stabilise and mature. The nyam evolves into tokpa. If you talk about it, the experience trickles away. The nyam degenerates into a distant memory. Don’t be a leaky container and dribble onto others. Keep your experience hermetically sealed so it doesn’t spoil.

It may be okay to share your experience with intimate spiritual friends; after all, it could inspire them. But even here, always check your motivation first. When people talk about their experiences, they usually just want them to be confirmed. The one person you should talk to is your teacher or meditation instructor. An authentic teacher will keep you on track by telling you the experience is neither good nor bad, or by ignoring you, or encouraging you to let it go.

During one long retreat, I had another nyam. When I came out of retreat, I raced to share my “realisation” with my teacher, Khenpo Tsultrim Gyamtso Rinpoche. As I shared my enlightenment experience, he yawned and looked out the window. My so-called “awakening” was putting him to sleep! When I was done, he spoke about a topic that had nothing to do with my experience. I came in all puffed up with my nyam and left punctured and deflated. It wasn’t what I wanted, but it was exactly what I needed.

When you talk about your experience inappropriately, you transform opportunity into obstacle. The blessed event flips into a cursed one. Tulku Urgyen Rinpoche said that talking about spiritual experiences is like being in a dark cave with a candle and then giving your candle away — you’re left in the dark. This is one way to tell the difference between a truly realised master and one stuck in a nyam. True masters never talk about their realisation; those infected with a nyam are happy to talk. As Taoism puts it, “He who speaks does not know. He who knows does not speak.”

The essence of a proper relationship to spiritual experience is silence and release. Keep your mouth closed and your heart open. Use the experience to inspire you to keep going, but go forward without the nyam holding you back. Relate to whatever arises — the good, the bad, and the ugly — with equanimity. That’s how experience matures into realisation.

Since spiritual experiences can be so ecstatic, and the grasping correspondingly extreme, sometimes our fingers need to be pried away from the nyam. Khenpo Rinpoche said that you nurture meditative experience by destroying it. Patrul Rinpoche echoed this advice:

The yogin’s meditation improves through destruction… When experiences of stillness, bliss, and clarity occur and feelings such as joy, delight, or pleasant sensations arise, you should blast this husk of attachment to experience into smithereens.

— from Lion’s Gaze: A Commentary on Tsig Sum Nedek, by Khenchen Palden Sherab Rinpoche and Khenpo Tsewang Dongyal Rinpoche

What’s blasted is not the experience itself but our grasping onto it. Tsoknyi Rinpoche also points out, “Ordinary people don’t get enlightened because they don’t meditate. Yogis don’t get enlightened because they don’t stop meditating.” They can’t get enough of their high.

There is no tyranny as great as the tyranny of success — material or spiritual. Success leads to pride and attachment. Nyams are markers of success, but the tyranny of that triumph can boomerang. When nyams are solidified, they must be defeated. Honest meditators invite that defeat; charlatans shun it.

GURU VS. GURUISM

There’s another reason why it’s dangerous to talk about spiritual experiences. When you talk about your spiritual experience, you reify it and begin to identify with it and believe it. The more you talk, the more you convince yourself that something special really did happen. Worse still, others might start to believe it and feed the reification. Word of your awakening can spread like a virus, and before you know it, everybody may become infected with strains of your nyam.

When this happens, a subtle codependent relationship develops between “master” and disciple. The disciple unwittingly enables the “master” by revering their nyam (and projecting their psychological issues onto the “master”); the “master” then enables the disciple by showering them with attention (and similarly gets tangled in a swarm of their own projections and shadow elements). They think they’re lifting each other up, but they’re actually pulling each other down. Everybody buys into the experience of the “master,” and soon a cult is born. A “guru” has been forcefully delivered into the world.

This is not the beautiful birth of a realised guru but the deformed birth of guruism. Guruism is based on the spiritual experience of the “master,” and the cult is all about spreading that experience like a disease. Everybody catches the fever and wants to have the experience. These “gurus,” in an effort to protect the nyam and their exclusive role as its transmitter, often quarantine their disciples from outside influences. They claim they’re protecting their disciples, but in reality they’re just defending their own egos and empire. The Branch Davidians, Jonestown, and countless other cults have followed this classic formula. It’s another expression of grasping after elite experiences, a natural consequence of a nyam run wild.

The danger in confusing authentic gurus with guruism is that both involve surrender. Surrender has a powerful place in spirituality, if you surrender to the proper authority. When you intelligently surrender to a guru, their pure realisation can pour into your open heart. The result is awakening. If you ignorantly surrender to guruism, that tainted experience can also penetrate your heart, and the result is often catastrophic.

In my years on the spiritual path, I have seen many teachers cemented to their nyam. There’s no doubt that many had genuine spiritual experiences, but there’s also no doubt that they were super-glued to that experience. These “masters” tend to pop up in the West, where spirituality is ruled by convenience and instant gratification, and where the need for disciplined practice is too often supplanted by the desire for rapid results.

Because nyams are desirable, they are marketable and they sell. Who wouldn’t pay for an experience of bliss, clarity, or non-thought, the three most famous nyams? Teachers stuck in a nyam also sell, because they often exude an aura of the nyam itself. They usually extol the extraordinary and ecstatic aspects of meditation and easily snag others just as they’ve been snagged. Their experiences sound so delectable, so “spiritual,” that it’s tempting to follow their bliss. I saw one such “master” who glided toward her throne, draped in white silk and surrounded by her flock of adoring students. She spoke in a seductive voice about the euphoric nature of her awakening. To me, she was clearly stuck in the nyam of bliss.

Teachers stuck in a nyam tend to work alone, and while they may have studied with authentic masters, they either pay lip service to their lineage or jettison it altogether. I know Western “masters” who rejected their own teachers because they didn’t confirm their nyam or otherwise endorse their awakening. The one person who could have put them back on track by destroying their attachment to the experience is dismissed as not understanding their experience.

Once such a “master” gains traction and establishes a following, it’s almost impossible to extract them from their nyam. The enabling is too deep and the success too addictive. It would take tremendous honesty and courage to turn to their adoring students and admit that they’ve all — teacher and students — been seduced into a nyam. It’s much easier to remain stuck in spiritual co-dependence.

WAKING UP FROM NYAM

In the world of dreams, there’s an event called false awakening. This is when someone wakes up from a dream and discovers later that they were still asleep. In other words, they wake up from one level of dreaming into what they think is waking reality, only to then realise that what they’ve woken up to is yet another dream. It’s like in the movie Inception, where there are dreams within dreams, deceptions within deceptions.

As a student of dream yoga, I’ve experienced a number of these false awakenings. It can be shocking when the alarm clock rings and I’m jarred into waking consciousness when I thought I was already awake! It’s equally jolting when someone asleep in a nyam is finally roused from their false awakening. Most prefer to sleep. False awakening is a term that describes what happens when people mistake their nyam for genuine tokpa.

Those stuck in a nyam rarely submit to the discomfort of being jerked away from their heavenly trap. One way to detect if you’re stuck in a nyam, therefore, is to see how you react when your special experience is interrupted or challenged. If you get irritated, defensive, or angry, you’re probably infected with a nyam.

Are you becoming more kind, patient, and generous? Is your heart opening? Are you more understanding and compassionate? Are you learning how to love? That’s where you’ll find the signs of realisation.

There is a place for spiritual highs, but it’s the same place reserved for spiritual lows. Relate to both with equanimity and you will be liberated from them. Left alone, spiritual experiences are wonderful events. They can inspire you to practice more and really lift you up. But if you don’t relate to them properly, they can drag you down.

Chögyam Trungpa Rinpoche said, “Enlightenment is ego’s ultimate disappointment.” From ego’s perspective, enlightenment is a downer. It will let you down — from the heights of inflated spiritual experience to the plateau of ordinary life, which is where true realisation awaits.

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ramblesandmumblesofanerd · 7 years

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Weekly Review: Samurai Jack Season 5 Episode 9

Warning: Lengthy Post Which Contains Spoilers

Previously on Samurai Jack…

As a UFO crashes on Earth, Jack and Ashi begin their travels to Aku’s lair to destroy him once and for all. During their time together, the two warriors begin to form a strong bond, making them act somewhat awkwardly around one another. Regardless, they eventually come across the crashes UFO in the midst of a sandstorm and decide to take refuge inside, unaware of the vessel’s former function. As they wander inside, they come across a monster named Lazarus 92, a hive mind comprised of hungry space leeches, and the one device that can destroy it. After more awkwardness, they finally kill the monster...and embrace one another in a passionate kiss.

We begin exactly where we left off, with Ashi and Jack in mid kiss...and finally realizing that human lips are not supposed to taste like space leech guts. They spit out the vile fluids while apologizing to another, not wanting to make it look like they hated their experience in spite of the leeches. After finding a breach in the ship’s hull, Ashi goes to look for some replacement clothes while Jack climbs out. He steps outside, reflecting on what has happened, and even finds a broken pipeline from the ship conveniently leaking water. He uses this to take an impromptu shower as Ashi returns in her new outfit, his gi in hand. She quietly gawks at his silhouette before disappearing around the corner before Jack notices her. He smiles at his reflection as he puts on his outfit...but his reflection does not smile back. The familiar, haggard version of Jack from earlier episodes appears and warns himself to be careful about Ashi. The Samurai admits that something like finding true love like this has never happened before, and he does not know how to deal with it.

As night falls, Jack and Ashi sit and eat around a campfire, having hunted down some local wildlife in the sand. After much silence (and admittedly strange animation), Ashi asks Jack if he ever thinks of his home. The Samurai admits he does in a melancholic tone. He reminisces about the beauty of his home, how he would see the entire village from the top of his father’s castle, and how it changed as the seasons rolled by. Ashi then asks if Jack ever had a lover, to which Jack says there was not enough time to find love in the past. Jack was only eight years old when Aku appeared to destroy the world once more. Ashi apologizes for bringing up his past, but Jack simply replies that these memories are now the only way he will ever see the past ever again. The next morning, Ashi is shocked to discover that Jack is gone.

Meanwhile, on the ashen landscape of Aku's domain, a familiar metal skull is riding a cephalopod straight to the tower. That's right, Scaramouche has made it across the ocean and undoubtedly numerous obstacles and has made it to Aku’s lair. The determined robot scuttles down to the front door, where a familiar figure awaits him. At first, Scaramouche is ecstatic over Aku waiting for him, but is soon disappointed to discover that his employer has left an intercom in his likeness to greet anyone who comes to visit. The machine basically tells Scaramouche to get lost, but the persistent robot is having none of it, as he scales the tower and squeezes himself through a hole in the wall. He eventually summons an annoyed Aku, and finally tells him that Jack has lost his sword. Elated, Aku restores his minion’s body and dances in celebration, thinking that now his long time foe will be much easier to destroy, unaware that his assassin's news has come far too late.

Back in the desert, Jack wanders alone after leaving Ashi behind. He aimlessly traverses the sands until he stumbles across a familiar landscape covered in metallic corpses. As he climbs over the lifeless bodies of dozens of deactivated, rusting robots, he finally finds the center of the graveyard, where a destroyed obelisk rests. Beside it is a pair of red, cracked glasses. Jack closes his eyes, saddened by the scene.

For those not familiar with the previous seasons, allow me to explain. This place once held a time portal, powered by the now destroyed obelisk, and all of these corpses, big or small, metallic or organic, were once mighty warriors who desired to use it. But, they were all defeated by a man of unknown power and strength, a man simply known as The Guardian. Once, even Jack fought against the Guardian to use the portal, only to be brutally defeated after an intense battle. The only reason why he survived, however, is because this portal was unique; it was sentient. The portal told the Guardian to spare Jack, as the Samurai would have been worthy to use the portal in the future, had Aku not discovered it before that time. Sadly, it appears that even the Guardian, with all his might, could not defeat everyone, as it is clear that Aku has destroyed him and the portal.

As Jack reflects upon this discovery, Ashi finally tracks him down. She asks him why he left without saying a word, to which Jack responds by telling her to go back. Ashi pleads him to help her understand what the Samurai is going through, why he has become so distant all of a sudden. Jack explains that everyone he has ever known and loved has been taken away by Aku, leaving nothing but memories behind, and he does not want Ashi to succumb to the same fate. Ashi softly smiles as she takes Jack’s hands. She proclaims that destiny brought them together, and thus they shall defeat Aku together. This moment of warmth is brief, as a voice booms through the mechanical graveyard.

“Samurai Jack…”

A dark figure looms above the two warriors, gazing down upon them with wide eyes. Aku has finally come. The Shogun of Sorrow and Scaramouche laugh at their enemies, believing they have no way to defend themselves...until Jack reveals his sword. Aku immediately glares at his goon, and promptly fires him. And by fire, I mean straight up destroy him.

As the Master of Misery begins to take his leave, he pauses and sniffs the air. Something has caught Aku’s attention...something familiar…

“I smell ME!”

Aku looms over Ashi, who arms herself with an abandoned blade in retaliation. He proclaims that a portion of his essence resides inside her. He ponders as to how this can be, and remembers a time he paid a visit to a cult who worshipped an effigy of their ruler. A cult completely comprised of female assassins. Yes, Aku actually appeared before the Daughters of Aku years ago, impressed by their tribute to him, in spite of it being a pale comparison to the original Aku. As a token of his appreciation, he bestowed upon them a goblet full of his very essence for them to worship. But then, after he left, an awful idea dawned upon the High Priestess. She took the goblet and hastily drank Aku’s essence. Months later, she laid upon an altar, pregnant and screaming. I’m pretty sure we all know what happened next. And thus, years later, Ashi stands before the being she once worshipped, horrified to learn that she is still Daughter of Aku in more ways than one.

As Jack charges at Aku, having had enough of his trickery, the demon smiles. Jack’s sword meets Ashi’s, as she stands between Jack and his foe. She swears that she didn’t move, but Aku says otherwise, as Ashi attacks Jack violently. Somehow, through the essence she was born from, Ashi is being controlled by Aku like a puppet. Jack urges her to fight Aku’s influence, but she keeps attacking furiously, much to her dismay.

The two warriors are evenly matched, but Aku has another trick up his sleeve. Ashi’s clothes and skin starts to turn pitch black as she screams in fear. As the darkness consumes her, her eyes glow brightly underneath a pair of parallel flames. Ashi has become a hyrbid, a blend between human and Aku. She lashes out at Jack, unable to speak to him under the blackness until Jack’s sword scrapes it away. She regains control for a brief moment, and begs Jack to kill her. The Samurai cannot bring himself to do it, and soon relents. He surrenders his sword and kneels in defeat. The hybrid moves to kill Jack, but Aku stops her before her claws make contact. He plucks the Samurai’s sword and cackles in victory as the episode ends.

As the penultimate episode comes to a close, I am left at a lost for words. The plot development given right at the end certainly took me by surprise, and has left me wondering just how this season is going to end in the next episode. Aku has all but destroyed his foe, now wielding the very sword that can destroy him and having complete control over the one woman the Samurai has truly loved. It’s like a suckerpunch to the gut, especially after making that theory in the previous entry about how Jack and Ashi could have lived together in the future after destroying Aku. Is that even possible anymore? Can Ashi be saved from Aku’s influence? Can Ashi even exist if Aku is destroyed? Well, we’ll have to wait for the next episode, the final episode of Samurai Jack, to see just what the end has in store for us.

But in the meantime, never stop rambling, TM

Reblogs are always appreciated. YouTube version: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=whcSEXz2sSk

#samurai jack #samurai jack season 5 #review #holy shit

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