Back again, for the last time.

Its all so familiar, fragments everywhere.  The day I got my first copy of WarCraft III, and I stayed up all night playing it here.  Then when I went to bed my brother sat down and played while I slept.  That was back before he changed, before the world changed him.  But not really, even then he was detached.  It had already started.  Funny, being in this place reminds me of the tales of how differently we see it here.

            Its been a decade.  How old was I?  13.  Christ.  Was I really?  How young I was then.  How… different.  I’ve changed much and more, but this place has remained the same.  Always the same.  Its so comforting to be here, I’ve lived here longer then anywhere else.  And its going away.  How sad, yet how joyful.  Its truly our past, and we should not fight its passing.

            That girl, who I tried to preach to from battle.net.  How did I work up the balls?  The things religion do to people.  What have you done to me?  And then she beats me at my own game, father an apologist, better equipped to shoot me down.  What a night that was.  I never really did talk to her again, not really.  Back again, for the last time.  That’s far in the past.  I never want to be so sure again, I never want to be so separate.  Will you forgive me?

            And even drowning in the past, I push back the veil a little bit each day.  Never have I seen the desert from the sky.  Its so dark out here, every star a blazing torch.  But its so different too, the skies have grown the same.  The city moved in.  Weird how it can affect the feeling of this place so.  What to do tomorrow I wonder?

            The old days on EverQuest, way back in the day.  WhiteWind and Jonze, Grindle and Fattious Ribsticker, and my friend who’s surname I stole and didn’t even remember his first.  Kasseopea, the bard.  Dozer, the paladin.  Smallwind and Roaringwind, Haeo and Haeoeo.  The day I flipped on the guild and gquit.  It didn’t last long.  That’s when I started Smallwind.  That was here too.  I couldn’t spell for shit back then.  How did they ever put up with me?

            What a weird trip its been here.  Life is a little bit crazy when it hits you all again.  I will miss this place, the last shreds of my childhood going away.

My Nuria

Why didn't see it sooner?  I saw, and I saw, much and more.  But it wasn't all of it.  I called you, my luminous one, I made you real.  Nothing fills me with more hope, nothing fills me with more terror.  How can this be?  The things that go unnoticed in my life, what are they up to?  They listen, its clear to me they listen.  They are the rats in the walls of the castle, the little bird on a branch in the woods.  They are also the maker and the destroyer, gods and men.  How careful I must be...

          I forgive you, my bright one, for it was not your fault.  It was my own expression returned, and I welcome it home again.  What else can I do with it?  My children are always welcome at my table.  Did I reach out in pain?  What did I release to myself?  The balance was lost, so long did I sit on one side.  I choose suffering, why?  Time and time again, why?

          Is it so easy to play that part?  Yes, so easy.  Its always around, just tap into it.  Is it so easy to connect with it?  We all carry it along.  Is it interesting?  Oh yes, ever so much so.  I was never bored, not once.  Maybe you don't believe that, but its true.  Nuria, you have been the most stimulating thing to ever happen to me.  Is it a good thing?  In the end, I can see the good in you.  Thank you for every minute.  Dreams come true.  What am I dreaming?  Is it worth it?  Yes, a thousand times yes.  Living is the justification for life, and its true for all children, the good and the bad alike.  We treat them all as treasures.  They are all treasures.

          There was always some balance, there are the good times with the bad.  There is more, there is room.  Is that what feels so good about suffering?  The room for love?  True and simple, practiced, not professed?  All things in balance, maybe I fell off.  So here is the clean page before me, what do I write?  What do I say to the mouse, sitting in my house?  Its time to make this right, to tell your story, and to tell of hope.  We always have hope, I will remind you of that.  They will be listening.

          Come, sit by the fire and be at peace.  There is soft music and slow dancing.  A great bird roasting in the kitchen.  The snow falls out the window, and the sun fades.  But here its comfortable, warm and safe.  You can close your eyes and hear the fire crackling, you can smell the cold, and the wood, and the food.  Welcome home my child.

Emptiness Dancing

For want of a comma, I was lost.  Or was I?  How do I stop from seeing what I think I see? How many negatives were there?  One or two?  Sometimes its so hard to understand.  Is there another way?  I wish there was another way...

When trying to surpass words, when using simple imagery to invoke a reaction, do we still fall in the same trap?  How does a man in China see the world?  Will he understand something if I say it?  Its hard to say how much local culture really does change the way people think.  I can't even imagine how different things must have been for him growing up, how much does it change him?

I feel like he may see what I see.  But its weird I somehow feel like I may not get to find out. How would I get to China to see this thing?  Its a boat that would put the arc to shame, in the middle of Shanghai, filled with nothing but a dream.  Our guided dream.  I will play just my small part.  But do we dream the same?  The details change from person to person, but the core remains the same.  It will be enough.  Besides there's nothing to miss.  We don't have a story to tell.  Its just our silly guided dream.

Still, it will be pretty no matter what.  Maybe in the end thats the point.