abigail_murdoch

You stand at the threshold between two worlds. You are intoxicated by the reality of the journey, traveling between two worlds that, before you were indoctrinated, you would have regarded as parts of the same whole. There is much that you must leave behind before entering this ancient realm. Principally, you must empty yourself while remaining full enough to be meaningful. You must be ready to meet the vanguard of the wilds by being more than animal, yet something other (though in no way less). As such, you have brought assistants, no, accomplices, for this ritual.

The forest, a system of chaos balanced in a way beyond the comprehension of any single mind (except theirs, perhaps, but they know the forest in ways that most will never be able to), will surely appreciate the balance you have brought. On your left stands a modern nebula, swirling with chemical color and neuroplasticity. On your right stands emptiness of the philosophical kind, the type that a professor would analogize to a donut hole. Crude as such a metaphor may be, it is accurate. He is nothing, but the nothingness fails to self-actualize as it warps back into somethingness before fluctuating out of reality once more.

The three of you cross the threshold. Though your accomplices are not (cannot be) fully briefed on the details of your mission, they seem to acknowledge its gravity. As you walk with cautious certainty, you ponder how this forest, for its age, is a graveyard of millions. With each step you take, you desecrate corpses, which mingle with each other to form an amalgam that will support new life. Humans may be similar, but the level of cooperation among the dead could never be so vibrant. Attuned to the world ending beneath your feet, you listen for signs of life.

You hear the songs that your guide has taught you to listen to, but you push your brain to perceive even further. For all the troubles that your body and its many talismans have given you, you are grateful for its status as a vessel for your neurons. You feel yourself lighten as the breeze blows through you, rendering you a ghost in this graveyard of aeons.

You can hear her. Rather, part of you could always hear her–the part balanced out by the somethingness and nothingness walking at your sides, the two living souls floating in the land of dead next to a reaper herself without a shred of concern for their own lives. Amidst your reconnaissance, you've kept walking, because they are leading you there. Down to the creek, where you shall present your offering to them. Your accomplices' movements remain to be seen, but by the lightness of their steps, you are able to walk without fear of them disturbing this hallowed ground.

In the creek's bed, you can see a small, mud-filled hole lined with pebbles. Some flower petals still rest on the mud's surface, but most have been submerged, rendering this peaceful scene to rotting. Similarly, a bathmat-like leaf has already been crumpled, as if its user had to dry itself off with haste. Gazing upon the corpse, you mourn the timescape you have interrupted. At the same time, you shift your head with a sense of duty, understanding that this reality exists outside of your jurisdiction.

You know that the spirit rests, coiled and observant, behind a tree stump nearby, though the other two do not seem so aware. You know that the spirit will present herself when they wish to be perceived.

In another small miracle of the wild, they decide that perception is something they are amicable to, slinking out to stand on the other side of the creek. It's a small hop over the stream, but you understand that doing so would be to cross a gorge one million miles wide (perhaps even more. how many generations of death do they serve as a witness to?)

Instead, you hand your offering over the edge of the stream, presenting them with a notice of their execution (one that has already occurred), though you signal that you do not kill with anything less than love in your heart. Your accomplices stand back as the transfer is made. They gaze upon the document with a placid curiosity befitting of a creature so ethereal. You understand that the time has come for your second offering.

You attempt to play the instrument as best you can, though you are not skilled in the songs of the forest (as much as you aspire to be). The guardian stares back at you not with a critique of your inadequacy, but with a silent offer: return, and you shall know more.

Before you can process anything else, the spirit hops over the creek with otherworldly grace, bridging the gorge of ten million miles in a way only they could. The miracles continue. They speak the unspoken (the once unspeakable):

“Be kind…to our forest.”

With that, the vanguard darts away, leaving the three of you with a mission.

You are no longer pilgrims. You are disciples.

• You stop by the PodgeLodge and make idle conversation with Herb, who, with enough prodding, eventually starts interviewing you as an individual in related to BIGHAND. You laugh under your breath as he mutters to himself about whether it is possible to have a BIGHAND encounter if you are BIGHAND.
• On the dock one night, you tell Min about the party. He confesses to you that to some degree, he knew about most things. Xe doesn't explain exactly how they got to know anything, but ze obviously didn't know about the emotional side of everything. Ve proves a good listener and a very nice shoulder to cry on over the course of the week.
• On your next date-night sunset walk with Ike, you take him to the pier with a duffel bag full of pillows and blankets and softly ask him to cuddle.
• You accompany Felicity to check her trail cameras, sharing her curiosity as to whether something really is out there.
• You approach Margot at one point, apologizing for not yet having found a place to print the photos. You assures xem, however, that zie looks absolutely amazing in them.