A chamber summary
I have wandered freely amongst the dreams of men. I have kissed those they call angels and danced with those they know as demons. Endlessly thirsting and forever seeking rest, I die to live and hate to love. Out of boredom, curiousity, and obsession, I have watched over mortal masses beneath the moon's pale shadow. I have observed the world draw its laboured breaths and, fading as I have been all this time, I have seen the whole earth come and go. And so I humbly submit my report.
I wish to tell them more about me, about us. I wish to draw them from the dreams of their world to the dreams of mine. I wish to remove the veil from over their eyes. I wish many things, and I have only time to wait for my wishes to be fulfilled. In the meantime, however, in the intervening epochs, I will tell you about them.
I have been struck, on countless occassions, by how they search desperately for joy yet cling so ferociously to their sorrows. For, it would seem, joy is the unknown, the possible. Pain is the familiar, the dependable. They pass over bridges of pathos from their dreams into the gritty canvas of the real, and though their hearts often remain the same from one to the next, their voices are enevitably changed. They have built a world on chasing fantasies of love, hope, joy, success, and fulfillment. For the most part, the fantasies alone are enough to drive them to continue living, but the possibility that such fantasies could actually be realized, this is what truly moves them, what "gets them up in the morning." It would seem a result of this series of observations is simply this, that mortality demands motivation.
I see another has also been watching, I'm certain many of us are. It is curious to study the effects of such long term engagement. Witness this expressive example from another whom recently stood before this chamber.
But who will care for you my love, when I am gone? I have watched you from the eldest days, when the moon itself was young. I have raised you as a father, mother, lover through these centuries, through our fall from grace. And now your broken heart reflects the spirit of a bygone age, and you are left to live in suffering as if I had already gone. Let me kiss you once more, so I can taste your sweet lips and hold that lavish memory inside me for eternity. You will fade away and I will grow tired of immortality, tired of watching all I love rot and come to nothing. I will remember you, my love, until the very end of days.
A distressing example to be sure. However our own observations have shown that many, after millennia of communion over humanity, develop a disturbing and intimate attachment to them, or even worse, some form of God complex. They have their gods. They do not need us. Remember well that when the last shades are drawn, the last secrets whispered in darkness, we will remain here amongst the shadows while they transfigure to deeper light or darkness. We will lie down amidst the stones, our mournful songs will fill the night sky, and all the regal stars will fall in burning splendor to the abandoned earth.
I admit that even I have had moments of temptation and despair. Their dreams do weave a certain seductive power. In their ringing hollows they sing songs of days long past and memories long forgotten, it is music of the lavishly damned. I have listened in the distance, even watched them stare back at me in the cold void of their imaginations. I have been both comforted and frightened by their conviction. We have all heard their cries in the dark, and even swayed to the chorus of their broken hearts. For ages we have watched them fall to ruin. But, from time to time, my soul is stirred up, and I have been pierced by their calls, grieved by their supplications. Yet we are bound in this regard, as from the beginning.
In closing this segment, I feel compelled to confess that I wonder sometimes, when the soft sunlight of their world begins to stretch across the horizon, if they are all simply waiting around for something, for an eventuality that may never come. I have come to believe that their worst fear may be that each of them knows happiness, enlightenment, greatness, or whatever it is they seek may be impossible to obtain. Perhaps, at least for a portion of them, how they deal with that horrific thought becomes the basis for the way they live out our their whole lives, each of them in their own way.
I wish to tell them more about me, about us. I wish to draw them from the dreams of their world to the dreams of mine. I wish to remove the veil from over their eyes. I wish many things, and I have only time to wait for my wishes to be fulfilled. In the meantime, however, in the intervening epochs, I will tell you about them.
I have been struck, on countless occassions, by how they search desperately for joy yet cling so ferociously to their sorrows. For, it would seem, joy is the unknown, the possible. Pain is the familiar, the dependable. They pass over bridges of pathos from their dreams into the gritty canvas of the real, and though their hearts often remain the same from one to the next, their voices are enevitably changed. They have built a world on chasing fantasies of love, hope, joy, success, and fulfillment. For the most part, the fantasies alone are enough to drive them to continue living, but the possibility that such fantasies could actually be realized, this is what truly moves them, what "gets them up in the morning." It would seem a result of this series of observations is simply this, that mortality demands motivation.
I see another has also been watching, I'm certain many of us are. It is curious to study the effects of such long term engagement. Witness this expressive example from another whom recently stood before this chamber.
But who will care for you my love, when I am gone? I have watched you from the eldest days, when the moon itself was young. I have raised you as a father, mother, lover through these centuries, through our fall from grace. And now your broken heart reflects the spirit of a bygone age, and you are left to live in suffering as if I had already gone. Let me kiss you once more, so I can taste your sweet lips and hold that lavish memory inside me for eternity. You will fade away and I will grow tired of immortality, tired of watching all I love rot and come to nothing. I will remember you, my love, until the very end of days.
A distressing example to be sure. However our own observations have shown that many, after millennia of communion over humanity, develop a disturbing and intimate attachment to them, or even worse, some form of God complex. They have their gods. They do not need us. Remember well that when the last shades are drawn, the last secrets whispered in darkness, we will remain here amongst the shadows while they transfigure to deeper light or darkness. We will lie down amidst the stones, our mournful songs will fill the night sky, and all the regal stars will fall in burning splendor to the abandoned earth.
I admit that even I have had moments of temptation and despair. Their dreams do weave a certain seductive power. In their ringing hollows they sing songs of days long past and memories long forgotten, it is music of the lavishly damned. I have listened in the distance, even watched them stare back at me in the cold void of their imaginations. I have been both comforted and frightened by their conviction. We have all heard their cries in the dark, and even swayed to the chorus of their broken hearts. For ages we have watched them fall to ruin. But, from time to time, my soul is stirred up, and I have been pierced by their calls, grieved by their supplications. Yet we are bound in this regard, as from the beginning.
In closing this segment, I feel compelled to confess that I wonder sometimes, when the soft sunlight of their world begins to stretch across the horizon, if they are all simply waiting around for something, for an eventuality that may never come. I have come to believe that their worst fear may be that each of them knows happiness, enlightenment, greatness, or whatever it is they seek may be impossible to obtain. Perhaps, at least for a portion of them, how they deal with that horrific thought becomes the basis for the way they live out our their whole lives, each of them in their own way.
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