Archive for the ‘Builder’ Category

Calligraphic Theater

March 17, 2010

Once there was a pen.  It was the best pen, the just-right pen.
This pen told stories, drew out marvelous scenes with word after word.

It seems a great pity, but this pen, this mightiest of tools, well. . .

It was lost.
Perhaps some day I or another will find it.  Perhaps not.
Until then we must simply seek out our own substitutes, poor though they may be, and pray they fulfill our dreams.

Dreaming to awaken, Fleeing to find

February 13, 2010

There is a world hanging in the universe, dangling in the breezes of a million thousand stars and the breath of dreams.  All the beings in this world, and the world itself, came from an egg.  Long, long ago they hatched.

Until the egg hatched, all the world was one.  A single lonely being, flying along.  Or perhaps fleeing.  The egg had no nest, and no parent coddled it till the shell became riddled with cracks, anxiously listening for the first peep from inside.
Lonely and singular.  Flying or fleeing.  Searching for adventure, or at least an end to the journey.  The egg began to crack.

Slowly thin lines of fracture ran along the shell, catching the starwinds, the dreams of the universe.  The creeping drafts of world dreams seeped inside, and the Being in the egg began to dream.
It dreamed a million million dreams, of a billion different shades and colors. And as the Dreamer journeyed through the visions, the egg began to slow its pace, its headlong rush.  As the egg slowed, the rifts in the shell spread, the dreamwinds rushed in, and then the egg slowed yet more.
The Egg grew heavy with the weight of dreams, and the being who dreamed began to fracture like the egg which held it.

Dreamer became dreams, became dreamers.  Energy suffused the shell as the great weight of dreams gathered within ignited and flared.  The shell peeled back, curling up into itself upon the fractures, pulling tighter and tighter together as it curled off the radiant forms it once contained.
The forms stretched, shifted, pulled each other back and forth, merged together once more in liquescent madness before bursting apart one final time, a great splash of dream-suffused, instable being enveloping what once had carried all together, coating the brittle discarded shell in shining dreams; the hard reality of a protector weakened hidden away forever in a brilliant glowing radiance.
The remaining mass of wild, numinous dream-stuff wrenched and writhed about, growing first closer and then farther to the brilliant former shell, darkening and lightening in turn.  The wild dance continued some untold time, and then Dreamers began to awake.

The wild mass of Being made Dreamers, the former egg suffused with world-magics and dream-winds settled and changed more with each awakened Dreamer.  Some sought to leave, to forge their own Shell and begin the interrupted journey anew.  Others continued the flight from the stars deep into the center of the Dreaming mass, to hide there, glowing, still fluid, refusing to give up their dream-stuff to make them true.

Many simpled wandered the outer surface of discarded dreams, left behind by previous Awakenings in vain attempts at one thing or another.

Every Dreamer thought the Dreaming their own, a unique truth.  All of them forgot the Egg, and the journey.  The forgot the song of the stars and the winds full of dreams.

Slowly what had been the Egg began to turn and dance with its former shell.  The shell glowed more warmly, feeding back some of the lost star winds that had wrapped around it as Dreamers awoke. Slowly a balance built up, a flow of winds between glowing shell-star and misty world-dream.  Dreamers found they could use these winds to begin the journey written in their dreams–leaping from the great Dreaming, into the winds that sang of loss and joy.  Leaping into the unknown, swept about the shell-star, wrapt about with a sprinkling of dust, the Awake left the world one by one.

As they flew onward, propelled by dream-winds, that first spotted layer of dust began to collect other detritus on their flights. Awake to the universe the dreamers cared nothing for their vision, could not feel the accretion forming around them as they hurtled, spinning, through space.  The winds that sped them onward gradually could do no more than wrap ’round them, cradling them gently as they slipped out of them selves.  Perhaps they slipped into madness.  Perhaps into dreams.  Perhaps they simply left, leaving behind them a soft living blankness, cradled by a sturdy shell that hurtled through space.

The World and Its Kin

January 12, 2010

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.