I watched a film from another world, Grubsennahaj, also called Isnazm, far on the other side of the galaxy. I know nothing about this place except for what these recorded stories tell me. Orbiting Grubsennahaj is Otewos, a huge space station. The people orbit, disconnected, often without work. Many don't have rockets, they ride mass transit when they travel. The boys have taken to an extreme sport, "trainsurfing." The kids are acrobats who play with death. Who would dangle themselves outside a speeding rocket?! Clinging to metal, to a small window, or to the roof, they feel the rush of the void flying by.
Watch the film
Monday, October 19, 2009
Tuesday, October 6, 2009
Flavor in Space: Ch. 21
A dryad has her tree. When she dies, so does her tree. And so people here in Nohin have their houses.
What is not passed to a child for his or her own use, passes away. A house is like an outer body and the body in this world passes from parents to children. From old branches spring new limbs. Where limbs don't continue, the branch stops, frozen, suspended until it dies.
I have had the privilege of living in someone else's house Our time together has been a pleasure. But, I am not a citizen of this world, nor a branch of this tree. Although I have enjoyed this brief meeting, this house is not a part of my body. I cannot save it from destruction.
What is not passed to a child for his or her own use, passes away. A house is like an outer body and the body in this world passes from parents to children. From old branches spring new limbs. Where limbs don't continue, the branch stops, frozen, suspended until it dies.
I have had the privilege of living in someone else's house Our time together has been a pleasure. But, I am not a citizen of this world, nor a branch of this tree. Although I have enjoyed this brief meeting, this house is not a part of my body. I cannot save it from destruction.
Flavor in Space: Ch. 20
Walking the path of the silver temple, one passes a field of sand raised to reflect the moon. Geometric patterns are carved in the sand, soon to fall away.
The path is narrow and paved in stone. Its banks are braced with moss, striped according to the flow of rainwater down the hill. The moss seems to be a living impression left by the touch and flow of rain, now dense and dark green, now thin and neon teal.
To my right I look out across a vast vista. I am above forests, above clouds. In the distance, the roof of the silver temple floats, geometric, crafted, and human. Beyond, the towers and roofs of the city stretch for miles towards far away green and blue mountain ridges. I feel like I'm flying, above it all, a giant.
I look to my left. Here I am solidly on the forest floor at the base of a huge mountain. I can't make out the tops of the trees, they are so high above me. In fact, I can't even see their higher branches, only trunks stretch up and up into a canopy of green. I am crawling at the base, like a shrew, or a beetle. What I think are trees might even be moss and I am the size of a flea.
My friend, a native of Nohin who studied with me in the Nacerima empire, says almost jokingly, "Here we are, in between- in the palm of the Great Boddhisatva!" We laughed.
The path is narrow and paved in stone. Its banks are braced with moss, striped according to the flow of rainwater down the hill. The moss seems to be a living impression left by the touch and flow of rain, now dense and dark green, now thin and neon teal.
To my right I look out across a vast vista. I am above forests, above clouds. In the distance, the roof of the silver temple floats, geometric, crafted, and human. Beyond, the towers and roofs of the city stretch for miles towards far away green and blue mountain ridges. I feel like I'm flying, above it all, a giant.
I look to my left. Here I am solidly on the forest floor at the base of a huge mountain. I can't make out the tops of the trees, they are so high above me. In fact, I can't even see their higher branches, only trunks stretch up and up into a canopy of green. I am crawling at the base, like a shrew, or a beetle. What I think are trees might even be moss and I am the size of a flea.
My friend, a native of Nohin who studied with me in the Nacerima empire, says almost jokingly, "Here we are, in between- in the palm of the Great Boddhisatva!" We laughed.
Flavor in Space: Ch. 19
Two years ago, when I came to Nohin to study, I was fresh off Machiit and I was unwilling to actually land on a new planet. Convinced that my way of life in space was essential and unchangeable, I tricked myself into believing in artificial gravity. I floated in space, but I mistakenly believed that my own space ship contained my own gravity. From high above I watched the beautiful worlds below longingly, frustratingly, without knowing why. I believed I didn't need a planet to orbit at all. This is a very dangerous belief and it leads to long lonely journeys with extreme space sickness.
Sunday, September 27, 2009
Flavor in Space: Ch. 18
Tonight I rode into the dark. I have been staying for a few months on the surface here in Otoyk. Living on the surface we are constantly reminded of loss, and I was tired of it. I had been alerted to the fact that this small piece of Otoyk would soon be obliterated. I tried to retain what was here, but bound in my own contracts and relationships I can only pull so many strings before my own web begins to unravel. I must choose wisely and the stress had me frustrated.
I set out. Gliding by vast rumbling cargo vessels, gliding by brightly lit bubble stores, I came near the night side of a planet. I hovered above the surface for a while, just a few meters up above the forest canopy. I could hear chirping crickets and wind rustling the foliage below.
Then off again, through the dark. I saw a cluster of bubbles in the distance. They were houses, a small orbiting space station. What they were orbiting I couldn't tell, so I rode closer. I squeezed by bubbles and capsules. Nestled there is a small globe, a small patch of earth. It is bordered by a gate, tall, broad, granite, and hung with white paper tassels.
I parked, hopped off my vehicle, and walked through the gate. Several ancient trees tower, their roots holding the soil. Built on the land between them, an old wooden stage stands. In the distance, under a floating florescent lantern two youths rested. One balanced on his vehicle while the other sat on a bench, his head was in his hands. This place is a shrine. At its center is an enclosed granary, a box of spirit. This granary is raised just off the ground and hidden behind trees and veils. I approached the inner shrine and looked through the fence. Light filtered through illuminating white streaks in the thick mat of leaves on the ground. Standing there I looked up. All around this little bit of earth, houses rise up, tightly clustered like barnacles.
I had arrived here randomly, cutting through the silent darkness. But the roots of the trees go deep, they are timeless. This timelessness makes this place a center, the center of its own world. It gives it gravity.
I decided I had better take off, so I departed. Leaving a center is disorienting and I mixed up my directions. What I thought was East was South and what I thought was South was West. I tried to go home but I flew in circles. Passing floating restaurants and shops, brightly lit and flashing neon in the dark, I wanted to land. I saw people inside big fish bowl windows laughing, eating, drinking. Momentarily I wished I never knew what it was like to live on a planet, I wished I didn't know the sadness of passing wisdom, obliterated. Finally, seeing big floating metal signs, I found my way.
I set out. Gliding by vast rumbling cargo vessels, gliding by brightly lit bubble stores, I came near the night side of a planet. I hovered above the surface for a while, just a few meters up above the forest canopy. I could hear chirping crickets and wind rustling the foliage below.
Then off again, through the dark. I saw a cluster of bubbles in the distance. They were houses, a small orbiting space station. What they were orbiting I couldn't tell, so I rode closer. I squeezed by bubbles and capsules. Nestled there is a small globe, a small patch of earth. It is bordered by a gate, tall, broad, granite, and hung with white paper tassels.
I parked, hopped off my vehicle, and walked through the gate. Several ancient trees tower, their roots holding the soil. Built on the land between them, an old wooden stage stands. In the distance, under a floating florescent lantern two youths rested. One balanced on his vehicle while the other sat on a bench, his head was in his hands. This place is a shrine. At its center is an enclosed granary, a box of spirit. This granary is raised just off the ground and hidden behind trees and veils. I approached the inner shrine and looked through the fence. Light filtered through illuminating white streaks in the thick mat of leaves on the ground. Standing there I looked up. All around this little bit of earth, houses rise up, tightly clustered like barnacles.
I had arrived here randomly, cutting through the silent darkness. But the roots of the trees go deep, they are timeless. This timelessness makes this place a center, the center of its own world. It gives it gravity.
I decided I had better take off, so I departed. Leaving a center is disorienting and I mixed up my directions. What I thought was East was South and what I thought was South was West. I tried to go home but I flew in circles. Passing floating restaurants and shops, brightly lit and flashing neon in the dark, I wanted to land. I saw people inside big fish bowl windows laughing, eating, drinking. Momentarily I wished I never knew what it was like to live on a planet, I wished I didn't know the sadness of passing wisdom, obliterated. Finally, seeing big floating metal signs, I found my way.
Flavor in Space: Ch. 17
It was evening when we arrived at Imihsuf. The road from the station goes past small shops, now closed, and snakes up the mountain towards the Great Shrine.
Here they worship the fox. And here, at the great gate, there are a two foxes that keep watch. Sitting on their haunches they stand taller than a grown man. One holds the jewel of wisdom encircled by his fangs. In the jaws of the other is the scroll that contains the secret to his teachings.
Foxes are not dogs and they don't easily give their treasure away. It must be bought or earned. And so the businesses of Otoyk pay handsomely. For each, there is a red gate erected on the mountain. The gates, built of hopes and dreams, create paths and tunnels that wind up to the summit.
As night fell, we dove through the gates, climbing the mountain. We numbered 8 and for a while I walked by a friend named "Wishes-come-true."
There are many stories of the mountain, stories of fox's tricks, stories of men and women possessed who tell fortunes, and stories of those who seeking possessions.
We reached a clearing in the trail. Looking out beyond the trees, the darkness of sky met the darkness of earth. The fox was playing a trick. What was once earth, dark and silent, was filled with lights like stars. What was once a sky bright with moving celestial bodies was now only a paste of pale grey black.
We summited, entering a small shrine with a small mirror high in the boughs of the roof, paid our respects, and descended. We descended into space, black and filled with burning globes, satellites, and buzzing rockets.
Here they worship the fox. And here, at the great gate, there are a two foxes that keep watch. Sitting on their haunches they stand taller than a grown man. One holds the jewel of wisdom encircled by his fangs. In the jaws of the other is the scroll that contains the secret to his teachings.
Foxes are not dogs and they don't easily give their treasure away. It must be bought or earned. And so the businesses of Otoyk pay handsomely. For each, there is a red gate erected on the mountain. The gates, built of hopes and dreams, create paths and tunnels that wind up to the summit.
As night fell, we dove through the gates, climbing the mountain. We numbered 8 and for a while I walked by a friend named "Wishes-come-true."
There are many stories of the mountain, stories of fox's tricks, stories of men and women possessed who tell fortunes, and stories of those who seeking possessions.
We reached a clearing in the trail. Looking out beyond the trees, the darkness of sky met the darkness of earth. The fox was playing a trick. What was once earth, dark and silent, was filled with lights like stars. What was once a sky bright with moving celestial bodies was now only a paste of pale grey black.
We summited, entering a small shrine with a small mirror high in the boughs of the roof, paid our respects, and descended. We descended into space, black and filled with burning globes, satellites, and buzzing rockets.
Flavor in Space: Ch. 16
Sometimes I don't know if I am in space, or on on the surface of a world. Space elevators, stations, capsules, and pods rise in chains through the stratosphere and deep into the black beyond. Likewise, spindly towers, orbiting platforms and airships float above and below.
Sometimes I reach what appears to be a solid patch of earth. Park like, grassy fields, stately trees, all quiet and serene. I might wander here for a while. To my surprise, I suddenly come to the edge. It was not the surface of a globe, but only a wide veranda on a high tower.
I might find myself in a grove of trees indistinguishable from the neck of a vast forest. Then, jetting away, I see the grove from a new angle. It was only a ball of mud and stones cradled in wire suspended by vast metallic cables hooked to sky scrapers.
In search of the planet below I descend- into clouds, smog, past rainbows of technicolored vehicles. I land on numerous floating islands along the way.
On one, by a strip of sycamores and junipers, I take a bit of soil in my hand, a few twigs, flowers. By pulling up these weeds, have I just created one more separation? One more island? Or, by touching these beings and directing them, do I build a conscious bridge from one ledge to another?
Perhaps there is no planet at all, I wonder. Just swirling sky, above and below.
But time still passes. Each day the clouds pinken and the sky darkens. I can only go so far in each day. I measure islands in days and stories.
Sometimes I reach what appears to be a solid patch of earth. Park like, grassy fields, stately trees, all quiet and serene. I might wander here for a while. To my surprise, I suddenly come to the edge. It was not the surface of a globe, but only a wide veranda on a high tower.
I might find myself in a grove of trees indistinguishable from the neck of a vast forest. Then, jetting away, I see the grove from a new angle. It was only a ball of mud and stones cradled in wire suspended by vast metallic cables hooked to sky scrapers.
In search of the planet below I descend- into clouds, smog, past rainbows of technicolored vehicles. I land on numerous floating islands along the way.
On one, by a strip of sycamores and junipers, I take a bit of soil in my hand, a few twigs, flowers. By pulling up these weeds, have I just created one more separation? One more island? Or, by touching these beings and directing them, do I build a conscious bridge from one ledge to another?
Perhaps there is no planet at all, I wonder. Just swirling sky, above and below.
But time still passes. Each day the clouds pinken and the sky darkens. I can only go so far in each day. I measure islands in days and stories.
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