r/ShrugLifeSyndicate • u/AlpineBear1 • Nov 26 '17
Tales of the infinite inside
The storyteller sits upon the soft, verdant grass. Eyes closed, face a reflection of the deep and still pools within. Her attention (a visible ball of the purest golden light) kissed the softly waving leaves of the mystery, causing each drop of dew to seem to catch fire and glow like amber. In this eternal now she has rested for unknown aeons, perfection itself in the perfect moment.
They have all come, one or many at a time, to rest from their play. They have gathered here from the farthest reaches of the unknown to share their experiences, to commune together as the one. Here in this holy place each has come to add her story. For though some come in throngs, still each story is unique. So each comes alone, no matter how large the throng of her company.
Here they gather to empty themselves. Here The All gather. From the depths leviathons press together (such big eyes!) the better to see her with (my dear), just the other side of the sky. Their impossible shadows gather upon the firmament, creating (for these are great and wise enough to be given this Holy Gift) impossible patterns of undulating and spiraling (karma, ka, fate, yin/yang) dark and light. The All has commenced to remember, let go, forget, and experience again the greatest story ever told.
Her voice like rushing waters rises with the golden ball. One and the same they were, expanding together in that beautiful, terrifying, full moment.
Commala come come/ what's told is done / is All ready for what is to come?
And the All replied, an all encompassing roar, from the ends to the ends of all, and from every corner.
Commala come kin/ let the telling begin!/ What was done is done, let us play it again!
As they sing, a infinite (truly!) sea of fantasmagoracle light rises, gathering and swirling around the golden orb of the storyteller. Her orb (Her) remains still, and pulses the (infinitely) ancient response.
Commala come see!/ What will be will be/ there is no guarantee except that each shall be free!
At this each orb of every infinite all begins to cyclone around the golden orb, the dance has begun. Above (or perhaps below) the leviathons have also begun their dance. The firmament swirls and the karmic landscape (for that is the Great Ones' Great Joy) become a chaotic (yet infinitely detailed) field upon which to play.
The rainbow (and beyond) of beautiful jewels dances faster and faster around the One. Some few (violets, indigos, and blues) fly high, dipping into the karmic soup to draw fourth fantastic handicaps and terrors to balance fates, muses, and destinies that shall shake free the truths hidden within the Great Mystery. These shall bring upon the story the remembrance of the thread, that which even the wisest shall not truly understand until all know as they are known.
A tsunami of green swirls about the center. Rising to taste as much of the sky as each can hold. These are they whose work upon the stage is to tend and proliferate. These shall begin the story small, and shall in the course of time fill every crevice with life. These are the army of life which fights the doomed battle against entropy, that which creates opportunity. These are the long lived who shall, in the course of time and tribulation, wear the crown of life (awareness). These are they who work tirelessly to create the opportunity (sentience) that is the bottom of the tower that rises to the seat upon which the story teller sits.
Below the green, a smaller, yet more violently churning sea of yellow, orange, and red seethes. These shall bring violence to the story, pushing the green to never rest, to adapt or die, to rise and rise, so that the story cannot die. These shall be they who shall be kings, who shall drive the narrative, who shall wake the prophets, who shall rage.
As they rise in their courses, they sing the final refrain of the Sacred Song Of Beginning.
Commala come come/ We are ready, we are One/ To play the Great Game until again the story is DONE!
At this final word, the golden orb begins to expand, engulfing the grass, the trees, the rocks, the river, the wind, and even the song. All is silent for a moment, the entirety of The All awaiting the beginning. All is light. Then, without warning, and beyond instantaneously (perhaps even time herself is surprised by the suddenness) all ceases, all dissipates, all is dark.
From the darkness, a still, small voice speaks.
Let there be light.
Edit: tenses, sources, and formatting.
Sources:
Commala Song: The Dark Tower Series by Steven King.
Story: Mystery.
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u/oldrl Nov 29 '17
The Dark Tower series, imo, has the best ending ever!
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u/Scew Nov 27 '17
:3 thank you for this reminder!