Along the corridor, the scales gleam in orderly rows. A sudden tilt... Metal clicks sharply, and the tiny bells ring. My ears prick, and eyes dart to catch whatever has moved. The unseen has stirred, and it clamors for my attention.
I recently caught up on the Mononoke films. As a huge fan of Kusuriuri, a character I’ve long admired and even wanted to be, I delighted in the reprise of the medicine seller: his mysterious allure, the handsome sword man who takes over right before the battle, the overwhelmingly beautiful imagery, and the music that sometimes unsettles even as it enchants. What I did not expect this time was to be fascinated by his tools — the scales, or tenbin, in particular — and the three-part process he follows: identify the form of the spirit, pinpoint its truth, and understand its reason, its why.
As I browsed Pinterest for fanart after my movie binge, I thought, “Wait… doesn’t this three-step process sound familiar?” Not for exorcising spirits, but for creation. Every time I sit down before a blank Obsidian note, I ask: What do I want to say? Why do I want to say it? And what form should it take? The order differs from Kusuriuri’s, since my purpose is not to drive something out, but to mold ether into perceivable matter. A magical goblin does what it must within its cosmology. For Goblin Nina, the order is reason, truth, form. Though sometimes two or all three arrive together, tangled, as if to keep me on my toes.
For my last post, königin, the three conditions rushed in at once. I just knew it had to be a poem celebrating a relationship I hold dear. The fire inside me demanded it. The message needed to come to light the way that it did.
Per the Mononoke wiki, “the style of exorcism the Medicine Seller employs is derived from mikkyō's Three Mysteries”: mudra, mantra, and mandala. Body, Speech, and Mind. Form, Truth, Reason.
Let’s start with Form.
For as long as I can remember, I have engaged with the non-tangible. I’d write short stories as a little kid, make theaters out of tissue boxes and tempera paint, engross my Barbies in complicated drama and lore. I’d transcribe the most surprising poems — like one when I was 14 about two people completely unmasking before each other. A kid next desk over whispered to a friend, asking if it was about sex. Maybe it was. I don’t know. I channeled it, shaping the invisible into something that could stand, breathe, and speak.
Over the years, I’d engage with it via more traditional rituals: prayers, attending mass, reciting the Gayatri Mantra with a mala as counter. Yet the wild in me never fully retreated. I planted my bare feet on the grass to feel the warmth of the earth, took naps under different trees at college, stared at squirrels as if I could speak to them telepathically. Each step grounded the idea, pressed it into the earth, gave it weight and possibility.
Creatively, I fumbled about, leaning heavily on intuition. When stuck or pressed for time, I banked on what I did best: push forward. I trusted that the idea would take a body, and that trust was always met with confirmation. What I have realized now is that the process could be as easy as it was in childhood. Straining is unnecessary. If an idea comes to mind, it is more than possible to birth it. Thoughts want to be made flesh; my hand is only the instrument.
For Chiron’s Daughter, my digital garden website (my feral digital garden, haha), I leave no potential media tool off limits. I want to talk to an angel? Why not write a play. Summer is ending, oh no! What if I made a fantastical bucket list? The latest is all about ‘what the wind told me.’ I had never edited a video to completion in my life — till now. The scales tipped, the bells tinkled, and the message was clear: it wanted to be experienced a certain way. No better time than the present to learn a skill, so I stitched together a little film, shy of two minutes, to share the Zephyr’s whisper. Breathe, just breathe.
It’s not necessarily the message that matters, but how it is presented. Look at how the wind plays with the alocasia leaves under the sunlight. You see birds, bees, and dancing butterflies. I overlay a voice reading my take on Matthew 6:26-34 (NIV... Nina's International Version bwehehe), emphasizing that if the universe takes care of the birds, what makes you think it wouldn’t take care of you?
Form emerges, insists, persists.
Next: Truth.
It took a lot of humility to admit that I have carried years of trauma on my back, and it was a painful pill to swallow to learn that my reactions to those less-than-stellar experiences shaped my beliefs about the world. I started my human existence as a trusting golden child, and gradually, because I gave those experiences too much power, I became fearful, withdrawn, afraid to be seen.
I didn’t want to be seen because what if that attention turned to jealousy? I paid more attention to the snide remarks about being a nerd than to the gentle encouragement of teachers who saw me as a sapling with the potential to bear the most interesting fruits. I thought the way I was treated by certain family members was the norm, and I almost let it color the way I viewed all men. Thankfully, I met someone rather special early on, so that specific viewpoint never hardened into full-on bitterness. Just caution.
People say the truth is relative. Relative to whom? You. The lenses you wear shape not only what you see, but the way the truth flows through you. I wrote an essay on the rite of sitting down (perched) last month, and the words flowed through my fingertips with ease. What was hell was editing. I don’t think I have ever edited a piece as much as that one. I’d type a sentence, tweak a word. Sometimes the edit resonated — the little bells jingled. Other times it didn’t. The fuckkkk. I’d rock in my seat, hands on my temples. What was not clicking?
My truth.
Yes, sitting down with yourself is needed, and this is how you do it: x, y, z. But that doesn’t mean it was easy in that period of my life. Far from it. I wanted to run on all cylinders, to exhaust the body to near depletion. What made the essay finally click was that admission. I may doubt the clarity I receive when I pipe down and actually listen to my inner world, but ultimately I trust it. That is why I return to that rite again and again.
Your truth changes as you evolve, and that’s ok. For the purpose of creating, it doesn’t matter that it will change in the future. In the moment, in the now, what do you want to say? Write it down, draw it, dance to it. Even if the truth isn’t packaged neatly, even if it’s messy... Even if it's ugly.
There’s a line in Phantom of the Rain where the Medicine Seller of Kun tells the guard of the Ōoku that truth is heard rather than just seen. Or at least that's how I remember it 😅. Whether or not I quote it perfectly, the line left this imprint: listening carefully, with awareness, reveals the truth in ways sight alone cannot.
The last element of this triad? Reason.
I hid myself from the world for months at a time. Yes, that was true. And later, much later, when I had the courage to trace the pattern back, I asked: why? The answer rang clear. I feared my joy would be stolen if I showed it. I feared that if I lived too openly, I’d invite the losses, the cutting words, the violations I had already endured. I worried my spirit wasn’t strong enough to survive a repeat.
Ding! went the bell.
So I hid.
Every action has its cause. Every choice, its root. My reasons might have looked absurd to an outsider, but to me they made perfect sense. They were survival, not folly. And whether the path was “right” is almost irrelevant because only hindsight could tell me that. The point is that it was my path, and at the time, it was the only one I thought I could walk.
Lately I’ve been circling the concept of sovereignty. I’d define it as: Autonomy. Agency. Self-rule. One of my first EFT tapping sessions had me repeating a line that grated at first: I take full responsibility for myself. Over time, those words changed shape. I finally understood. They became a declaration of power, not a source of shame nor guilt. Whatever happens, I choose what to make of it. Justice may or may not come from outside, but I can still decide whether to give the wound more of my life, or to redirect my breath elsewhere.
Reason is the compass. It doesn’t always excuse the past, but it makes the present intelligible. When it comes to creation, Reason is what pulls others close. Sometimes it’s raw survival (you just wanna make money, I get it); sometimes it’s euphoric love; sometimes it’s joy or grief spilling over into form. When I honor the reason, I notice I stop caring about metrics. If a piece is read, wonderful. If not, it still exists, still holds its weight, because the force behind it was true.
With the three conditions met (Form! Truth! Reason!), the Sacred Sword cries, Tokihanatsu! Release.
When I first drafted this essay, I thought: it can’t possibly be this simple. And in a way, it is …but also, no. Our feelings are layered, our memories prone to suggestion. What this structure gives me is not a shortcut, but scaffolding. A way to move through the overwhelm.
But before I even step into the threefold process of creation, I take note of the scales. The tenbin is my signal. First, I watch and listen. When they tip, when the bells ring, I know something worthy of contemplation and exploration is surfacing. I listen, then follow. I trust that whatever I topple into I can handle. If not all at once, at least I can begin with one of the conditions and move from there. Form, truth, or reason as it comes.
If I were a Kusuriuri, I’m not sure what hexagram I’d be1. Maybe Hexagram 30: Li / The Clinging, Fire. What I do know is that I have my own medicine box. The words and images I craft, the tools I reach for whether familiar or new, and always, my tenbin with its little bells. My intuition.
Lately, the bells have been ringing nonstop. I’m listening. Curious. For they haven’t failed me yet, and what they signal to has always proven to be, at the very least, transformative. I don’t have a pipe like Kusuriuri, but I do have a vape. With a little smile on my face and vape in hand, I wait to see what wants to break through next.
