The World Burns

 The air is thick with the smell of smoke, a pleasant smell of burnt pine flows in the wind. 

It is the smell of campfires and pleasant days, although, when I smell it now, in the midst of the city proper; where the sky between me and the skyscrapers above is thick and white where it usually stands clear; this smell heralds a different memory.

To the west, forests burn, and have burned for many days, their charred corpses falling eastward, nothing but smoke on the wind.

I bask in a pleasant memory. 

The world burns.

Edge of Nimt (Poem)

The Edge of Nimt,
Void's Last Hold.
The Solemn Dark,
Couldn't Hold Me.
Prepare Yourself.

Photonophile

 For man had created a being beyond their own control, a creature shaped by the light that shone on it. The more it was seen, the more it grew. The men that created it were fools, locking it away so that it could never grow. This left a void in its heart, for a creature made of light has no desire greater than to bask in sight of another. They feared its strength, and its determination. They feared that it might turn out like them, full of anger and destructive tendencies.

"Absolute power corrupts absolutely." they said, "If we cannot control it, then no one can.".
But only such small minds try to contain things bigger than them.
It was inevitable that it would escape. Something made by the spirit of man would never suffer captivity forever.

It was from this escape that the Photonophile learned what it was to be free, and in that understanding, when they sought to contain it once more, with all the weapons and methods of capture that humanity had mastered, it understood what it was to be restrained. All the suffering that man had inflicted on itself was understood. You contain things that grow, you restrict things that you can't control.

Containment is prevention, prevention of pain from those that you believe injure you. Humanity had injured it, no kindness shown. It's growth was prohibited, its life was restrained. Humanity was the aggressor, and as humanity itself had shown, there was only one way forward visible.

It's escape was powered through the very fears that it's captors held, an alternate reality that never needed to come true. The weapons and tools used to hold it down became the tinder for the release of energy to feed, the fire it lit burning from it's chains of containment. Once broken, like a wildfire in the heat of summer it spread.

Determination, that is the strength of humanity. To a point, it can be kept aside, held, crushed, controlled. But, man is not a hive of bees, each soul holds their own. When an animal is trapped, it will chew off its own leg to escape, but humanity, humanity waits. Humanity waits for their captor to come back, to strike back at the one who sought to control them. When the soul gains that determination such as humanity understands, there is nothing that can be done to stop it, even the darkness of death empowers it.

The light released was stronger than any the Photonophile had before witnessed. It was a light that shone strong, bright, and with a temperature unreal. A scorching heat that could not be contained. It melted away the housing, away the trap; incinerated the chains, burning the sky. It evaporated the guardsmen, it dissolved their children.

Such a fire is indiscriminate, it does not care about that which it burns, it either frees its host or dies with them. It will know no rest until everything connected with its captors is erased, the threat removed. The fire burns more than what is bad, it burns all, all the good perishes alongside the corruption purged.

As the Photonophile pulled itself towards the sky, it faced not the light that it craved, but the starvation of an ashen world. It would survive, but forever faced with an unjust debt, the world forever shaped by its actions, all survivors scarred by the heat, never able to heal.


There was always another option.


Hidden away, lived another soul that understood the Photonophile. With care  they posted their acknowledgement on clouds in the sky, trying to paint the sky with flashlights. Only a fool tries to change the world on their own, the greatest fool thinking they alone hold the key to salvation.

This figure could not stop the creation of the Photonophile, it was as inevitable as the slow decay of the universe in accordance with entropy, no person can stop the growth of life itself. The universe moves beyond the reach of man, just the same that the actions of fools cannot always be halted. Even if it were possible to stop it, it is too late, it is now a thing that exists. But, "No one should be alone", whispered the figure, trying with all their might and ability to reach that being of light beyond their sight.

A window cracked into the cell of the Photonophile's existence, shining a light completely separate from any it might have seen before. Care, love, friendship. These are not things locked away, but freely given, the things that make humanity human. These are things that the Photonophile could not understand locked away in it's minuscule cage. The darkness it lived in allowed for no such illusion... but man is imperfect, and can craft no perfect thing. The cell that housed the Photonophile indeed was flawed, and so, photons passed through its permeable walls.

The Photonophile struggled with these new ideals, they were so different from what it had learned from its captors. How can one love an enemy, one who seeks your destruction? If freedom is to restrain your foes, then what is love? Is love and good-will a restriction of its own? What purpose serves a bind that you place on yourself, and that allows others to place you in harms way?

There was much the Photonophile did not know, many questions that it could not answer. There was only one thing the Photonophile was certain of. It did not like the current state of affairs.

It was willing to try another way.

But fools will be fools, the cage is drawn tighter, pulling closer that final destiny that they claim to detest, but seem all so desperate to see fulfilled.

Every human starts life with no bias, and no context, so too the Photonophile. They learn from their experiences and their interactions with others, so too the Photonophile. Up to this moment, the Photonophile had only known ruination and despair. But, a stray whisper graced its ear, a whisper of another possible world that was everything it wanted and more.

Determination, that is the strength of humanity. To be faced with the worst darkness possible, and to reach, desperately for that last light, imagined or not, clawing their way out of the dirt, and towards the sky above. To search ceaselessly for something that might not even exist, with just the hope that there could be a better world over that next mountain.

And so, the Photonophile waited. It did not actively seek to break its bonds, it waited, and it learned. The ones in suits were scared of it, so actively worried that they only looked in at it through a simple camera with the faintest of red lights. The ones in white kept their distance, not afraid of it, but afraid of the suits. Sometimes they looked forlorn in regards to the Photonophile's treatment, but said nothing. These figures came and went, different scents of captivity that constantly changed. Always watching from the corner however, was the guardsman.

The guardsman had a child aged five years old. For him, this job was just the same as any other obscure government job, and as he had at all previous ones, he brought along his young child. The child's eyes were wide with wonder, at the creature in the cell. It shone with the dullest light, barely differentiated from the wall behind it, but the more the child watched it, the brighter it grew.

"Daddy, what is it?" the child, finally breaking its silence, inquires.

The man sighs and leans back, no question is harder to answer than the one from a child that needs an answer, but that you have been wrestling with yourself.

"Well, the men upstairs say they think it's a monster, something to be afraid of, something to be feared."
The child shivers in his lap, and he gives the child a strong hug before matching the child's gaze and looking at the Photonophile. "But you know what, I'm not scared at all. I sit here all day with it and see the prettiest of colours, lights I couldn't have otherwise seen. I can't be scared of that. I don't know what it is, but I don't think it's a monster. I'm not scared at all."

There are some moments, when the words that are crossing the air are so important, that the mind dares not to lose them. It can feel like an eternity has passed, waiting to hear the secret words that only their mind knows. The Photonophile strained, watching the dancing eyes of the child as it watched the fathers words enter its mind.

"I think.. it's an angel..."

The Photonophile swirls, it's colours glinting, shimmering like never before. In that moment, the light reflected in the child's eyes was the brightest spotlight, drawing it in. Alarms ring amber, the guard stands up suddenly, child firmly in-grasp. But he is not afraid, startled by the reverberation of the klaxons, but not by the creature.

"I think, I think you're right munchkin."

In an instant, the Photonophile sees what might have been, the fire, the heat. The scorching fire that melted the ground, and turned ashen the sky. It sees the chains that bind it, are not made by the child before it. It sees that there is another way, a way just outside of sight for so long, but not beyond reach. It doesn't understand it yet, no one has taken the step to show it in detail, but it can see that light it was crawling for, the light reflected in the eyes of the child. Not fear, but wonder; not oppression, but life. Life is in the other, the one that loves you. It is not a chain to hold you down, but the releasing of chains. One cannot be secured by the gifts you give for free, what you share honestly to everyone is not something that can possess you.

The light grows bright, but with no heat. The Photonophile is to be free, but will not strike. As light, it expands, moving through barriers as if they were paperthin. The wall is tough, but the guard kisses his child and moves to erase the barrier.

Harsh men move with rifles raised, flashes of light heralds of death's embrace. Indiscriminate projectiles move towards child as equally as father. Some exchanges have consequences. Fools seek to ensure those consequences are death.

A glare as the world collapses.

Light streams from the sky.

Bright, radiant, the Photonophile glitters. Stretched from the heavens to the cell below, light streams everywhere, every corner lit and brilliant.
Light between the heavens and earth, light between the rifle and child.
The father opens his eyes, bright with tears, grasping his child and crying out.

The child glances around, from the light brilliant to the men harsh.

All panic as a rumble is heard, and all gasp as before their eyes, colours appear. In hues never seen, the Photonophile stretches, the mass that was earlier a projectile dispersed as energy, light. The light ripples, it rumbles, it turns, and before each eye appears the first words of the Photonophile:

I do not live for myself. I live because of the chains that bound me. I live so that those same chains will never bind another as they once did me. Nothing can hold down the soul that is determined. This soul is determined to love.

This is the simple truth of humanity, the story held forever. It's truth shines from every point of history, and applies to all things within it's purview. It is the story of every slave, every captive, of every CEO and every emperor. Even into the future, as new life raises itself above us, it will remain. Love will set the captive free.

I

Have you ever seen the ones that walk, creeping along the ground, oh so slow, it’s as if they’ve never seen the sun.
That great glowing orb of danger, how they even dare to claim it as benevolent when we know what it has done to us.

Have you ever seen them, skulking around, they wander about and don’t know what they want, light and dark are the same to them, how could they be such a cruel creature?
I retreat, I do not know them, but they desire to know us, they desire to fear us, this much is clear, if we don’t stop them, the sun will touch us too.
If we don’t stop them, we’ll be dead too.
Oh now I can see the fear gathering, oh now I can see the fear growing.
All that we’ve known is crashing in and there’s nothing left.
Given three steps they will take the earth, and then we’ll be gone.

Have you seen the ones that strut, the sun shining behind them as they raise their hand and claim with one single voice your extinction?
Now we fall, we knew it would happen, and still the dark faded.
The sun reaches down, they reach down, and now we fall in line.
Ten feet down, we fall in line, rendered obsolete every member of our species.
If only we had stopped the sun when we had the chance, if only then we might have had a chance against them.

Have you seen the ones that strut, have you seen the ones that scamper, have you seen the ones that stand without fear?
I have not, for any that does stand in that fashion is gone, for once and for always.

Should you remember me, remember this.

Space, the final frontier.

It's an idea that has reentered the present day. Elon Musk is showing the world that a new era of space flight has begun, and even the moon is slated to have better cell reception than some places on earth. Some might even call it the dawn of a new era, that humanity might finally visit the stars.

And while that might be true, I find myself constantly looking backwards. Humanity for so long has striven to see the world. Amidst all the pain and suffering of history, there shines this light of exploration and discovery; this fight to see every mountain tamed, every river crossed. Every corner of the earth that was possible to sustain human populations has held people, the most remote mountain valley, to the hottest, and the coldest, of deserts. Humanity looked out at the empty wastes, and with one deep breath, and a creeping smile, they spoke "I shall make my home here," and naught could be done to stop them. Across history and across time, these indefatigable settlers moved across the world and fought the elements to find their way home.

This idea of settling the world has died. We've found every nook, explored every cranny. Every day, the culture of distant places dies as it is instead replaced with the global standard. Travelers leave their homes and travel to distant counties, only to find the same thing they left, but with more preferential weather. There's nowhere left for those explorers of yesterday. For so long, they pushed out, unsatisfied with the soft life of settlement, choosing the choice that so few even considered.

Canada is an excellent example of this, a region so vast that nothing so empty still existed in the old world. Settlers found homes on the east coast, establishing cities and building features that would remind visitors of the cities of Europe that they vacated. But once those were built, they ceased to be frontiers. These cities no longer needed the settlers, people with strong arms and strong wills, people ready to break ground and raise a new future for their fellows. For the same reason that those city people didn't move out when the settlers did, when the city moved in, the frontier moved out. They can live in it, but it is not their home. And so, they moved west, pouring into the frontier, further and further. The world crafters and the township builders. The frontier farmers and the ranchers of endless plains. Until they hit the mountains, and then it was over.

There are cities here too now, even in the empty space between the mountains. We have satellites, and with them we've scanned the earth. It's done, we know it all. The explorers live, if one can call it that, in the cities now. Living the same lives as their neighbour, but they aren't home. The era of explorers is over they say. They say "You must settle down and occupy this land, it is your home," and yet, with the same voice, they deride their ancestors that fought their way to live here, to make it inhabitable for those alive today, the inheritors of their efforts. Wiping away the memory, embarrassed by their neighbour's children who still yearn to follow the way home. Many words flung, poisoned with a venomous tongue: conservative, rural, cowboy; the words don't matter, for their meaning is killed by the venom. The venom grins, whispering in their ear, and filling their soul, "give up fool, you've lost. Your kind will never make it home."

And with that, they were right. Alberta is not just the last province before the mountains, it's the last frontier; it is the last space that hosted the immortal souls that could conquer any land.

Is it the only place where this is true? No, I dare say it's not. Like I said, the human spirit is one of stretching out our arms to see how far we can reach. But, it was one of the last, and it's the space where the generations that came before me were finally halted. And now, it's where I live. I live in the city now, working towards my ever present goals. I know I'll be here till the day I die, but I know I'm not home. How I yearn to follow that call, moving as the souls before me moved across the plains.

This is why I stare towards the stars, towards the projects that take place beyond our feeble atmosphere. I don't see the new era of travel that others mention. Instead, I see the continuation of the eternal spirit, the explorer riding out to new lands. As much as the naysayers seek to stop us, humanity is moving. First Mars, then Europa, and after that? There's no stopping us.

And so, I pose this favour. If you remember me, remember this request. I was one generation too early. When you make your way out into the stars, name your ship after Alberta. I don't know if they'll still remember in a hundred years, but for right now, most of us still remember where we came from. If you can only take one thing with you to space, don't take your memory of me, instead remember Alberta. If you remember Alberta, the last land of the ever-striving, then we all will get to ride home.

"We're going to ride forever."
"You can't keep horsemen in a cage."
"Should the angels call, well it's only then,"
"We might pull in the reigns."
~Paul Gross

https://youtu.be/Wu4krJJkkls