[Video: launch trailer for the puzzle game Antichamber. I haven't played it (yet), but the object
seems to be to keep moving forward -- when the answer to the question, "Move forward
from where?" changes constantly. The game's designer says that it has an end... despite the appearance
(to me) of an edgeless, centerless geometry of edges and centers.*]
From whiskey river (italicized portion):
Isle of Mull, Scotland
Because by now we know everything is not so green elsewhere.
The cities tied their nooses around our necks,
we let them without even seeing.
Not even feeling our breath soften
as clumps of shed wool scattered across days.
Not even. This even-ing, balance beam of light on green,
the widely lifted land, resonance of moor
winding down to water, the full of it. Days of cows
and sheep bending their heads.
We walked where the ancient pier juts into the sea.
Stood on the rim of the pool, by the circle
of black boulders. No one saw we were there
and everyone who had ever been there
stood silently in air.
Where else do we ever have to go, and why?
(Naomi Shihab Nye [source])
The secret of the mountain is that the mountains simply exist, as I do myself: the mountains exist simply, which I do not. The mountains have no “meaning,” they are meaning; the mountains are. The sun is round. I ring with life, and the mountains ring, and when I can hear it, there is a ringing that we share. I understand all this, not in my mind but in my heart, knowing how meaningless it is to try to capture what cannot be expressed, knowing that mere words will remain when I read it all again, another day.
(Peter Matthiessen [source])
Someday, sometime, you will be sitting somewhere. A berm overlooking a pond in Vermont. The lip of the Grand Canyon at sunset. A seat on the subway. And something bad will have happened: You will have lost someone you loved, or failed at something at which you badly wanted to succeed.
And sitting there, you will fall into the center of yourself. You will look for some core to sustain you. And if you have been perfect all your life and have managed to meet all the expectations of your family, your friends, your community, your society, chances are excellent that there will be a black hole where that core ought to be.
I don’t want anyone I know to take that terrible chance. And the only way to avoid it is to listen to that small voice inside you that tells you to make mischief, to have fun, to be contrarian, to go another way. George Eliot wrote, “It is never too late to be what you might have been.” It is never too early, either.
(Anna Quindlen [source])