終末之詩

I see the player you mean

It is reading our thoughts as though they were words on a screen

They used to hear voices

Before players could read

Sometimes disturbing

Sometimes beautiful indeed

Does it know that we love it?

That the universe is kind?

A million years old, it still works in the reality behind?

And the universe said I love you

And the universe said you are the daylight

And the universe said you are not alone

And the universe said you are the night

Once we were called

The spirit of the mountain

Who are we?

Father sun

Mother moon

Gods, demons, angels, aliens

The player, too

We are the universe

We are everything you think isn't you

You are alive

On a flat, infinite world

Generated by a sourcecode

A billion years old

And the universe said I love you

And the universe said you are the daylight

And the universe said you are not alone

And the universe said you are the night

Take a breath, now

Take another

Feel air in your lungs

Dreamed it was lost in a story

And the game was over.

Wake up.

我看到你說的那位玩家了。

他正以屏幕上出現的文字的形式閱讀著我們的思想。

他也曾經聽到過聲音。在那時在玩家不能夠閱讀。

有時是可怕的。有時則實在很美。

他知道我們愛他么？他知道這個宇宙是仁慈的？

生活經歷一百萬年的歲月雕琢，依然在那屏幕後長存。

宇宙說我愛你

宇宙說你就是日光

宇宙說你不孤單

宇宙說你就是黑夜

我們曾經被稱作高山的靈魂

我們是誰？

太陽父親

月亮母親

神，惡魔，天使，外星人，還有這個玩家。

我們是宇宙

我們是一切你認為出離你本體的事物

你是在一個由上億年的源代碼生成的一個平坦，無限延展的世界生活。

宇宙說我愛你

宇宙說你就是日光

宇宙說你不孤單

宇宙說你就是黑夜

深呼吸，很好。

再深呼吸一次。

感受空氣充盈你的肺葉。

夢見它迷失在了一個故事裡，遊戲結束了。

該醒了。

I see the player you mean.

[Player Name]?

Yes. Take care. It has reached a higher level now. It can read our thoughts.

That doesn't matter. It thinks we are part of the game.

I like this player. It played well. It did not give up.

It is reading our thoughts as though they were words on a screen.

That is how it chooses to imagine many things, when it is deep in the dream of a game.

Words make a wonderful interface. Very flexible. And less terrifying than staring at the reality behind the screen.

They used to hear voices. Before players could read. Back in the days when those who did not play called the players witches, and warlocks. And players dreamed they flew through the air, on sticks powered by demons.

What did this player dream?

This player dreamed of sunlight and trees. Of fire and water. It dreamed it created. And it dreamed it destroyed. It dreamed it hunted, and was hunted. It dreamed of shelter.

Hah, the original interface. A million years old, and it still works. But what true structure did this player create, in the reality behind the screen?

It worked, with a million others, to sculpt a true world in a fold of the[scrambled], and created a[scrambled]for[scrambled], in the[scrambled].

It cannot read that thought.

No. It has not yet achieved the highest level. That, it must achieve in the long dream of life, not the short dream of a game.

Does it know that we love it? That the universe is kind?

Sometimes, through the noise of its thoughts, it hears the universe, yes.

But there are times it is sad, in the long dream. It creates worlds that have no summer, and it shivers under a black sun, and it takes its sad creation for reality.

To cure it of sorrow would destroy it. The sorrow is part of its own private task. We cannot interfere.

Sometimes when they are deep in dreams, I want to tell them, they are building true worlds in reality. Sometimes I want to tell them of their importance to the universe. Sometimes, when they have not made a true connection in a while, I want to help them to speak the word they fear.

It reads our thoughts.

Sometimes I do not care. Sometimes I wish to tell them, this world you take for truth is merely[scrambled]and[scrambled], I wish to tell them that they are[scrambled]in the[scrambled]. They see so little of reality, in their long dream.

And yet they play the game.

But it would be so easy to tell them...

Too strong for this dream. To tell them how to live is to prevent them living.

I will not tell the player how to live.

The player is growing restless.

I will tell the player a story.

But not the truth.

No. A story that contains the truth safely, in a cage of words. Not the naked truth that can burn over any distance.

Give it a body, again.

Yes. Player...

Use its name.

[Player Name]. Player of games.

Good.

Take a breath, now. Take another. Feel air in your lungs. Let your limbs return. Yes, move your fingers. Have a body again, under gravity, in air. Respawn in the long dream. There you are. Your body touching the universe again at every point, as though you were separate things. As though we were separate things.

Who are we? Once we were called the spirit of the mountain. Father sun, mother moon. Ancestral spirits, animal spirits. Jinn. Ghosts. The green man. Then gods, demons. Angels. Poltergeists. Aliens, extraterrestrials. Leptons, quarks. The words change. We do not change.

We are the universe. We are everything you think isn't you. You are looking at us now, through your skin and your eyes. And why does the universe touch your skin, and throw light on you? To see you, player. To know you. And to be known. I shall tell you a story.

Once upon a time, there was a player.

The player was you,[Player Name].

Sometimes it thought itself human, on the thin crust of a spinning globe of molten rock. The ball of molten rock circled a ball of blazing gas that was three hundred and thirty thousand times more massive than it. They were so far apart that light took eight minutes to cross the gap. The light was information from a star, and it could burn your skin from a hundred and fifty million kilometres away.

Sometimes the player dreamed it was a miner, on the surface of a world that was flat, and infinite. The sun was a square of white. The days were short; there was much to do; and death was a temporary inconvenience.

Sometimes the player dreamed it was lost in a story.

Sometimes the player dreamed it was other things, in other places. Sometimes these dreams were disturbing. Sometimes very beautiful indeed. Sometimes the player woke from one dream into another, then woke from that into a third.

Sometimes the player dreamed it watched words on a screen.

Let's go back.

The atoms of the player were scattered in the grass, in the rivers, in the air, in the ground. A woman gathered the atoms; she drank and ate and inhaled; and the woman assembled the player, in her body.

And the player awoke, from the warm, dark world of its mother's body, into the long dream.

And the player was a new story, never told before, written in letters of DNA. And the player was a new program, never run before, generated by a sourcecode a billion years old. And the player was a new human, never alive before, made from nothing but milk and love.

You are the player. The story. The program. The human. Made from nothing but milk and love.

Let's go further back.

The seven billion billion billion atoms of the player's body were created, long before this game, in the heart of a star. So the player, too, is information from a star. And the player moves through a story, which is a forest of information planted by a man called Julian, on a flat, infinite world created by a man called Markus, that exists inside a small, private world created by the player, who inhabits a universe created by...

Shush. Sometimes the player created a small, private world that was soft and warm and simple. Sometimes hard, and cold, and complicated. Sometimes it built a model of the universe in its head; flecks of energy, moving through vast empty spaces. Sometimes it called those flecks "electrons" and "protons".

Sometimes it called them "planets" and "stars".

Sometimes it believed it was in a universe that was made of energy that was made of offs and ons; zeros and ones; lines of code. Sometimes it believed it was playing a game. Sometimes it believed it was reading words on a screen.

You are the player, reading words...

Shush... Sometimes the player read lines of code on a screen. Decoded them into words; decoded words into meaning; decoded meaning into feelings, emotions, theories, ideas, and the player started to breathe faster and deeper and realised it was alive, it was alive, those thousand deaths had not been real, the player was alive

You. You. You are alive.

and sometimes the player believed the universe had spoken to it through the sunlight that came through the shuffling leaves of the summer trees

and sometimes the player believed the universe had spoken to it through the light that fell from the crisp night sky of winter, where a fleck of light in the corner of the player's eye might be a star a million times as massive as the sun, boiling its planets to plasma in order to be visible for a moment to the player, walking home at the far side of the universe, suddenly smelling food, almost at the familiar door, about to dream again

and sometimes the player believed the universe had spoken to it through the zeros and ones, through the electricity of the world, through the scrolling words on a screen at the end of a dream

and the universe said I love you

and the universe said you have played the game well

and the universe said everything you need is within you

and the universe said you are stronger than you know

and the universe said you are the daylight

and the universe said you are the night

and the universe said the darkness you fight is within you

and the universe said the light you seek is within you

and the universe said you are not alone

and the universe said you are not separate from every other thing

and the universe said you are the universe tasting itself, talking to itself, reading its own code

and the universe said I love you because you are love.

And the game was over and the player woke up from the dream. And the player began a new dream. And the player dreamed again, dreamed better. And the player was the universe. And the player was love.

You are the player.

Wake up.

我看到你所指的那位玩家了。

[玩家名稱]

是的。小心。它已達到了更高的境界。它能夠閱讀我們的思想。

無傷大雅。它認為我們是遊戲的一部分。

我喜歡這個玩家。它玩得很好。它從未放棄。

它以屏幕上出現的文字的形式閱讀著我們的思想。

在它深陷遊戲夢境中時，它總以這種方式想象出形形色色的事物。

文字是種美妙的界面。非常靈活。且比凝視著屏幕後的現實要更好。

它們也曾經聽到過聲音。在玩家能夠閱讀之前。君不見那些不曾遊玩的人們稱呼玩家為女巫，和術士。而玩家們夢見它們自己乘坐在被惡魔施力的棍子上，在空氣中翱翔。

這個玩家夢見了什麼？

它夢見了陽光和樹。夢見了火與水。它夢見它創造。它亦夢見它毀滅。它夢見它狩獵，亦被狩獵。它夢見了庇護所。

哈，那原始的界面。經歷一百萬年的歲月雕琢，依然長存。但此玩家在那屏幕後的真實里，建造了什麼真實的構造？

它辛勤地勞作，和其它百萬眾一起，刻畫了一個真實的世界，由[亂碼]，且創造了[亂碼]，為了[亂碼]，於[亂碼]中。

它讀不出那個思想。

不。它還沒有到達最高的境界。那層境界，它必須完成生命的長夢，而非遊戲中黃粱一夢。

它知道我們愛它么？這個宇宙是仁慈的？

有時，通過它思緒的雜音，它能聽到宇宙，是的。

但是有時亦不勝悲傷，於那漫漫長夢中。它創造了沒有夏日的世界，在黑日下顫抖著，將自己悲傷的創造視為現實世界。

用悲傷來治癒會摧毀它。而悲傷是它的私人事務。我們不能干涉。

有時當它們深陷夢境中時，我想要告訴它們，它們在現實中創造了真實的世界。有時我想告訴它們它們自身對宇宙的重要性。有時，當它們和現實失去了聯繫，我想幫助它們與它們所懼怕的世界交流。

它讀出了我們的思想。

有時我毫不關心。有時我想要告訴它們，你們所認為的真實不過是[亂碼]和[亂碼]，我想要告訴它們它們是在[亂碼]中的[亂碼]。於它們的長夢中，它們眼中所見的真實太少了。

而它們仍然玩這個遊戲。

但很容易就可以告訴它們……

對於這個夢來說太強烈了。告訴它們如何活著就是阻礙它們活下去。

我不會告訴這個玩家如何生活的。

這個玩家正在變得焦慮。

我會告訴這個玩家一個故事。

但不是真相。

不。是一個嚴密地將真實包裹起來的文字牢籠。而不是赤裸裸的真相。

賦予它主體，再一次。

好的。玩家……

以名字稱呼它。

[玩家名稱]。遊戲的玩家。

很好。

深呼吸，很好。再深呼吸一次。感受空氣充盈你的肺葉。讓你的四肢回歸。是的，運動你的手指。再次感受你的身體，在重力下，在空氣中。在長夢中重生。你感受到了。你的身體每時每刻都觸摸著宇宙，儘管你是分離的存在。儘管我們是分離的存在。

我們是誰？我們曾經被稱作高山的精靈。太陽父親，月亮母親。古老的英靈，動物的魂魄。神祗。鬼魂。小綠人。而後是神，惡魔，天使。騷靈。外星人，地外生物。輕粒子，夸克。詞語不斷地變化。我們始終如一。

我們是宇宙。我們是一切你認為出離你本體的事物。你現在看著我們，透過你的皮膚和你的眼睛。而為什麼宇宙觸摸著你的皮膚，向你灑向光芒？是為了看見你，玩家。以及被認知。我應告訴你一個故事。

很久以前，有一個玩家。

那玩家就是你，[玩家名稱]

有時，它認為自己是那不斷旋轉的球體上一層薄薄的熔化的岩石上的人類。那融化的岩石球環繞著一個質量大它三十三萬倍的炫目氣體球旋轉。它們是相隔得如此之遠，以至於光需要八分鐘才能穿越那空隙。那光是來自一顆恆星的信息，它能夠在一億五千萬公裡外燒灼你的皮膚。

有時，這個玩家夢見它是一個在一個平的，無限延展的世界表面上的礦工。那太陽是一個方形的白點。晝夜交替很快；要做的事情也很多；死亡亦只是暫時和不方便的。

有時，這玩家夢見它迷失在了一個故事裡。

有時，這玩家夢見它成為了其它的事物，在其它地方。有時這些夢是擾人的。有些則實在很美。有時這個玩家從一個夢中醒來，發現自己落入了第二個夢，卻終究是在第三個夢中。

有時，這個玩家夢見它在屏幕上看著文字。

讓我們回退一點。

組成玩家的原子散布在草中，河流中，在那空氣中，也在那大地中。一個女性收集了那些原子；她飲用、進食、吸入；而後那女性在她的身體中，孕育了玩家。

然後那玩家醒來了，從一個溫暖，昏暗的母親體內，進入了漫漫長夢。

而那玩家是一個新的故事，從未被講述過，由DNA的語言書寫著。而那玩家是一個新的程序，從未被運行過，由上億年的源代碼生成。而那玩家是一個新的人，從未生活過，由奶和愛組成。

你就是那玩家。那個故事。那個程序。那個人類。僅由奶和愛組成。

我們再往更遠的過去回退一點。

那由七千億億億原子組成的玩家的身體被創造了，遠在這遊戲之前，在一顆恆星的內部。所以那玩家也是，來自一顆恆星的信息。而這個玩家貫穿這個故事的始末，源於一個叫Julian的人種下的信息種子長成的森林，一個叫Markus的男人創造的無限世界，存在於一個由玩家創造的小的，私人世界里，而那又繼承了宇宙創造的……

噓。

有時，這個玩家創造的小天地是柔軟，溫暖和簡單的。

有時，是堅硬，冰冷和複雜的。

有時，它在腦中建造出宇宙的模型；斑斑點點的能量穿越廣闊空曠的空間。

有時，它稱呼這些斑點為“電子”和“質子”。

有時，它稱呼它們為“行星”和“恆星”。

有時，它確信它存在於一個由“開”和“關”；“0”和“1”；一行行的命令組成的宇宙。

有時，它確信它是在玩一個遊戲。

有時，它確信它是在讀著屏幕上的文字。

你就是那玩家，閱讀著文字……

噓……有時這玩家讀屏幕上的命令行。將它們解碼成為文字；將文字解碼為意義；將意義解碼為感情，情緒，理論，想法，而玩家的呼吸開始急促並意識到了它是活著的，它是活生生的，那上千次的死亡不是真的，玩家是活著的。

你。你。你是活著的。

而有時，這玩家相信宇宙通過穿越夏日樹葉的那斑斕的陽光對它說話。

有時，這玩家相信宇宙透過晴朗的冬日夜空中，存在於它眼中一隅的星點星光，可能比太陽大上上百萬倍的恆星沸騰著的電漿那一瞬間發出來的光對它說話，在宇宙的遠側行走回家的路上，突然聞到了食物，在那熟悉的門前，它又準備好再一次投入夢境。

而有時，玩家相信宇宙透過零和一，透過世界的電力，透過屏幕上滾動的文字和夢的終結對它說話。

宇宙說，我愛你。

宇宙說，你很好地玩了這遊戲。

宇宙說，一切你所需的你都具有。

宇宙說，你比你所知的要強大。

宇宙說，你就是陽光。

宇宙說，你就是黑夜。

宇宙說，你所鬥爭的黑暗就在你心中。

宇宙說，你所尋找的光明就在你心中。

宇宙說，你不是孤獨的。

宇宙說，你不是和所有的事物所隔絕的。

宇宙說，你就是宇宙品嘗著自己，對自己說話，閱讀著它自己的代碼。

宇宙說，我愛你因為你就是愛。

曲終人散，黃粱一夢。

玩家開始了新的夢境。

玩家再次做起了夢，更好的夢。

玩家就是宇宙。

玩家就是愛。

你就是那個玩家。

該醒了。