Waxing Official

One cycle had passed since the Neophyte started drawing his income for shifting with the lunar pearl. Came D-day, however, he was feeling a gnawing sense of dissatisfaction over what he couldn't help but feel was a distressingly mundane culmination. Then, not one to be crushed by anvil-shaped feathers, the Neophyte began to reflect on a mirror, which he held backwards while simultaneously laying the cleansing carpet out. To the acolyte's right, an inquisitive Quorum, sat chomping on each other's fat. What chew say? the members of the Quorum were often heard inquiring of one another. The Chubby Minister held the Industrious Honey's attention with the timeless benjamin, information. The CM burped out well-digested digestibles. The Neophyte, meanwhile, sat muttering his mantras within himself. These mantras were inaudible, imperceptible, at the time, to the Neophyte himself. For you see, the mantras had, after months of diligent and assiduous repetition on his part, accreted into a deeply embedded, automated internal skill that lay beneath too many fathoms to be fathomable at a superficial glance. As the Neophyte keyed in the self-sufficing prophetic words, he sensed he should acknowledge the venerable presence of the Knowledgeable Saintly Man, for he had just learnt that everyone was keenly aware of everyone's doings, and it would be amiss if he should omit this sage from the Quorum. The KSM was, therefore, duly noted and imbibed. Within his caffienated chamber, the impish livewire went about his administrative obligations before he may wink 40 times. The Neophyte had organised his inner space so as to attract and assimilate any and all lessons; so he absorbed the teachings and was eager for more. For there was much information yet to glean, many mountains of treasures waiting scheduled to be discovered.