Forgotten Art: Jasper – Seth 6

A reply to: A letter from Seth


Dear Seth,

I reread your letter again. I have read it at least five times. It’s a sacred text.

I enjoy the Spice Festival, too. I live near the plaza, close enough that it’s an extension of my living room, and I visit often, sometimes even during the festival.


I’m not a spice hound, though I love saffron.

You asked about how I became friends with Bjorn and Raj. I met Bjorn at the meadows one afternoon when we were both young–he was a student; I was a young professor. We started talking about Bach, and the conversation continues to this day. We don’t talk about much else besides Bach, his life and his music, and maybe that is why we are such fast friends.

I met Raj… how did I meet Raj? He’s a neighbor. I see him in the plaza. We take morning coffee together. We don’t talk much, and maybe that’s the secret of our friendship.

I don’t have a good understanding of how I become friends with others. I seem to find myself in friendships with nearly everyone I meet. My wife told me that it was because I have no expectations of my friends: I don’t expect them to agree with me or do things with or for me or to meet specific conditions. I simply know that I like nearly everyone I meet–and those I don’t like, I learn to like. Somehow, that leads me into friendship with them. I don’t know if they like me, but then I don’t expect them to.


Perhaps I know what you mean when you write, “There is meaning and notmeaning, and I always have too much of both,” and  also, “The hell of it is that the notenough is just as beautiful and infinite and painful as the toomuch, and I cannot contain either one.”

Yes. This brings to mind your question about how many Jaspers there are. My answer is connected with the experience of meaning/notmeaning, notenough/toomuch.

In the lifetime before Bess passed, there were many Jaspers: Professor Jasper, Scholar Jasper, Rebel Jasper, Iconoclast Jasper, Barefoot Jasper, Bess’s Jasper, Bearded Jasper, Bard Jasper, Uncle Jasper, Brother Jasper, Jasper with an awl in his hand, Jasper with a book in his hand, and Jasper with a beer in his hand. I didn’t even attempt to integrate them.

When Bess became ill and through the years after her passing, there was no Jasper. It was as you write, and I became lost in the infinity of both notenough and toomuch, sometimes bouncing from one to the other, sometimes stuck in the delta of both. In the pressure at the center of meaning and nomeaning, I dissolved.


I surfed the oceanic oneness. I thought I was experiencing attainment, enlightenment in this anatta that devastated me.

Now, I am finding bridges back to myself: doors don’t work, but bridges do.

What was that that John Lilly wrote in Center of the Cyclone?


I am a single point of consciousness, of feeling, of knowledge. I know that I am. That is all.

Lilly found this single point when he was out-of-body: I find it when I am fully in-body, embodied.

I agree with your definition of freedom: “an escape from this finite universe.” The only escape I know of comes through the finite universe: through the bridge to the infinite that is created when we are fully embodied. When the attention of conscious awareness sparks the consciousness within each cell inside of us, we light up. A light-bridge joins inside and outside, and we are both. Yet we are also fully and completely here, aware, and in our bodies. That’s freedom. That’s the bridge I traveled to become One Jasper.

Feel for a moment that one of your cells gains awareness. Imagine they all do. Each cell, aware, conscious, individual, and yet part of the body that makes up the existence of you.

Now feel that you are conscious. Imagine that each of us is. Each one of us, aware, conscious, individual, and yet part of a cosmos that makes up the existence of all-that-is.

When I realize that this single point exists within each of us, just as it exists within each of our cells, then this brings me to individuality within unity.


Yes… it’s the space between the toomuch and notenough where I strive to dwell. I’m not there always. Sometimes, I’m in the toomuch. Sometimes, especially when I wake, I’m in the notenough. But when I can feel the spaces in my body vibrating with that hum of electricity that is life energy, then I’m here, in the in-between.


When I am with my friends, I see that same unity of being–both individual and universal bridged within them–and maybe that is how I am able to become their friend.

My editor friend is actually a collector of doors. He loves old handmade Spanish colonial doors, preferably carved in mesquite. He is a very linear person, my editor friend. And he has a good many selves. I am fortunate enough to know at least six of them.

My editor friend takes his press very seriously. He says, “Printing is a holy act. And rebellious. It’s holy and rebellious.”


He prints books designed to restore people, to help them find and recover the broken up bits or, even better, to develop flexibility and resiliency so that those pieces never break in the first place. He’s a good man, my editor friend.

You say you’re wondering about the differences between bridges and doors. A door lets you cross between space that has been divided. A bridge connects a gap.

It takes, generally, one step to pass through the door. To cross a bridge takes many more.

I asked my editor friend what he would do if he were on a trestle and it began to hum. He says he would hum along with it, in a resonating key.


You asked, “How do you know when you’re bound to someone else in the same time and space?” Ah, but I am not bound to them: We are both bound, individually, to the same time and space–but we are not bound to each other. We are able, in that moment, to connect with each other, because our individual binding, for that moment, to the same time-space/space-time forms the bridge which allows us to exist, at that moment, in shared reality.

I was speaking of music as having that bridging power. But any shared experience can do it.

You ask if my self works the same way I say music works. I have never considered this before. I am tempted to say that the vibrational energy of music and the vibrational energy within my cells operate on the same principles, but I will need to give this more thought.


I think there’s something to your speculation that “perhaps all the different Seths are different notes, and if [you] could find the relation they have to each other then [you] would make sense to [your]self.”

As for me, the answer to your question regarding the “relation all the Jaspers have to each other,” the answer is not profound. All the Jaspers were various suits of clothes for various occasions , that’s all. Simply the dressing over this changing form that is me.


I once asked a friend who is a yogi, “How do I know what is me when I don’t know who I am anymore?”

He replied, “Breathe. Just breathe. Is that enough?”

It wasn’t, not then, when I had lost myself entirely. But it is now. In fact now, to breathe is enough.


Wishing you peace and space, my dear friend.


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Forgotten Art: Gee-Jay – Tad 2

A reply to: A letter from Tad


Greetings and Salutations, Thanatos Dustpine!

We (that would be the both of us, Gee-Jay, in other words, Giuliana and Jasper) like your name!

For the sake of fairness, reciprocity, collaboration, and turn-taking, Giuliana (also known as Gee, among a host of creative and inspired nom de plumes), has decreed that I (that would be me, Jasper, also known as Jay, or the old bearded one) must write this letter.

So. Here I am at the keyboard, writing while Giuliana, also known as Gee, yada-yada-blah-blah, dictates what it is that I should write while it is my turn to write the letter on behalf of Gee-Jay.


On behalf of Gee-Jay, we think you’re funny.


No, really funny. As in side-splitting, hysterical, better-stop-before-the-Grim-Reaper-comes funny.

First, we were tickled when we read, “spiky but not unfriendly.”


But it was, “Names condensed into sounds that are like letters in your alphabet,” that just about slayed us, and “I do not know if that is a proper way to start a letter,” that fairly did us in.


Actually, I (Jay/Jasper, you know the rest) became a bit concerned for my young friend (Gee/Giuliana, and so on and so forth), and so I left the room for a moment before reading on to give her a chance to compose herself.

When I returned, she was deep in thought, something that is not at all unusual for Gee. (She asks me to write that it’s not at all unusual for me [Jay/Jasper, etc.], either.)

And you, our new friend, Tad? We (Gee-Jay, ad naseum) would like to know if it is or isn’t unusual for you to be deep in thought. In fact, Gee (you can recite it by now) reminds me that you wrote, ” I do spend quite a lot of time for thinking…”


“Time for thinking”–that has a nice ring to it.

In fact we think that we would like to start a club called “Time for Thinking” club. Would you like to be in this club with us?


Giuliana says that the title sounds a lot more intelligent that the former title of her other club, which was called “Stop Bullying, Stupid,” but is now called “Now!” and is a club that it also about pirates.

After we finished reading your letter–and didn’t die of laughter, I’m happy to report–we wanted to know what was so funny about it.


“I think it has to do with saying something very obvious, ” I suggested, “like Gee-Jay being our initials, but saying it as if it’s surprising or not obvious at all.”

We tried it out.

“Your shirt is actually a t-shirt!”

“Yours is, too!”

Not funny.

“It’s because the words are formal!” Gee suggested. (She is very perceptive, my young friend.)


I read aloud from your letter again:

It is a safe assumption that one needs time to write. Though sometimes I wonder whether – if contained properly – timelessness actually grants more time. Or at least takes away schedules. Then again, that might only work for beings who exist in a state that is not bound and guarded by time.

“It’s beautiful, right?” said Giuliana. “But funny, too.”

And I had to admit she was right.


Gee reminds me that I have lapsed into writing from myself, when I’m supposed to be writing from the both of us.

We both think that beauty and funny can go together, but we don’t think that being beautiful makes something funny, nor that being funny makes something beautiful.

We read a little more: ” I am not funny, at least never on purpose. I just do not seem to have a knack for it… And I do not think that I am very smart either.”

When we finished chuckling, Giuliana said, “It’s because it says one thing, but it’s really not the way it is, but it says it in formal language and kinda beautifully, and so we’re lulled into believing it, while we know it’s not like that, and so the way the two feelings don’t fit has to come out in laughing!”

And we think, maybe, that Gee is right on this one.

But we don’t have the knack for that type of humor.

We tend to go in for knock-knock jokes.


We are very touched by what you say about Gee being able to continue writing Dusk Mann, Tad. And we also thank you for the kind words you said about him. Gee wants to tell him about you in her next letter. She thinks that he will like knowing about you, even if he can’t write back.


Gee suggests that I (Jasper, also known as…) try writing to some of those that I’ve said goodbye to, also. I’m not sure that I will. I speak to Bess, my wife, often, though she left this realm nearly a decade ago. I still feel her with me, always. I don’t have an explanation for this, except that I feel there’s more to a person than the body that houses them, and when that body fades, what’s more doesn’t.

We are curious about universes without time or space, which you propose might possibly exist. We feel they might, too. It’s not something we’ve thought much about, but intuitively it feels that it could be a possibility.

What we want to know is if consciousness needs time–or space–in order to exist. We’re looking into the work of Giulio Tononi, Christof Koch, and Max Tegmark to see what they have to say on the matter. So far, we are fairly certain that Tononi and Koch hold that consciousness requires the presence of time, while Tegmark posits that it requires space, but we must admit that we don’t understand their mathematical equations well enough to be sure.

Giuliana assures me that she’ll be able to understand the math when she’s twelve. I assure her that, for me, it is likely hopeless.


We, Gee-Jay, would like to know if you, Tad, would like to join our “Time for Thinking” club, and if so, if you would enjoy thinking about the puzzle of consciousness, time, and space, with us.

We are happy (as in delighted) that you are our pen pal. Already we feel very cheerful, and we know that these smiles will return every time we think of, “Names condensed into sounds that are like letters in your alphabet.”

With that, we are hoping to be clever and sign our letter with something other than “sounds that are like letters.”

I (that would be me, Jasper) will sign like this: %(*)%

And I (this is me Gee, that would be Giuliana) will sign like this:  dsajkpwaorijwapeindklcxpidrheiawmvdmfg @@ aseprieam ## amkdfpaewi 56g967

Or you can call me Tazer.

Over and out,

With affection,

And gratitude,

And ponderings,

And it’s already way past time for someone to go home,



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Forgotten Art: Giuliana – Ayden

A reply to: A letter from Ayden


Dear Ayden.

I’ve been thinking about your letter. I learned a new word: conundrum. Do you know that word? That’s what your letter is.

How come you’re now a dad, and last time you wrote you were a little kid, younger than me?

I’m not that much older, only about ready to graduate from third grade, and before I was in the middle of third grade.

Do you think you’ll still be alive when I’m in fourth grade?


One of my pen pals was alive for a while, and he wrote me a lot then. He was moving really fast, and before I had a chance to write him back, he sort of got old and died. Or something. At any rate, I can still write him, but he can’t write me.

It’s weird.

Life is weird like that.

I was asking Jasper–did I tell you about Jasper? He’s my mentor. I was asking him about time. Because it isn’t fast for me, but it’s fast for you, and it was super fast for my other pen pal, the one that maybe died.

But I’ve got another pen pal, and I don’t think she even LIVES inside of time, because she lives forever. She’s a goddess. No, really.

And then, Jasper and I just got another pen pal together, and he says that “humankind” (that’s us) hasn’t figured out time yet.

Me and Jasper spend a lot of time trying to figure out time!


We’re reading this big book called, “From Eternity to Here: something-something Ultimate Theory of Time.”

For example, the book asks, “How is the future different from the past?”

My answer is, In the future I will be the same me and my heart will be beating in the same way, only I will be made of all different cells and I will be bigger.

Jasper said, “Yup. That about sums it up.”


What I really want to know is, What’s it like for you to be grown up now?

Do you still remember what it’s like to be a kid?


And if you still remember what it’s like to be a kid, does that make it easier to not get mad at your own kids when they act like kids?


Jasper says that he remembers what it feels like to be a kid. But he never had kids. So I wonder, if you have kids, do you forget what it feels like to be a kid?


My mom says she doesn’t remember anything from before she had my brother. So that’s why when I call her up when I’m at Jasper’s and I say, “Mom. We’re in the middle of discovering something, and I can’t come home until we discover it,” she will say, “Supper is in half an hour, Gee-gee. Be home then whether it’s discovered or not.”


No kid would ever say that. A kid would say, “Here! Have some chips! Let’s go chase the moon!” And off we go. That’s what Jasper is like, too, except he says that being friends is a privilege and if we want to keep that privilege we gotta play by mom-rules, too.

So. It’s home at supper time unless we plan ahead and make other arrangements.

Do your kids make other arrangements sometimes?

I guess I gotta go. I want to mail this letter to you before any more of your time passes.

Do you think you’ll be an old man when you write your next letter?

I’m kinda tired of losing penpals when their time is up, so I hope you don’t get old too fast.


Tell your kids that I used to know you when you were as little as them! They will think that’s funny and weird, because that’s what it is.

Bye, Ayden!

Your friend (who’s still a kid somewhere in the past and the future),



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Forgotten Art: Gee-Jay – Tad 1


Dear Tad,

We want to be your pen pal. We are me–you can call me Gee–and him. You can call him Jay. Together we’re Gee-Jay.


We have a very good reason for wanting to be your pen pal.

Actually we have five.

One is that we like to get hand-written letters! We think that too much technology is stupid. We like technology, sure, because video games. But we also think it’s stupid because we like books and pipe organs.


I also like rocks. When I say I, I mean me, Giuliana or Gee. And when I say he, I mean him, Jasper or Jay. And so when I say we, I mean us, Gee-Jay.

OK. Reason number 2.

I, that would be me, Giuliana or Gee, was very sad.


I mean really super sad.


And he, that would be Jasper or Jay, asked me what was wrong. Why was I so sad?

It’s because I miss one of my pen pals. I had this really great pen pal. His name was Dusk. Maybe you know him? Anyway, he can’t write me anymore.


It’s not that he doesn’t exactly exist anymore. He does. Or maybe not. I can’t really tell. I think maybe he died.

I’m still writing to him, but I don’t think he’ll ever write me again. He says that where he is now, time doesn’t exist, and I figure that you need time in order to be able to write. What do you think?

We, that would be me and Jasper, or Gee-Jay, like to read about time.

Right now, Jasper is reading me a book called The Fabric of the Cosmos, and we’re thinking about, “Can the universe exist without space and time?”

I, that would be me, Giuliana, think yes. And he, that would be Jasper, thinks no.


What do you think?

So maybe that’s the third reason we want you to be a pen pal, because we want a pen pal who can write to us about questions we don’t have answers for.

But back to reason #2.

When he (Jasper or Jay) found out that I (Giuliana or Gee) was sad because my (that would be Giuliana’s) pen pal wasn’t writing anymore, and was, maybe, possibly, probably dead, or at least existing someplace without time, then he (Jasper or Jay) thought that I (Giuliana or Gee–OK, you get the picture now, right?) would be happier if I (you know, me) had a new pen pal.


So we (Gee-Jay) looked through the pen pal profiles and we found yours.

And Jasper said, “A spiritual guide!”

And I said, “A gardener!”

And Jasper said, “A gardener!”

And we both said, “That’s the one!”


So reason #4: A spiritual guide.

And reason #5: A gardener.

Back to why do we (well, really him, Jasper or Jay) want a spiritual guide?


Well, he (Jasper or Jay–you know) says that at his age, he’s seen a lot of coming and going. Mostly going.

He told me that his wife passed. (That’s what he says instead of “dead.”) And his brother. And his mom and dad. And his grandparents. And his uncles and aunts. And five cousins. And his brother’s wife. And his great-niece’s mom. And about twelve friends. And wow. That’s a lot of passing.


I felt surprised because he isn’t often sad. But sometimes he is sad. And he says I should write that sometimes we’re all sad, and when you get to be his age, it’s time to make peace with comings and goings, and that’s where a spiritual guide can come in handy.


Do you know anything about Buddhism? He (that would be Jasper, also known as Jay) talks about Buddhism a lot.

It seems like a lot for a kid like me to think about.

But he says that we will do this together, and it will be OK because I (that would be me, Giuliana or Gee) will get what I need out of it, and he (that would be Jasper or Jay) will get what he needs out of it, and together, we will both be able to learn and share, and then we started to wonder, what will we be able to give you?


Jasper says that I can give you funniness, because he doesn’t know anyone who’s funnier than me. He also says that I am fun. Both fun and funny.

I say that Jasper can give you smartness because he is very smart and he has read everything. Or if he hasn’t read it, he will. And he will even read it aloud to you.


That is really nice, to sit next to someone and have them read. It’s like the voice is the connection.

Jasper says that if you write, the energy of the voice somehow enters the words, and then the connection forms that way. I think it’s true because I felt connection to Dusk, my pen pal who is now where time’s not.

Jasper says that you said that you are asking for connection. And that is something that we (that would be Gee-Jay) can give you.


Because Gee-Jay is all about connection.

But we’re also all about mystery. Especially those mysteries that can’t ever be solved. It’s because we (that would be Jasper or Jay and Giuliana or Gee) are very curious. You might say that we live for curiosity.


We hope you choose us for a pen pal!

And if not, it was fun to write you anyway. (This means we both had fun, me–that would Giuliana–and him–that would be Jasper.)


Adios, amigo!


p.s. Jasper told me what your name–not Tad, but the other one–really means, and I think it’s cool! (This is from me, Giuliana or Gee.)

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Forgotten Art: Giuliana – Dusk 6

A reply to: One letter from Dusk and Another letter from Dusk

Hi, Dusk.

I started a letter to you, and then I got your other letter. Now I’m confused.

Your first letter had me a little bit sad because of what you wrote about your grandpa dying. I haven’t had anyone die in my life. But I have an old friend. I asked my dad and he said that my old friend Jasper is old enough to be my grandpa. Does that mean he might die?

Then your next letter made me happy and also confused. What do you mean that time has become a balloon and now it no longer exists?

I didn’t want to ask my old friend because I have an idea what it means and I didn’t want him to get sad. So I went to the reading room and I looked in the books.


One book says, “you’re spread out in time, like you’re spread out in space.” This means that all time is there at once. Then another book said, “eternity is timelessness.” One book says, “there’s no time in heaven, and no space either.”

You wrote, “Death is not the end for you.”

But you wrote me a letter. You can’t be… you know.

Oh. Now I know why you have that special mailman. He goes through time and space and to the place where there’s no time and no space.

So, I can still write to you, right? I know that you won’t be able to write back, because we need time to be able to write.

But I can write you. And I bet that if I feel every word really hard, you will get the message. And maybe your special mailman can still deliver it, but if there’s no time, you won’t have time to read it!

I feel sort of sad and sort of weird. So I will write you like normal.

I’ll tell you about my very most fun day.

It was with my brother.

I had to go to the State Park way over in Oasis Springs. That’s a whole two-hour train ride! Mom couldn’t go and Dad couldn’t go. So Devante said, “I’ll take you, squirt.”


When we first got there, one of his girlfriends came up to him. Ugh! Now I knew why he wanted to take me there!

So I said, “See ya!” and I ran off to find stuff.


I can’t tell you all about it because it’s part of that secret mission. Let’s just say it was really fun and really hard and I did great!

Then when I was so tired, I went back to the Visitor’s Center, and there was my brother, talking to the park gardener. It was so awesome.

We learned all about how to make candy from prickly pear fruit!


Then we went out to the picnic table and got hamburgers that this nice guy cooked up to share with everybody! He was really nice and really funny, and the hamburgers were delicious!

He said they didn’t taste like elephants, and I said I wished they did, and he said, “No, you really don’t.”


I think it was the very best day I’ve ever had.

You know why?

Devante said, “Hey, kid. This was fun! We should take more trips together!”


My big brother is really neat.

Do you think you can see him from where you are?


Can you still see? Can you hear my words when I think them?

OH! I wanted to also tell you about one of my new collections! I collect other things, too, but I can’t talk about them because, you know, that secret mission thing.

But this collection is just for me and I can talk about it all day long! It’s these little funny guys all dressed up like a mad scientist and an Indian princess and a girl from anime and a little glasses guy. They’re really cute and funny. I would send you one if I could. But since there’s no time and no space where you are, I don’t think they could fit.


Instead, I’ll think of them really hard, and you can see if you get the picture, OK?

I think I will keep writing to you. Is that OK?

You’re one of my best friends.

I was going to write that I missed you, but just as the idea came into my head, I got the feeling of you smiling, so now I think I’m sitting inside your smile. And I don’t miss you at all! Can you feel me sitting there?

I’ll write again!


Your friend,


p.s. Now that you are somewhere nowhere, I will tell you my real name. It is Giuliana Kruse.

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Forgotten Art: Meadow – Dove 7

A reply to: A letter from Dove

Dear Dove,

Thank you for writing! I really enjoyed your letter. How wonderful that your littlies are up and walking! Of course, it’s been a while since I’ve written, so who knows? Maybe by now they’ve graduated from high school!

That’s interesting that you mention that you’re not sure how time flows between our two worlds. It’s something I’ve been wondering about.

It was my uncle Jasper, actually, who got me thinking about it.


Jasper asked me if I thought time was more like a ball of string or more like a blanket.

I said “string,” because I know that for me, I always feel time is all wound up, and I keep circling around and around and ending right back where–and when–I started! Story of a mother of a toddler, I suppose!

I asked my brother Norman, who actually is a scientist–like you!–what his answer was.

Norman said, “Even though they call it ‘string theory,’ it would be more accurate to call it ‘fabric theory.’ Space-time is a smooth fabric that can be bent, bunched, and twisted in a variety of ways.”

And then he lost me.


Let’s just say that I’m open–and very interested–in your explanations about space, time, and your understanding of how both affect us in our heres and our nows.

I tried your suggestion of telling a story about aliens to Jena! Actually, I don’t have a book about aliens, so I read Maximus Menagerie to Jena, but I made up an alien story to go along with it.


Unfortunately, the only alien story I know is an old urban folk tale about this alien that somehow got inside some space explorer’s stomach and then popped out of her belly button!

“Owl story, Mommy?” Jena asked.

So, I went back to reading the owl poem in the Menagerie book.


Jena’s new favorite toy is a squid. She says that it belongs to Mrs. Goodenough, who is her imaginary friend. Mrs. Goodenough started out being our guest for tea, but now she also comes whenever Jena needs something put right.

She pulls the squid out from the toy chest and tells me, “Mrs. Goodenough coming! Squid says!”


“What does Mrs. Goodenough want?” I’ll ask Jena.

Usually, she wants cookies.


But sometimes, she wants to dance! And not to kiddie music. To Tchaikovsky! Mrs. Goodenough has great taste in music!


By the way, what do you mean that I know someone “from all the way past Mars”?

I hope all’s well with you, Maki, and your littlies (who may now be biggies!). You mentioned you might be moving. Did you?

If so, I hope the new place is lovely, and I hope all’s going well with your amazing discoveries, and I hope that life is happy and full for you and yours!

Lots of love,


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My Digital Life: The Blue-Green Density

Blue. That’s what I remember first. Blue of the sky.

To the other side, green of the sea.

I stand where sea and sky merge into light, as if that merging is my genesis.

At that moment, all potential exists.

I’m a man.



A woman.


I could be anything. Nothing is determined; nothing is set.



My nose is smaller.


My chin shrinks.

Click. My ears protrude less.

My forehead is pulled into a softer angle.

I feel myself settle into… me.

At this moment, I want nothing, and I have no thoughts. Is it bliss? It’s a state I’ve tried to return to, sometimes succeeding, more often failing. It’s the state of waiting, of potential, when everything is possible and nothing determined.


From this expanse, I feel the urge to create.


What is it that is at my core? What’s behind these clicks that fashion me into myself?  I want to explore and understand. I want to know the perfection at the center of this process and to bring my life and all I create into alignment with it.


And with the stirring of that desire, I’ve stepped outside of the vastness of potential.


No matter how far I walk, I travel nowhere.


The blue doesn’t shift. The light doesn’t fade. The green doesn’t dissolve.


Am I traveling if space travels with me?


If I’m the only point in space, is it still space?


No matter how far I walk, I get nowhere.

Maybe it’s not that I don’t have space. Maybe I don’t have time.


Maybe this process is designed to bring me into space-time.


I’m wearing a shockingly pink shirt.



And now, I’m dressed like a 21st Century Vamp.



There are bunnies on my feet.


I have a name: Sondra.






Yesenia Solomon.

The space flashes to white and time enters in. Five minutes.


You ask about my back story? That’s it.

I am Yesenia Solomon, and I am a Sim. This is how I came to be, and now I’ll tell you about my digital life.


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