My story today; beginnings continue

Why do I start today? Why now does pen touch paper, do fingers prod keys, do data fly across clear cable across the Earth from me, to Google, to you?

I felt good today. I still feel good. Because I led a group through Eder Tsogahl.

This is rather humorous, to me. I acquired my rewards for cooperation there not by cooperating at all, but rather by fortuitous happenstance. Both of my arrivals at the most recently explored garden Ages found the Spiral Door jammed open, so I, impatient, hesitated not a moment in leaping through. I have tried to aid, in attempt to reconcile this selfishness, other groups who sought this next service to our Bahro allies and brethren, but each exploration of the gardens ended in boredom and frustration, with others leaving until only few were left. Or my cell phone would ring, and I'd be called back to the surface for some errand or chore.

It was during my last attempt prior to this evening that I finally learned how to read the door. It took a few mistakes to master it, but having researched the method behind the madness of these doors as I would have during my shadow days, I learned quickly. But then, I had only three aides, and time would escape us before we could blink. I gave up. We all did.

But this evening, after the rush of wind and confusion around Negilahn, I heard a request to help a couple explorers through the door. After rounding up some others, we arrived at the Age of Eder Tsogahl, and we divvied up roles. Being among the only two who could read the door, I volunteered and was chosen through undisputed appointment by the explorer who had requested our aid.

I was nervous. I started to run the preliminaries, the stage where we determine which cloth produces which signal, a trait unique to each instance of the Age. It was perfect, I would discover, and I was confident then that I was right. Apprehension toward the next step gripped me, though. I had never seen anyone successfully open the door. Which crying method worked best?

I pushed the button.

The symbols flashed, I called them out. A rumble. A failure.

I laughed; I had not suggested a protocol. Quickly, I planned an order for the calling out the symbol-numbers. Instead of crying them as they flashed, I would remember the total sequence, then say the whole thing. Once the wheel began to spin, I would shout the next cloth that required attendance.

It worked. Perfectly. The door sank, and all those who needed the semi-annulus leaped through. So did I, and stopped to watch the door as it fell, standing in the nether region between the darkness of air-Link and the shining barricade of metal which locked me from the outside, where pastoral brightness and odor frolicked and picnicked. I shot this picture:



And so, in joy, I revved up the internet, the home of my middle explorations as a shadow to the community, a Marentan, a follower, and began this work. For now, finally, I want my voice to be heard.

Azeltir