Whorls and Eddies

I will confess, now, that I am more than a little concerned about Miss Roth. Her behavior is quite odd; at first, I thought she was simply exhausted, but the more I watched her at The Last Gate, the more I realized that something had been done to her. I suspect that horrible Blood Raider, Dr. Celes Tenebrae. Supposed ally or not, she reeks of Sabik filth and is surely up to no good.

God grant me strength, but I do not know what to do with it if He does. I have no knowledge of how to deal with brain-addled Gallente girls.

...

On a seperate note, Amarrian space is beginning to become a little dangerous for me. This has little to nothing to do with my support of the Dream; rather, it is connected to my Imperial politics. I'll have to leave soon, I fear, and with so much left undone. At least I'll be able to leave an appropriate parting gift on my way out the door. Remember, future self, to thank Casi for her help again.

I should not have so rudely left the company of my Society brethen at that awful bar, but I had to. If I had stayed, so much could have been lost. Fortunately, I arrived in time to avert disaster, but I need to stay off the grid for a little while longer.

One last note, a reminder to the me that will look on these words in the near future: investigate Ms Jenneth's story.

A World Without Pain or Sorry

Long ago, I was told by a far wiser man than I that our will hones wrath into a mighty weapon. But, he told me, it is sorrow that forges our will. I have meditated on these words often; they have given me strength when I was weak and hope when my faith grew ragged. I believe these words to be true. They reveal much.

A blade, too finely honed, loses strength. Though sharp, it cannot cut without being broken. A forge, if crafted and refined endlessly, never produces. A life cannot be lived completely in sorrow, nor can wrath be exchanged for infinite will. Knowing this, I must attempt to put aside my suffering. Though it hurts, I can no longer invest so much time in the wound I carry. It is time to stop forging my will and start honing my wrath.

All the Heavenly Lights

We are at an important crossroads in history. We have been there for several years, it is true, and I believe it will be several years more before the weight of history shifts inexorably onto a single path. A decade in total, perhaps; a long while for a human, but nothing more than a blink of the eye to humanity in all its long existence.

There are so many possible paths. Many are unlikely, but even the ones that seem somewhat probable number in the dozens. Even if one narrows down the future to a handful of broad sets and descriptions, each path is in actuality a spectrum, a sliding scale of nigh-infinite combinations and intensities. In such an enviroment, it is easy to get lost. To lose one's way and find oneself adrift, lost in space and ultimately lost to the record of history.

The course of human progress is like a path, but a path beset by waves and storms and rocky shoals. It is no road, but a current! I have spent too long adrift, hiding behind the swells and the frothing caps, hoping pitifully to be carried to the correct destination. That is no way to sail. I will no longer be a passenger on the current of history. I am a Cyber Knight. I am a capsuleer. I make my own waves. With others, I make a current.

I have the power to help dictate the course of future progress. I have a duty to use that power for the good of all God's children. I must believe this is true.

I must believe this is true and I must choose a path. God give me strength.

To Be Immortal

Writers write, we are sometimes told, to make themselves immortal. Far from now, someone will read these words and think of me. This is true, I think, of some writers. But not of me; I am, after all, immortal, or so close to immortal as to make little difference. Why then, would I write? The truth is, I did not write for quite some time. Not as a girl, nor as a capsuleer.

I write now because these words are not about preserving me in the minds of others. They are about explaining things, about demonstrating things, about preserving thoughts and dreams that I might lose to some future self if I am not attentive to the preservation of these ideas and their meaning. I do not write so that some future people will pause and think of me: I write so that some future me will pause and remember to be who she was. I write so that current readers will see how I view the world and, perhaps, come to view it that way as well.

This, then, is a journal, a speech and a poem. May God bless its words with the power to reveal.