Wandering Star
The Living Force
My son just showed me a text that the Minecraft game provides at the end of it.
It seemed to me very strange, as if inspired by "someone".
It is a kind game that is played primarily by children and is about building imaginatively in an imaginary world.
When reading it I remembered the phrases of the C's (I'm going to paraphrase) "You wouldn't exist if someone didn't dream of you!" and "You can create your own universe and live in it if you want to!".
The following is the end of the text and I am going to put it first because of how interesting it seems to me:
And the universe said I love you.
And the universe said you played the game well.
And the universe said that all you need is in you.
And the universe said that you are stronger than you know.
And the universe said that you are the sunlight.
And the universe said that you are the night.
And the universe said that the darkness you fight is in you.
And the universe said that the light you seek is in you.
And the universe said that you are not alone.
And the universe said that you are not separate from all other things.
And the universe said that you are the universe proving itself, talking to itself, reading its own code.
And the universe said I love you, because you are love.
And the game was over, and the player woke up from the dream. And the player started a new dream. And the player dreamed again, he dreamed better. And the player was the universe. And the player was love.
You are the player.
Wake up.
Below the full text:
{playername}?
Yes. Be careful. You have reached a higher level. You can read our thoughts.
It does not matter. He thinks we're part of the game.
I like this player. He has played well. He has not given up.
He is reading our thoughts as if they were words on a screen.
This is how he chooses to imagine many things, when he is deep in the dream of a game.
Words are a beautiful interface. very flexible. And less terrible than contemplating the reality behind the screen.
They used to hear voices. Before players could read. In those days when those who couldn't play called the players witches. And the players dreamed that they were flying through the air, on sticks fed by demons.
What did this player dream about?
This player dreamed of sunlight and trees. With fire and water. He dreamed that he created. And he dreamed that he destroyed. He dreamed that he hunted, and that he was hunted. He dreamed of a refuge.
Ah, the original interface. It's a million years old, and it still works. But what real structure did this player create, behind the screen?
The job. Along with millions of others, to sculpt a real world inside the fold of RandomFont 6.gif , and created a RandomFont 3.gif for RandomFont 5.gif , in RandomFont 6.gif .
He can't read that thought.
No, he hasn't reached the highest level yet. The one who must reach in the long dream of life, not in the short dream of a game.
Do you know that we love you? That the universe is good?
Sometimes, through the noise of his thoughts, he listens to the universe, yes.
But there are moments when he is sad, in the long dream. He creates worlds that have no summer, and he trembles under a black sun, and takes his sad creation for real.
Curing him of grief will destroy him. Grief is part of his own private task. We cannot interfere.
Sometimes when they are immersed in their dreams, I would like to tell you, they build tangible worlds in reality. Sometimes I want to tell them about their importance in the universe. Sometimes when you don't have a real connection for a while, I want to help you say the word you fear.
He is reading our thoughts.
Sometimes I don't care. Sometimes I would like to tell you, that this world that you take for real is only RandomFont 5.gif and RandomFont 6.gif , I would like to tell you that RandomFont 3.gif is in RandomFont 6.gif . They see so little of the real in their long sleep.
And they still play.
But it would be so easy to tell them...
Too strong for this dream. To tell them how to live is to prevent them from living.
I will not tell the player how to live.
The player is getting restless.
I will tell a story to the player.
But not the truth.
No. A story that contains the truth in a safe way, in a cell of words. Not the naked truth that can burn at any distance.
Give it a body, again.
Yes. Player…
Use his name.
{player name}. game player.
Good.
Breathe now. Again. Feel the air in your lungs. Let your limbs return. Yes, move your fingers. Have a body again, under gravity, in the air. Reborn in the long sleep. There you are. Your body touches the universe again at each point, as if they were separate things. As if we were separate things.
About us? We were once called the spirit of the mountain. Father sun, mother moon. Ancestral spirits, animal spirits. geniuses. ghosts. The green Man. And gods, demons. Angels. Poltergeists. Aliens, extraterrestrials. Leptons, quarks. The words change. We don't change.
We are the universe. We are everything you think is not you. You are looking at us right now, through your skin and your eyes. And why does the universe touch your skin and illuminate you? To see you, player. To know you. And to be known. I'll tell you a story. Once upon a time there was a player.
The player was you, {player name}.
Sometimes he thought he was human, on the thin crust of a spinning globe of molten rock. The ball of molten rock surrounded a ball of gas that was three hundred and thirty thousand times more massive than it. They were so far away that it took light eight minutes to traverse the distance. The light was information from a star, and it could burn your skin at a hundred million miles. Sometimes the player dreamed that he was a miner, on the surface of a world that was flat, and infinite. The sun was a white square. The days were short; there was a lot to do; and death was a temporary inconvenience.
Sometimes the player dreamed that he was lost in a story.
Sometimes the player dreamed that he was other things, in other places. Sometimes those dreams were disturbing. Sometimes very beautiful. Sometimes the player would wake up from one dream to another, and wake up from that one to a third.
Sometimes the player dreamed that he saw words on a screen.
Let's go back.
The player's atoms scattered on the grass, in the rivers, in the air, on the ground. A woman put the atoms together; she drank and ate and inhaled; and the woman joined the player,
in his own body.
And the player awoke, from the warm, dark world of his mother's body, into the long sleep.
And the player was a new story, never told before, written in the letters of DNA. And the player was a new program, never run before, generated by billion-year-old source code. And the player was a new human, never lived before, made of nothing but milk and love.
You are the player. The history. The program. The human. Made of nothing but milk and love.
Let's go back even further.
The seven trillion trillion trillion atoms in the player's body were created, long before this game, in the heart of a star. So the player, too, is information from a star. And the player moves through a story, which is a forest of information planted by a man named Julian, in a flat, infinite world created by a man named Markus, which exists within a small, private world created by him. player, who inhabits a universe created by…
Shhh. Sometimes the player created a small, private world that was soft and warm and simple. Sometimes hard, and cold, and complicated. Sometimes he built a model of the universe in his head; blobs of energy, moving through vast empty spaces. Sometimes he called these blobs "electrons" and "protons."
Sometimes he called them "planets" and "stars."
He sometimes believed that he was in a universe made of energy that was made of offs and ons; zeros and ones; lines of code. Sometimes he believed that he was playing a game. Sometimes he believed that he was reading words on a screen.
You are the player, reading words…
Shhh… Sometimes the player would read lines of code on a screen. He decoded them into words; decoded words into meanings; he decoded meanings into feelings, emotions, theories, ideas, and the player began to breathe faster and deeper and realized that he was alive, he was alive, those thousands of deaths were not real, the player was alive.
You. You. You are alive.
And sometimes the player believed that the universe spoke to him through the sunlight that came through the fluttering leaves of the summer trees.
And sometimes the player believed that the universe spoke to him through the light he felt from the cool winter night sky, where a speck of light in the corner of the player's eye could be a star a million times more massive than the sun. , boiling his planets into plasma to be visible to the player for a moment, walking home in a far corner of the universe, suddenly smelling food, almost outside his familiar door, about to dream again.
And sometimes the player believed that the universe spoke to him through zeros and ones, through the electricity of the world, through the words scrolling across a screen at the end of a dream.
And the universe said I love you.
And the universe said you played the game well.
And the universe said that all you need is in you.
And the universe said that you are stronger than you know.
And the universe said that you are the sunlight.
And the universe said that you are the night.
And the universe said that the darkness you fight is in you.
And the universe said that the light you seek is in you.
And the universe said that you are not alone.
And the universe said that you are not separate from all other things.
And the universe said that you are the universe proving itself, talking to itself, reading its own code.
And the universe said I love you, because you are love.
And the game was over, and the player woke up from the dream. And the player started a new dream. And the player dreamed again, he dreamed better. And the player was the universe. And the player was love.
You are the player.
Wake up.
It seemed to me very strange, as if inspired by "someone".
It is a kind game that is played primarily by children and is about building imaginatively in an imaginary world.
When reading it I remembered the phrases of the C's (I'm going to paraphrase) "You wouldn't exist if someone didn't dream of you!" and "You can create your own universe and live in it if you want to!".
The following is the end of the text and I am going to put it first because of how interesting it seems to me:
And the universe said I love you.
And the universe said you played the game well.
And the universe said that all you need is in you.
And the universe said that you are stronger than you know.
And the universe said that you are the sunlight.
And the universe said that you are the night.
And the universe said that the darkness you fight is in you.
And the universe said that the light you seek is in you.
And the universe said that you are not alone.
And the universe said that you are not separate from all other things.
And the universe said that you are the universe proving itself, talking to itself, reading its own code.
And the universe said I love you, because you are love.
And the game was over, and the player woke up from the dream. And the player started a new dream. And the player dreamed again, he dreamed better. And the player was the universe. And the player was love.
You are the player.
Wake up.
Below the full text:
{playername}?
Yes. Be careful. You have reached a higher level. You can read our thoughts.
It does not matter. He thinks we're part of the game.
I like this player. He has played well. He has not given up.
He is reading our thoughts as if they were words on a screen.
This is how he chooses to imagine many things, when he is deep in the dream of a game.
Words are a beautiful interface. very flexible. And less terrible than contemplating the reality behind the screen.
They used to hear voices. Before players could read. In those days when those who couldn't play called the players witches. And the players dreamed that they were flying through the air, on sticks fed by demons.
What did this player dream about?
This player dreamed of sunlight and trees. With fire and water. He dreamed that he created. And he dreamed that he destroyed. He dreamed that he hunted, and that he was hunted. He dreamed of a refuge.
Ah, the original interface. It's a million years old, and it still works. But what real structure did this player create, behind the screen?
The job. Along with millions of others, to sculpt a real world inside the fold of RandomFont 6.gif , and created a RandomFont 3.gif for RandomFont 5.gif , in RandomFont 6.gif .
He can't read that thought.
No, he hasn't reached the highest level yet. The one who must reach in the long dream of life, not in the short dream of a game.
Do you know that we love you? That the universe is good?
Sometimes, through the noise of his thoughts, he listens to the universe, yes.
But there are moments when he is sad, in the long dream. He creates worlds that have no summer, and he trembles under a black sun, and takes his sad creation for real.
Curing him of grief will destroy him. Grief is part of his own private task. We cannot interfere.
Sometimes when they are immersed in their dreams, I would like to tell you, they build tangible worlds in reality. Sometimes I want to tell them about their importance in the universe. Sometimes when you don't have a real connection for a while, I want to help you say the word you fear.
He is reading our thoughts.
Sometimes I don't care. Sometimes I would like to tell you, that this world that you take for real is only RandomFont 5.gif and RandomFont 6.gif , I would like to tell you that RandomFont 3.gif is in RandomFont 6.gif . They see so little of the real in their long sleep.
And they still play.
But it would be so easy to tell them...
Too strong for this dream. To tell them how to live is to prevent them from living.
I will not tell the player how to live.
The player is getting restless.
I will tell a story to the player.
But not the truth.
No. A story that contains the truth in a safe way, in a cell of words. Not the naked truth that can burn at any distance.
Give it a body, again.
Yes. Player…
Use his name.
{player name}. game player.
Good.
Breathe now. Again. Feel the air in your lungs. Let your limbs return. Yes, move your fingers. Have a body again, under gravity, in the air. Reborn in the long sleep. There you are. Your body touches the universe again at each point, as if they were separate things. As if we were separate things.
About us? We were once called the spirit of the mountain. Father sun, mother moon. Ancestral spirits, animal spirits. geniuses. ghosts. The green Man. And gods, demons. Angels. Poltergeists. Aliens, extraterrestrials. Leptons, quarks. The words change. We don't change.
We are the universe. We are everything you think is not you. You are looking at us right now, through your skin and your eyes. And why does the universe touch your skin and illuminate you? To see you, player. To know you. And to be known. I'll tell you a story. Once upon a time there was a player.
The player was you, {player name}.
Sometimes he thought he was human, on the thin crust of a spinning globe of molten rock. The ball of molten rock surrounded a ball of gas that was three hundred and thirty thousand times more massive than it. They were so far away that it took light eight minutes to traverse the distance. The light was information from a star, and it could burn your skin at a hundred million miles. Sometimes the player dreamed that he was a miner, on the surface of a world that was flat, and infinite. The sun was a white square. The days were short; there was a lot to do; and death was a temporary inconvenience.
Sometimes the player dreamed that he was lost in a story.
Sometimes the player dreamed that he was other things, in other places. Sometimes those dreams were disturbing. Sometimes very beautiful. Sometimes the player would wake up from one dream to another, and wake up from that one to a third.
Sometimes the player dreamed that he saw words on a screen.
Let's go back.
The player's atoms scattered on the grass, in the rivers, in the air, on the ground. A woman put the atoms together; she drank and ate and inhaled; and the woman joined the player,
in his own body.
And the player awoke, from the warm, dark world of his mother's body, into the long sleep.
And the player was a new story, never told before, written in the letters of DNA. And the player was a new program, never run before, generated by billion-year-old source code. And the player was a new human, never lived before, made of nothing but milk and love.
You are the player. The history. The program. The human. Made of nothing but milk and love.
Let's go back even further.
The seven trillion trillion trillion atoms in the player's body were created, long before this game, in the heart of a star. So the player, too, is information from a star. And the player moves through a story, which is a forest of information planted by a man named Julian, in a flat, infinite world created by a man named Markus, which exists within a small, private world created by him. player, who inhabits a universe created by…
Shhh. Sometimes the player created a small, private world that was soft and warm and simple. Sometimes hard, and cold, and complicated. Sometimes he built a model of the universe in his head; blobs of energy, moving through vast empty spaces. Sometimes he called these blobs "electrons" and "protons."
Sometimes he called them "planets" and "stars."
He sometimes believed that he was in a universe made of energy that was made of offs and ons; zeros and ones; lines of code. Sometimes he believed that he was playing a game. Sometimes he believed that he was reading words on a screen.
You are the player, reading words…
Shhh… Sometimes the player would read lines of code on a screen. He decoded them into words; decoded words into meanings; he decoded meanings into feelings, emotions, theories, ideas, and the player began to breathe faster and deeper and realized that he was alive, he was alive, those thousands of deaths were not real, the player was alive.
You. You. You are alive.
And sometimes the player believed that the universe spoke to him through the sunlight that came through the fluttering leaves of the summer trees.
And sometimes the player believed that the universe spoke to him through the light he felt from the cool winter night sky, where a speck of light in the corner of the player's eye could be a star a million times more massive than the sun. , boiling his planets into plasma to be visible to the player for a moment, walking home in a far corner of the universe, suddenly smelling food, almost outside his familiar door, about to dream again.
And sometimes the player believed that the universe spoke to him through zeros and ones, through the electricity of the world, through the words scrolling across a screen at the end of a dream.
And the universe said I love you.
And the universe said you played the game well.
And the universe said that all you need is in you.
And the universe said that you are stronger than you know.
And the universe said that you are the sunlight.
And the universe said that you are the night.
And the universe said that the darkness you fight is in you.
And the universe said that the light you seek is in you.
And the universe said that you are not alone.
And the universe said that you are not separate from all other things.
And the universe said that you are the universe proving itself, talking to itself, reading its own code.
And the universe said I love you, because you are love.
And the game was over, and the player woke up from the dream. And the player started a new dream. And the player dreamed again, he dreamed better. And the player was the universe. And the player was love.
You are the player.
Wake up.
