every week on saturday night, the roleplaying guild i lead has a gathering at which stories are told and interaction is enjoyed.
tonight, i was actually able to make it. it has been something of a bothersome thing, for until recently, i had never missed these events. often considering it something of a ‘duty’ to be there.
life has not been as obliging of late, and thus, i miss them. i have slowly become less harsh with myself about it – seeing that people are understanding and my presence does not ‘make or break it’ (which was a fear initially, as the guild itself had been through hell and was fragile).
anyway… most nights are stories of adventures in the hunt, or some spin-off of existing lore, with my own, boring tales of introspection and philosophy, which are themselves usually Buddhism not-so-cleverly disguised as storytelling.
tonight, i was able to finally meet a player that one of my officers has been raving about since his first appearance at our Gathering Fire about a month ago… a fellow with the character name ‘Geiman’.
he told three stories tonight. all of which were spectacular. but the first one he shared put me on my heels for several reasons, not the least of which was its strikingly odd parallels to the events of the guild itself during the first part of 2006.
so greatly strange was it, that i felt compelled to ask if it was a piece he had written himself (it was). which of course, set several thoughts of possibility loose in my head that i could just as well have lived without… but you know how i am. (sigh)
i managed not to let them overtake me. but i did capture that story and am setting it here for my own remembrance. the parable, moral, and meaning of it still resonates here. stars. it floored me.
Geiman says: Tonight, I have a story and I think you may enjoy this one as well. Now lets see if I can remember it.
Meenah smiles and leans back to listen.
Shandala leans in with a smile… listening…
You grin wickedly at Meenah.
Geiman says: Ah the memory…how it can play tricks on us, how memory, history, even dreams can make things a fog. Enemies have been made by simple forgotten moments.
Shandala nods slowly… very true, that.
Laurosara says: Too true…
Geiman says: The Tauren, the night elves, dwarves and many others. Angered by a simple miscommunication…by the fog.
Geiman says: A fog…a rain…the mist of light of a time long ago.
Geiman says: And two shapes that sat…they sat there and they played a game on a board…little hexes and plaster people being pushed about
Shandala listens curiously…
Likue ears rotate about watching the others.
Geiman says: Plaster people that were many shapes, many sizes and many different looks. All however spoke one language, it was the language of silence…for it was the two whom sat across from each other and were speaking.
Geiman says: They spoke of battles, they spoke of victories, and they spoke of losses.
Geiman says: *I* am the man of victory said one, *I* have defeated many on this battle field, he said.
Geiman says: The other looked at him and simply smiled, nodding in what seemed agreement.
Sharasvati tilts her head to one side and stretches her feet out toward the fire, listening with interest
Geiman says: *I* am the god of what I survey upon this board of life, you see how I have taken so many of your own pieces. And the man sat and smiled and continued to watch as more of his people were taken from the board.
Shandala smiles to the warrior… listening, understanding…
Geiman says: When the game was done, the man who sat and said nothing had but one person left, and the other had six, and he who had many smiled and crossed his arms, already claiming victory.
Geiman says: To which, the silent man grew a broader grin and leaned back he tapped his finger once upon the board and his own piece began to move.
You listen intently to Geiman.
Geiman says: It moved! not with his finger but it moved on its own, it walked, and so did the other pieces, the six pieces of the other began moving as well.
Geiman says: The man whom claimed victory sat in shock as he saw this, a piece of magic it was, as the one piece stepped to the other six and began to speak… it spoke low, quiet, and tiny as small things do,
Perelandria listens intently to Geiman.
Geiman says: “Here is where gods fail when full of nothing but themselves.
Meenah listens in wonder to Geiman
Geiman says: the game is never about whom has the most pieces you see…” as the quiet man smiled.
Geiman says: All of the pieces moved to the silent mans side of the board, even those claimed by the victor, claimed by the loud booming voice of the confused god.
Geiman says: And this…. this is where silence won… as the pieces organised a line all of the different sizes and shapes.
Geiman says: The silent man then spoke and said, “Your pieces are mine, all your battles have won you nothing but loss of faith…”
Geiman says: The quiet, gentle, and forgiving god picked up the small people carefully and walked away.
Geiman says: Unity is at the beginning and ending of all things…when an understanding is met.
those of you who read here and know of the events i speak of are no doubt gaping with wonder as i did in that moment. all i could think at first was how all the pieces are, indeed, mine… and how all the battles he initiated brought nothing but my loss of faith… and the saddness that is to acknowledge that never was there such understanding between us as was mandate for unity, let alone friendship.
i had to confirm for myself this was no horrible, cruel thing being inflicted as so many things were in those days. and of course, there is no way to know what i was told is truth but that i choose to believe it so. and in it, am relieved.
and of course, it occurs to me as well the manner in which this tale could just as easily be spoken by the others and be just as valid in their view as it now seems in mine. which is, of course, the ultimate evidence of a truly good story… that all who hear it can conceive of how it might apply to them, to things they know.
synchronicity is a many layered thing. as is this story. as is all the suchness it immediately reminded to me.
i am thankful it no longer hurts. i am thankful the barbed hook is gone. i am thankful that the only thing i thought then, now… was the thing i said to Geiman for his sharing:
“You remind me of a lost friend. Thank you for that.”
but here, now, more truthfully, i admit… he reminded me not of a lost friend, but of a friend who never was… lost before found, though i saw him, briefly, and at distance… or at least, the corona that would have been him had he been able.
or had i.