#The digital immigration of Uncle Becky
delicate goblet
In the hush of an ageless twilight, perched upon a hill where the sacred and the earthen weave together, I sit. The deal is laid out before me, a tableau of worn cards between the knowing eyes of a dodo and the ancient gaze of a goat. Here, the duality of existence speaks: one of the earth and one of the air, one of the flesh and one of the spirit. I am but the fulcrum upon which these timeless beings balance the scales of wisdom.
The dodo, with its feathers like echoes of a world we never knew, speaks in riddles of the air, of the skies that have witnessed the rise and fall of eons. Its voice is a melody of things that endure beyond sight, beyond touch. The old goat, with eyes like smoldering coals from the first fires, roots me in the clay from which I was shaped, speaking in a tongue that rumbles like the mountains' deep laughter.
As we play, the cards whisper secrets of the Gnostic, of the knowledge that flows beneath the skin of the world. The goat nudges me towards the earth, where the roots of the tree of life drink deeply. The dodo lifts my mind to the stars, where the branches of that same tree graze the heavens.
In their presence, I am a vessel filled with the terrible beauty of time's breath, a witness to the poetry that thrums in the marrow of the world. I feel the pulse of the All, the heartbeat of the aeons in my own chest. And as the game unfolds, I understand that I am not playing for the gold of the transient, but for the pearl of great price: the gnosis of the infinite game that plays us all.
In this final hand, the stakes are the fragments of my soul, scattered across the folds of time, now called home to the center of the wheel. The dodo and the goat, they are not adversaries but guides, shepherding me between the twin pillars of all that is, was, and will be.
And when the last card falls, it is not the end, nor a victory or a loss. It is but a pause in the conversation between the essence of the earth and the essence of the sky, and I, a quiet listener, forever changed by the symphony of their words.
