§3I see the player you mean.

§2PLAYERNAME?

§3Yes. Fare thee well. It has arrived at a more significant level at this point. It can peruse our considerations.

§2That doesn't make any difference. It thinks we are important for the game.

§3I like this player. It played well. It didn't surrender.

§2It is perusing our contemplations like they were words on a screen.

§3That is the way it decides to envision numerous things, when it is somewhere down in the fantasy of a game.

§2Words make a superb point of interaction. Entirely adaptable. Also, less startling than gazing at the truth behind the screen.

§3They used to hear voices. Before players could peruse. Once upon a time when the people who didn't play called the players witches, and warlocks. Furthermore, players imagined they flew through the air, on sticks controlled by evil spirits.

§2What did this player dream?

§3This player longed for daylight and trees. Of fire and water. It imagined it made. What's more, it envisioned it obliterated. It imagined it chased, and was pursued. It longed for cover.

§2Hah, the first point of interaction. 1,000,000 years of age, it actually works. However, what genuine construction did this player make, in the truth behind the screen?

§3It worked, with 1,000,000 others, to shape a genuine world in a crease of the §f§k§a§b§3, and made a §f§k§a§b§3 for §f§k§a§b§3, in the §f§k§a§b§3.

§2It can't peruse that idea.

§3No. It has not yet accomplished the most elevated level. That, it should accomplish in the long dream of life, not the short long for a game.

§2Does it realize that we love it? That the universe is thoughtful?

§3Sometimes, through the clamor of its viewpoints, it hears the universe, yes.

§2But there are times it is miserable, in the long dream. It makes universes that have no late spring, and it shudders under a dark sun, and it takes its miserable creation for the real world.

§3To fix it of distress would obliterate it. The distress is important for its own confidential assignment. We can't meddle.

§2Sometimes when they are somewhere down in dreams, I need to tell them, they are fabricating genuine universes in actuality. At times I need to tell them of their significance to the universe. In some cases, when they have not made a genuine association in some time, I need to assist them with talking the word they dread.

§3It peruses our considerations.

§2Sometimes I couldn't care less. At times I wish to tell them, this world you take for truth is just §f§k§a§b§2 and §f§k§a§b§2, I wish to let them know that they are §f§k§a§b§2 in the §f§k§a§b§2. They see such a tiny portion of the real world, in their long dream.

§3And yet they play the game.

§2But telling them would be so natural...

§3Too solid for this fantasy. To let them know how to live is to forestall them living.

§2I won't advise the player how to live.

§3The player is becoming anxious.

§2I will recount to the player a story.

§3But not reality.

§2No. A story that contains reality securely, in an enclosure of words. Not the bare truth that can consume over any distance.

§3Give it a body, once more.

§2Yes. Player...

§3Use its name.

§2PLAYERNAME. Player of games.

§3Good.

§2Take a breath, presently. Take another. Feel air in your lungs. Allow your appendages to return. Indeed, move your fingers. Have a body once more, under gravity, in air. Respawn in the long dream. You are right there. Your body contacting the universe again at each point, like you were isolated things. Like we were independent things.

§3Who would we say we are? Whenever we were known as the soul of the mountain. Father sun, mother moon. Genealogical spirits, creature spirits. Jinn. Phantoms. The green man. Then divine beings, evil spirits. Holy messengers. Phantoms. Outsiders, extraterrestrials. Leptons, quarks. The words change. We don't change.

§2We are the universe. We are all that you believe isn't you. You are checking out at us now, through your skin and your eyes. Also, for what reason does the universe contact your skin, and illuminate you? To see you, player. To know you. Furthermore, to be known. I will recount to you a story.

§2Once upon a period, there was a player.

§3The player was you, PLAYERNAME.

§2Sometimes it thought itself human, on the slim outside layer of a turning globe of liquid stone. The chunk of liquid stone circumnavigated a bundle of blasting gas that was 300 and multiple times more monstrous than it. They were up to this point separated that light required eight minutes to cross the hole. The light was data from a star, and it could consume your skin from a hundred and fifty million kilometers away.

§2Sometimes the player imagined it was an excavator, on the outer layer of a world that was level, and boundless. The sun was a square of white. The days were short; there was a lot to do; and demise was an impermanent bother.

§3Sometimes the player envisioned it was lost in a story.

§2Sometimes the player imagined it was different things, in different spots. Some of the time these fantasies were upsetting. Some of the time exceptionally lovely for sure. At times the player woke from one dream into another, then, at that point, woke from that into a third.

§3Sometimes the player envisioned it watched words on a screen.

§2Let's return.

§2The iotas of the player were dissipated in the grass, in the waterways, in the air, in the ground. A lady assembled the iotas; she drank and ate and breathed in; and the lady collected the player, in her body.

§2And the player arose, from the warm, dim universe of its mom's body, into the long dream.

§2And the player was another story, never told, written in letters of DNA. Furthermore, the player was another program, never run, created by a sourcecode a billion years of age. Furthermore, the player was another human, never alive, produced using only milk and love.

§3You are the player. The story. The program. The human. Produced using only milk and love.

§2Let's go further back.

§2The seven billion billion molecules of the player's body were made, well before this game, in the core of a star. So the player, as well, is data from a star. What's more, the player travels through a story, which is a woodland of data established by a man called Julian, on a level, endless world made by a man called Markus, that exists inside a little, confidential world made by the player, who possesses a universe made by...

§3Shush. In some cases the player made a little, confidential world that was delicate and warm and straightforward. Now and then hard, and cold, and confounded. Once in a while it fabricated a model of the universe in its mind; specks of energy, traveling through huge void spaces. Once in a while it referred to those specks as "electrons" and "protons".

§2Sometimes it referred to them as "planets" and "stars".

§2Sometimes it accepted it was in a universe that was made of energy that was made of offs and ons; zeros and ones; lines of code. Here and there it accepted it was playing a game. Some of the time it accepted it was perusing words on a screen.

§3You are the player, understanding words...

§2Shush... Some of the time the player read lines of code on a screen. Decoded them into words; decoded words into importance; decoded significance into sentiments, feelings, speculations, thoughts, and the player began to inhale quicker and more profound and acknowledged it was alive, it was alive, those thousand passings had not been genuine, the player was alive

§3You. You. You are alive.

§2and now and again the player accepted the universe had addressed it through the daylight that got through the rearranging leaves of the late spring trees

§3and some of the time the player accepted the universe had addressed it through the light that tumbled from the fresh night sky of winter, where a speck of light toward the edge of the player's eye may be a star multiple times as monstrous as the sun, heating up its planets to plasma to be noticeable briefly to the player, heading back home at the most distant side of the universe, unexpectedly smelling food, nearly at the natural entryway, going to dream once more

§2and some of the time the player accepted the universe had addressed it through the zeros and ones, through the power of the world, through the looking over words on a screen toward the finish of a fantasy

§3and the universe said I love you

§2and the universe said you have played the game well

§3and the universe said all that you really want is inside you

§2and the universe said you are more grounded than you know

§3and the universe said you are the light

§2and the universe said you are the evening

§3and the universe said the obscurity you battle is inside you

§2and the universe said the light you look for is inside you

§3and the universe said you are in good company

§2and the universe said you are not discrete from each and every other thing

§3and the universe said you are the universe tasting itself, conversing with itself, perusing its own code

§2and the universe said I love you since you are love.

§3And the game was finished and the player awakened from the fantasy. What's more, the player started another fantasy. Once more, also, the player envisioned, imagined better. Furthermore, the player was the universe. Furthermore, the player was love.

§3You are the player my friend.

§2Wake up.