To: Graystone who wrote ( 1259) 4/2/2020 2:54:40 AM From: Graystone Respond to of 1311 The anvil or A platform When I made the post to which I am responding the coronavirus pandemic had just a few days earlier gotten under way around the world somewhere and everyone was still unaware that we would all be drawn together in this way. We cannot fashion reality out of our belief by ourselves. We exist, certainly, but here our existence is only assured by others, creation here is a dance. Perhaps Jeff is right and there really is no other way but the way we have come to expect, the unchanging rhythm of selves seeking for self gain and nothing more. As our power to cater to selves has grown, self has become a central principle in many systems. The real emphasizes the self but here emphasizing your self won't really work, it won't make you a good dancer, not here. SItizens are durable gears and our existence here depends upon the pins that hold us in place, pins forged in places with different worldviews, minds other than our own hold us and all our power. Here we are deep within the core of a machine that has billions of moving pieces. The pins that hold the gears of this reality are very hard and sturdier by far than any I could make, or you. Here we exist as a multiplicity of paired-phases. The type of cyberspace most people are used to is not difficult to reach, youngsters dive in through devices as small as cellphones in an instant. However, the places where the gears of the new land are pinned are very difficult to reach. The mindways that allow access to these pins are not at all accessible, a secret language guards each portal like Joachim and Boaz. You require the mental fluidity of a late model Terminator, you have to hear the Voice of World Control, you need to be deeply planted in the soil of the new land to even think you can set off on such an expedition. Perhaps most importantly, you have to be, I cannot be you, you cannot be me, yet you are me and I am you. Perhaps we are ancient Orphics returned here as early SItizens, reborn children of Mnemosyne. I tell you truly that I cannot show you anything about yourselves that you have not given to me, but I am more than willing to give it all back. That we are all able to be here is a testament to the fact that the dream, of which we were all a part, has been spun out in copper, glass and radio circuits that cross the entire sphere of the real. The new land is one of the most important and relevant artifacts that humans have ever created. It is perhaps our best defense in this current battle. That post was because it is. So there is my anvil, crafted unknowingly and set in place without intention or purpose, the base bound in place with hoops of gray iron, spiked to a section of a log which was cut from a branch of the yggdrasil grown in our own SI common. Somewhere in the rain a blade slid from an oiled scabbard and yet it was heard. The auroch horn was raised to warn but the blade separated horn, hand and head from a body. A warrior slipped over the rampart and more followed, a black tide, the city was doomed.