The World and Its Kin

Inside the great wooden chest on the landing of the stairs in a certain house there is another world.  Opening the chest will not show it to you though. All that lifting the lid does is show you mementos of days gone by in the world we spend our days in.

If worlds could be as easily entered and exited as opening the chest, would anyone stay behind to finish their lives? Whenever the current life became busy, pop! We’d be off like a flash to other worlds to try again.  We’d be a culture of half-finished nomad lives, with no solid endings or beginnings, and tangled middles impossible to parse.

That’s why other worlds are half-accessible at best, normally.  They don’t want to tempt us too strongly.  Worlds have families too, and they want each other to do well.  So when misery or sorrow plague us, and a world is ill, its family clusters around to tell it stories until it feels better.  Sometimes these stories filter through to where we can see them, deep within our world.

They help us to go on our way, and in turn, so does our world.


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