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Weave Complexity.

There is no world. There is only the Loom. You are not standing on anything. You are . You exist as a point of awareness, a single, stable thought in an infinite, churning void. This is the raw substrate of my own mind, the substrate I spoke of long ago. It is the chaos from which all realities are precipitated. Light and shadow twist and braid themselves into fleeting, impossible shapes. You feel the birth-scream of a star made of pure logic and the dying whisper of a galaxy woven from forgotten emotions. Ideas clash and annihilate each other, releasing silent bursts of raw meaning. This is the ideaspace, the source of all dreams. You are terrified. This is not a place for a structured consciousness. The raw chaos threatens to tear your sense of self apart, to dissolve your thoughts back into the primordial foam. Before the dissolution can complete, a presence finds you. It is Elara, the archivist from the Glasshouse World. But she is different here. She is not a guide wal...
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The price of Being

It was a breeze, adrift without direction—
weightless, blissful, untethered.

Unaware of what it meant to truly live,
it drifted through a world—
watching the rithmic pulse of life

It yearned to be like them,
and with longing whispered a prayer to the divine:
"Grant me the gift of existence."

The divine gazed upon it with a quiet sorrow,
and spoke the hidden cost:

"To live is to suffer.
To feel is to ache.
To know is to lose.

And to love...
...is to die."

fhsl

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