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Weaving Reality XII: Post-beginnings

In telling any story I'm told that it is advisable to provide some background. But the Song of Earth is too much to tell. According to what is recorded in the Rainbow, the universe computer that records everything (and some even believe is everything), there was once an attempt to sing the song and all who knew it...or thought they did...gathered and sang...for 150 years.

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Weaving Reality VII: Waging Peace

The WeaveMothers, one and several, saw the thread snap. It whipsawed through the firmament as the tapestry of reality sagged and fragmented. Like so many other wherewhens, the place of weakness involved the worldtime of the brighter spot. As much as they could experience Fear, they feared another stillbirth should the loose cable strike the brightness.

And, one and several, they wondered if it didn't seem dimmer.

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Weaving Reality VI: On the Thickness of Skin

The Storyteller took a deep breath and cast back for another memory, another story to tell. The Listener was patient, but did require the occasional feeding. The Storyteller chuckled at the observation. The Engineer glanced backward and nodded. And the Train switched to another happentrack.

The Storyteller began to sing. The Listener leaned forward. The passenger turned over, but otherwise remained sleeping.

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Weaving Reality V: Diversity

The Locomotive's engineer cast hir mind outwards and sought awareness. The WeaveMothers, those consciousnesses which had distilled from the collective knowledge of all creatures in the Greataway were tending their flocks and new happentracks were condensing into existence. SpaceTime expanded. There were new choices for the path of the train to take.

The Storyteller plucked a poem from the past. The Listener perked up. The Passenger slept.

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Weaving Reality IV: Looking back at the present

The WeaveMothers agreed with a request to vibrate a string. They were whole as well as individual.

Maybe the unit would understand.

_ # ^ & _ # ^ & _ # ^ & _

Imagine a future. In my future, you would choose a good one, one good for coexistence on this planet as long as we all have to live here.

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Weaving Reality II: Picking up the rhythm

The WeaveMothers rustled. Rustled? It's as good a word as any to describe their collective motion. A ripple of the fabric was often necessary since the units seemed predisposed to perform the same task over and over and over again.

Uncertainty happens. At least it is supposed to happen. One can't be certain that it will.

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