Lake Lewisia #1000
Aug. 11th, 2023 05:07 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
scrubjayspeaksCongratulations! You are lost!
For space purposes, we will not elaborate on how you arrived at these circumstances. Just know that we are aware. We know about [the voicemail] [the bruise] [the cancellation] [the midnight conversation with yourself] [all of it]. Moreover, we have heard it all before.
This may sound dismissive. “Oh, my woes are special ones, can’t you see that?” Of course they are. You have never experienced them before, even when you have. Your timeline, the private one, is still a single string, stretched taut between two tin cans. You are on one end; we wait at the other.
We live in a room full of strings and cans, and old rotary phones, and still-unbreakable Nokias, and beepers with cracked belt clips. We have heard it all before, because we have been listening. One other voice, or a dozen, or countless thousands have whispered and shouted your same sorrows into our room.
We promise. We have been listening.
But this is not a moment for whispering or shouting. This is the moment for walking. (Or rolling. Or swimming. There are many routes. We are not picky.) You are lost.
Traditional advice suggests to stay still and wait for rescue when lost in the wild. We have many kinds of wilds here, lake shores and old growth forests and damp caves. This is generally sound advice.
But you’ve tried that already, haven’t you?
You have spent [weeks] [years] [lifetimes] being still and waiting. You have strained your ears, hoping to hear a voice calling your name in the wilderness. You have watched for the sweep of flashlights between the trees. You have pressed yourself to the ground and tried to feel the tiny thunder of feet walking a grid pattern in search of you.
Now is the moment to pick yourself up from the ground and go. You are lost. You will have to find us yourself.
It is not ideal to learn wayfinding on the fly, but needs must. You will have to watch for signs. Pay attention to little details, the way you would check which side of a tree trunk grows moss and the direction of bird flight. You will know them when you see them. If you do not know them, they will show up again until you do. Persistence is a learned skill, so watch for that too.
You will find a broken necklace on the street, with a charm whose symbolism you understand without knowing why. You will hear a lilt of music coming from the vacant storefront. You will smell your grandmother’s cake wafting on a breeze out by the overpass. You will receive a mislabeled letter with a return address written in gold ink or in shaky pencil or in pasted-on magazine cutouts.
We’re sorry. Those were lies, pretty examples, and we hope you didn’t get your heart set on them. You will get none of these things, in fact. These have been used elsewhere. You will get something new. Please tell us what it ends up being once you get here. We like hearing about that part.
We hope you get here soon. We have missed you. All that time you thought you were in the right place. All that time you walked in circles, going nowhere and wearing yourself out. All that time you sat still and waited for rescue that never came. We missed you the whole time. We daydreamed about what you would look like, pelting through the fields and weaving between trees and leaping over streams, the compass needle in your chest finally pointing to true north. What you would look like once you knew where to go.
We stayed busy while we waited. We got things ready for you. Space. People. Goals. Stories. We think you will like what we have. You can take your pick. There’s plenty to go around.
You just need to get here.
You are lost.
Come find us.
---
LL#1000
For space purposes, we will not elaborate on how you arrived at these circumstances. Just know that we are aware. We know about [the voicemail] [the bruise] [the cancellation] [the midnight conversation with yourself] [all of it]. Moreover, we have heard it all before.
This may sound dismissive. “Oh, my woes are special ones, can’t you see that?” Of course they are. You have never experienced them before, even when you have. Your timeline, the private one, is still a single string, stretched taut between two tin cans. You are on one end; we wait at the other.
We live in a room full of strings and cans, and old rotary phones, and still-unbreakable Nokias, and beepers with cracked belt clips. We have heard it all before, because we have been listening. One other voice, or a dozen, or countless thousands have whispered and shouted your same sorrows into our room.
We promise. We have been listening.
But this is not a moment for whispering or shouting. This is the moment for walking. (Or rolling. Or swimming. There are many routes. We are not picky.) You are lost.
Traditional advice suggests to stay still and wait for rescue when lost in the wild. We have many kinds of wilds here, lake shores and old growth forests and damp caves. This is generally sound advice.
But you’ve tried that already, haven’t you?
You have spent [weeks] [years] [lifetimes] being still and waiting. You have strained your ears, hoping to hear a voice calling your name in the wilderness. You have watched for the sweep of flashlights between the trees. You have pressed yourself to the ground and tried to feel the tiny thunder of feet walking a grid pattern in search of you.
Now is the moment to pick yourself up from the ground and go. You are lost. You will have to find us yourself.
It is not ideal to learn wayfinding on the fly, but needs must. You will have to watch for signs. Pay attention to little details, the way you would check which side of a tree trunk grows moss and the direction of bird flight. You will know them when you see them. If you do not know them, they will show up again until you do. Persistence is a learned skill, so watch for that too.
You will find a broken necklace on the street, with a charm whose symbolism you understand without knowing why. You will hear a lilt of music coming from the vacant storefront. You will smell your grandmother’s cake wafting on a breeze out by the overpass. You will receive a mislabeled letter with a return address written in gold ink or in shaky pencil or in pasted-on magazine cutouts.
We’re sorry. Those were lies, pretty examples, and we hope you didn’t get your heart set on them. You will get none of these things, in fact. These have been used elsewhere. You will get something new. Please tell us what it ends up being once you get here. We like hearing about that part.
We hope you get here soon. We have missed you. All that time you thought you were in the right place. All that time you walked in circles, going nowhere and wearing yourself out. All that time you sat still and waited for rescue that never came. We missed you the whole time. We daydreamed about what you would look like, pelting through the fields and weaving between trees and leaping over streams, the compass needle in your chest finally pointing to true north. What you would look like once you knew where to go.
We stayed busy while we waited. We got things ready for you. Space. People. Goals. Stories. We think you will like what we have. You can take your pick. There’s plenty to go around.
You just need to get here.
You are lost.
Come find us.
---
LL#1000
