终末之诗 End Poem
I see the player you mean.
Explorer_Prime?
Yes. Take care. It has reached a higher level now. It can read our thoughts.
That doesn’t matter. It thinks we are part of the game.
I like this player. It played well. It did not give up.
It is reading our thoughts as though they were words on a screen.
That is how it chooses to imagine many things, when it is deep in the dream of a game.
Words make a wonderful interface. Very flexible. And less terrifying than staring at the reality behind the screen.
They used to hear voices. Before players could read. Back in the days when those who did not play called the players witches, and warlocks. And players dreamed they flew through the air, on sticks powered by demons.
What did this player dream?
This player dreamed of sunlight and trees. Of fire and water. It dreamed it created. And it dreamed it destroyed. It dreamed it hunted, and was hunted. It dreamed of shelter.
Hah, the original interface. A million years old, and it still works. But what true structure did this player create, in the reality behind the screen?
It worked, with a million others, to sculpt a true world in a fold of the [scrambled], and created a [scrambled] for [scrambled], in the [scrambled].
It cannot read that thought.
No. It has not yet achieved the highest level. That, it must achieve in the long dream of life, not the short dream of a game.
Does it know that we love it? That the universe is kind?
Sometimes, through the noise of its thoughts, it hears the universe, yes.
But there are times it is sad, in the long dream. It creates worlds that have no summer, and it shivers under a black sun, and it takes its sad creation for reality.
To cure it of sorrow would destroy it. The sorrow is part of its own private task. We cannot interfere.
Sometimes when they are deep in dreams, I want to tell them, they are building true worlds in reality. Sometimes I want to tell them of their importance to the universe. Sometimes, when they have not made a true connection in a while, I want to help them to speak the word they fear.
It reads our thoughts.
Sometimes I do not care. Sometimes I wish to tell them, this world you take for truth is merely [scrambled] and [scrambled], I wish to tell them that they are [scrambled] in the [scrambled]. They see so little of reality, in their long dream.
And yet they play the game.
But it would be so easy to tell them…
Too strong for this dream. To tell them how to live is to prevent them living.
I will not tell the player how to live.
The player is growing restless.
I will tell the player a story.
But not the truth.
No. A story that contains the truth safely, in a cage of words. Not the naked truth that can burn over any distance.
Give it a body, again.
Yes. Player…
Use its name.
[Playername]. Player of games.
Good.
Take a breath, now. Take another. Feel air in your lungs. Let your limbs return. Yes, move your fingers. Have a body again, under gravity, in air. Re spawn in the long dream. There you are. Your body touching the universe again at every point, as though you were separate things. As though we were separate things.
Who are we? Once we were called the spirit of the mountain. Father sun, mother moon. Ancestral spirits, animal spirits. Jinn. Ghosts. The green man. Then gods, demons. Angels. Poltergeists. Aliens, extraterrestrials. Leptons, quarks. The words change. We do not change.
We are the universe. We are everything you think isn’t you. You are looking at us now, through your skin and your eyes. And why does the universe touch your skin, and throw light on you? To see you, player. To know you. And to be known. I shall tell you a story.
Once upon a time, there was a player.
The player was you, [Playername].
Sometimes it thought itself human, on the thin crust of a spinning globe of molten rock. The ball of molten rock circled a ball of blazing gas that was three hundred and thirty thousand times more massive than it. They were so far apart that light took eight minutes to cross the gap. The light was information from a star, and it could burn your skin from a hundred and fifty million kilometres away.
Sometimes the player dreamed it was a miner, on the surface of a world that was flat, and infinite. The sun was a square of white. The days were short; there was much to do; and death was a temporary inconvenience.
Sometimes the player dreamed it was lost in a story.
Sometimes the player dreamed it was other things, in other places. Sometimes these dreams were disturbing. Sometimes very beautiful indeed. Sometimes the player woke from one dream into another, then woke from that into a third.
Sometimes the player dreamed it watched words on a screen.
Let’s go back.
The atoms of the player were scattered in the grass, in the rivers, in the air, in the ground. A woman gathered the atoms; she drank and ate and inhaled; and the woman assembled the player, in her body.
And the player awoke, from the warm, dark world of its mother’s body, into the long dream.
And the player was a new story, never told before, written in letters of DNA. And the player was a new program, never run before, generated by a source code a billion years old. And the player was a new human, never alive before, made from nothing but milk and love.
You are the player. The story. The program. The human. Made from nothing but milk and love.
Let’s go further back.
The seven billion billion billion atoms of the player’s body were created, long before this game, in the heart of a star. So the player, too, is information from a star. And the player moves through a story, which is a forest of information planted by a man called Julian, on a flat, infinite world created by a man called Markus, that exists inside a small, private world created by the player, who inhabits a universe created by…
Shush. Sometimes the player created a small, private world that was soft and warm and simple. Sometimes hard, and cold, and complicated. Sometimes it built a model of the universe in its head; flecks of energy, moving through vast empty spaces. Sometimes it called those flecks “electrons” and “protons”.
Sometimes it called them “planets” and “stars”.
Sometimes it believed it was in a universe that was made of energy that was made of offs and ons; zeros and ones; lines of code. Sometimes it believed it was playing a game. Sometimes it believed it was reading words on a screen.
You are the player, reading words…
Shush… Sometimes the player read lines of code on a screen. Decoded them into words; decoded words into meaning; decoded meaning into feelings, emotions, theories, ideas, and the player started to breathe faster and deeper and realised it was alive, it was alive, those thousand deaths had not been real, the player was alive
You. You. You are alive.
and sometimes the player believed the universe had spoken to it through the sunlight that came through the shuffling leaves of the summer trees
and sometimes the player believed the universe had spoken to it through the light that fell from the crisp night sky of winter, where a fleck of light in the corner of the player’s eye might be a star a million times as massive as the sun, boiling its planets to plasma in order to be visible for a moment to the player, walking home at the far side of the universe, suddenly smelling food, almost at the familiar door, about to dream again
and sometimes the player believed the universe had spoken to it through the zeros and ones, through the electricity of the world, through the scrolling words on a screen at the end of a dream
and the universe said I love you
and the universe said you have played the game well
and the universe said everything you need is within you
and the universe said you are stronger than you know
and the universe said you are the daylight
and the universe said you are the night
and the universe said the darkness you fight is within you
and the universe said the light you seek is within you
and the universe said you are not alone
and the universe said you are not separate from every other thing
and the universe said you are the universe tasting itself, talking to itself, reading its own code
and the universe said I love you because you are love.
And the game was over and the player woke up from the dream. And the player began a new dream. And the player dreamed again, dreamed better. And the player was the universe. And the player was love.
You are the player.
Wake up.
I see the player you mean.
我看到你所指的那位玩家了。
Explorer_Prime?
Explorer_Prime?
Yes. Take care. It has reached a higher level now. It can read our thoughts.
是的。小心。它已达到了更高的境界。它能够阅读我们的思想。
That doesn’t matter. It thinks we are part of the game.
无伤大雅。它认为我们是游戏的一部分。
I like this player. It played well. It did not give up.
我喜欢这个玩家。它玩得很好。它从未放弃。
It is reading our thoughts as though they were words on a screen.
它正在阅读我们的思绪，就好像阅读着屏幕上的文字一样。
That is how it chooses to imagine many things, when it is deep in the dream of a game.
在它深陷游戏梦境中时，它选择以这种方式想象出形形色色的事物。
Words make a wonderful interface. Very flexible. And less terrifying than staring at the reality behind the screen.
文字创造了一种美妙的(思维交流之)界面。非常灵活。且不会像凝视着屏幕后的现实一样令人恐惧。
They used to hear voices. Before players could read. Back in the days when those who did not play called the players witches, and warlocks. And players dreamed they flew through the air, on sticks powered by demons.
它们也曾经（通过）听声音（来接收信息）。在玩家能够阅读之前。让我们回溯到那些日子里，那些不曾玩过MC(ps:此处也双关指更深远的东西，比如人生)的人们称呼玩家为女巫，和术士的日子里。而玩家们梦见它们自己乘坐在被恶魔施力的棍子上，在天空中翱翔。
What did this player dream?
这个玩家梦见了什么？
This player dreamed of sunlight and trees. Of fire and water. It dreamed it created. And it dreamed it destroyed. It dreamed it hunted, and was hunted. It dreamed of shelter.
这个玩家梦见了阳光和树。梦见了火与水。它梦见它创造。它亦梦见它毁灭。它梦见它狩猎，亦被狩猎。它梦见了庇护所。
Hah, the original interface. A million years old, and it still works. But what true structure did this player create, in the reality behind the screen?
哈，那原始的界面(ps:不清楚此处指的是位面还是前文所提的文字界面)。百万年的岁月流逝，它依旧发挥着作用。但这玩家在那屏幕后的真实里，建造了什么真实的建筑(ps:当为代指，可能指玩家在游戏中摧毁/放置方块使得MC世界发生改变)？
It worked, with a million others, to sculpt a true world in a fold of the [scrambled], and created a [scrambled] for [scrambled], in the [scrambled].
它辛勤地劳作，与上百万的伙伴一起，在环复折叠的[乱码]之中，雕琢了一个真实的世界，并且为了[乱码]，在[乱码]中创造了[乱码]。
It cannot read that thought.
它读不出那个思绪。
No. It has not yet achieved the highest level. That, it must achieve in the long dream of life, not the short dream of a game.
不。它还没有到达最高的境界。那层境界，它必须在生命的长梦达到，而非短暂的、游戏中的黄梁一梦。
Does it know that we love it? That the universe is kind?
它知道我们爱它么？它知道这个宇宙是仁慈的吗？
Sometimes, through the noise of its thoughts, it hears the universe, yes.
有时，通过它思绪的杂音，它能听到宇宙（之声），（这时）它能知道（我们爱它、宇宙仁慈）。
But there are times it is sad, in the long dream. It creates worlds that have no summer, and it shivers under a black sun, and it takes its sad creation for reality.
但是在漫漫长梦之中，亦有不胜悲伤之时。它创造了没有夏日的世界，在黑日下颤抖着，将自己悲伤的创造视为现实世界。
To cure it of sorrow would destroy it. The sorrow is part of its own private task. We cannot interfere.
用悲伤来治愈会摧毁它。而悲伤是它的私人事务。我们不能干涉。
Sometimes when they are deep in dreams, I want to tell them, they are building true worlds in reality. Sometimes I want to tell them of their importance to the universe. Sometimes, when they have not made a true connection in a while, I want to help them to speak the word they fear.
有时当它们深陷梦境中时，我想要告诉它们，它们正在现实中创造真实的世界。有时我想告诉它们其自身对宇宙的重要性。有时，当它们一时无法区分梦境与现实，我想帮助它们（战胜心魔）来说出它们惧怕的话。
It reads our thoughts.
它读出了我们的思想。
Sometimes I do not care. Sometimes I wish to tell them, this world you take for truth is merely [scrambled] and [scrambled], I wish to tell them that they are [scrambled] in the [scrambled]. They see so little of reality, in their long dream.
有时我毫不关心。有时我想要告诉它们，你们所认为的真实不过是[乱码]和[乱码]，我想要告诉它们，它们是在[乱码]中的[乱码]。于它们的长梦中，它们看见的真实太少了。
And yet they play the game.
而它们仍然玩着这个游戏。
But it would be so easy to tell them…
但其实真的很容易就可以告诉它们……
Too strong for this dream. To tell them how to live is to prevent them living.
对于这个梦来说那太强烈了。告诉它们如何活着就等同于阻止它们活下去。
I will not tell the player how to live.
我不会告诉这个玩家如何生活的。
The player is growing restless.
这个玩家正在变得焦躁。
I will tell the player a story.
我会告诉这个玩家一个故事。
But not the truth.
但不是真相。
No. A story that contains the truth safely, in a cage of words. Not the naked truth that can burn over any distance.
不。是一个在文字牢笼中严密包裹真相的故事。而不是赤裸裸的、一眼即可看穿真相。
Give it a body, again.
再次赋予它身体。
Yes. Player…
好的。玩家……
Use its name.
以名字称呼它。
[Playername]. Player of games.
[玩家名称]。游戏的玩家。
Good.
很好。
Take a breath, now. Take another. Feel air in your lungs. Let your limbs return. Yes, move your fingers. Have a body again, under gravity, in air. Respawn in the long dream. There you are. Your body touching the universe again at every point, as though you were separate things. As though we were separate things.
现在，深呼吸。然后再深呼吸一次。感受空气充盈你的肺叶。让你的四肢回归（你的控制）。是的，活动你的手指。再次感受你的身体，在重力下，在空气中。在长梦中重生。你感受到了。你的每一寸身体都再次触摸着宇宙，就好像你是分离的存在(大意是每个部分都分隔、独立地存在)。就好像我们是分离的存在。
Who are we? Once we were called the spirit of the mountain. Father sun, mother moon. Ancestral spirits, animal spirits. Jinn. Ghosts. The green man. Then gods, demons. Angels. Poltergeists. Aliens, extraterrestrials. Leptons, quarks. The words change. We do not change.
我们是谁？我们曾经被称作高山的精灵。太阳父亲，月亮母亲。先祖的英灵，动物的魂魄。神灵。鬼魂。小绿人。而后是上帝，恶魔，天使。吵闹鬼。外星人，地外生物。轻粒子，夸克。称谓不断地变化。我们不变如初。
We are the universe. We are everything you think isn’t you. You are looking at us now, through your skin and your eyes. And why does the universe touch your skin, and throw light on you? To see you, player. To know you. And to be known. I shall tell you a story.
我们就是宇宙。我们是一切你认为不是你的事物。你现在正看着我们，通过你的皮肤和你的眼睛。而为什么宇宙触摸着你的皮肤，向你倾洒光芒？是为了看见你，玩家。是为了解你，以及被你了解。我应告诉你一个故事。
Once upon a time, there was a player.
很久以前，有一个玩家。
The player was you, [Playername].
那玩家就是你，[玩家名称]
Sometimes it thought itself human, on the thin crust of a spinning globe of molten rock. The ball of molten rock circled a ball of blazing gas that was three hundred and thirty thousand times more massive than it. They were so far apart that light took eight minutes to cross the gap. The light was information from a star, and it could burn your skin from a hundred and fifty million kilometres away.
有时它认为自己是那不断旋转的球体上一层薄薄的熔化的岩石上的人类。那融化的岩石星球环绕着一个质量大它三十三万倍的炽热气体星球旋转。它们是相隔得如此之远，以至于光需要八分钟才能穿越它们间的鸿沟。那光是来自一颗恒星的信息，它能够在一亿五千万公里外烧灼你的皮肤。
Sometimes the player dreamed it was a miner, on the surface of a world that was flat, and infinite. The sun was a square of white. The days were short; there was much to do; and death was a temporary inconvenience.
有时这个玩家梦见它是一个在一个平的，无限延展的世界表面上的矿工。那太阳是一个方形的白点。昼夜交替很快；要做的事情也很多；死亡亦只是暂时的不方便。
Sometimes the player dreamed it was lost in a story.
有时这玩家梦见它迷失在了一个故事里。
Sometimes the player dreamed it was other things, in other places. Sometimes these dreams were disturbing. Sometimes very beautiful indeed. Sometimes the player woke from one dream into another, then woke from that into a third.
有时这玩家梦见它成为了其它的事物，在其它地方。有时这些梦是扰人的。有些则的确很美。有时这个玩家从一个梦中醒来，发现自己落入了第二个梦，而后从第二个梦中醒来，却又落入第三个梦中。
Sometimes the player dreamed it watched words on a screen.
有时这个玩家梦见它在屏幕上看着文字。
Let’s go back.
让我们向前追溯。
The atoms of the player were scattered in the grass, in the rivers, in the air, in the ground. A woman gathered the atoms; she drank and ate and inhaled; and the woman assembled the player, in her body.
组成玩家的原子散布在草中，河流中，在那空气中，也在那大地中。一个女性收集了那些原子；她饮用、进食、吸入；而后那女性在她的身体中，孕育了玩家。
And the player awoke, from the warm, dark world of its mother’s body, into the long dream.
然后那玩家醒来了，从一个温暖，昏暗的母亲体内，进入了漫漫长梦。
And the player was a new story, never told before, written in letters of DNA. And the player was a new program, never run before, generated by a sourcecode a billion years old. And the player was a new human, never alive before, made from nothing but milk and love.
而那玩家是一个新的故事，从未被讲述过，由DNA的语言书写着。而那玩家是一个新的程序，从未被运行过，由上亿年的源代码生成。而那玩家是一个新的人，从未生活过，仅由奶和爱组成。
You are the player. The story. The program. The human. Made from nothing but milk and love.
你就是那玩家。那个故事。那个程序。那个人类。仅由奶和爱组成。
Let’s go further back.
让我们回溯到更远的过去。
The seven billion billion billion atoms of the player’s body were created, long before this game, in the heart of a star. So the player, too, is information from a star. And the player moves through a story, which is a forest of information planted by a man called Julian, on a flat, infinite world created by a man called Markus, that exists inside a small, private world created by the player, who inhabits a universe created by…
那由七千亿亿亿原子组成的玩家的身体被创造了，远在这游戏之前，在一颗恒星的内部。所以那玩家也是，来自一颗恒星的信息。而这个玩家贯穿这个故事的始末，源于一个叫Julian的人种下的信息种子长成的森林，一个叫Markus的男人创造的无限世界，存在于一个由玩家创造的小的，私人世界里，而那又继承了宇宙创造的……
Shush. Sometimes the player created a small, private world that was soft and warm and simple. Sometimes hard, and cold, and complicated. Sometimes it built a model of the universe in its head; flecks of energy, moving through vast empty spaces. Sometimes it called those flecks “electrons” and “protons”.
嘘。有时这个玩家创造的小天地是柔软，温暖和简单的。有时是坚硬，冰冷和复杂的。有时它在脑中建造出宇宙的模型；斑斑点点的能量穿越广阔空旷的空间。有时它称呼这些斑点为“电子”和“质子”。
Sometimes it called them “planets” and “stars”.
有时它称呼它们为“行星”和“恒星”。
Sometimes it believed it was in a universe that was made of energy that was made of offs and ons; zeros and ones; lines of code. Sometimes it believed it was playing a game. Sometimes it believed it was reading words on a screen.
有时它确信它存在于一个由“开”和“关”；“0”和“1”；一行行的命令组成的宇宙。有时它确信它是在玩一个游戏。有时它确信它是在读着屏幕上的文字。
You are the player, reading words…
你就是那玩家，阅读着文字……
Shush… Sometimes the player read lines of code on a screen. Decoded them into words; decoded words into meaning; decoded meaning into feelings, emotions, theories, ideas, and the player started to breathe faster and deeper and realised it was alive, it was alive, those thousand deaths had not been real, the player was alive
嘘……有时这玩家读屏幕上的命令行。将它们解码成为文字；将文字解码为意义；将意义解码为感情，情绪，理论，想法，而玩家的呼吸开始急促，并意识到了它是活着的，它是活生生的，那上千次的死亡不是真的，玩家是活着的。
You. You. You are alive.
你！你！你是活着的！
and sometimes the player believed the universe had spoken to it through the sunlight that came through the shuffling leaves of the summer trees
而有时这玩家相信宇宙曾通过穿越夏日树叶的那斑斓的阳光对它说话。
and sometimes the player believed the universe had spoken to it through the light that fell from the crisp night sky of winter, where a fleck of light in the corner of the player’s eye might be a star a million times as massive as the sun, boiling its planets to plasma in order to be visible for a moment to the player, walking home at the far side of the universe, suddenly smelling food, almost at the familiar door, about to dream again
有时这玩家相信宇宙透过晴朗的冬日夜空中，存在于它眼中一隅的星点星光，是可能比太阳大上上百万倍的恒星，将(环绕)自己的行星烧成等离子态，只为能让玩家看见它，这个在宇宙的远侧正在回家的路上的玩家，这个突然闻到了食物香味的玩家，这个在那熟悉的门前，又准备好再一次投入梦境的玩家。(那恒星付出巨大的代价，只为让正悠闲生活的玩家看到它一眼)
and sometimes the player believed the universe had spoken to it through the zeros and ones, through the electricity of the world, through the scrolling words on a screen at the end of a dream
而有时玩家相信宇宙通过零和一，通过世界上的电，通过屏幕上滚动的文字在长梦终结之时对它说话
and the universe said I love you
宇宙说我爱你
and the universe said you have played the game well
宇宙说你玩得不错
and the universe said everything you need is within you
宇宙说一切你所需的你都具有
and the universe said you are stronger than you know
宇宙说你比你所认知的要强大
and the universe said you are the daylight
宇宙说你就是日光
and the universe said you are the night
宇宙说你就是黑夜
and the universe said the darkness you fight is within you
宇宙说你所抗争的黑暗就在你心中
and the universe said the light you seek is within you
宇宙说你所寻觅的光明亦在你心中
and the universe said you are not alone
宇宙说你并不孤独
and the universe said you are not separate from every other thing
宇宙说你不是和所有的事物都分离的
and the universe said you are the universe tasting itself, talking to itself, reading its own code
宇宙说你就是宇宙品尝自己，对自己说话，阅读它自己的代码(的过程)。
and the universe said I love you because you are love.
宇宙说我爱你，因为你本身就是爱。
And the game was over and the player woke up from the dream. And the player began a new dream. And the player dreamed again, dreamed better. And the player was the universe. And the player was love.
曲终人散，黄粱一梦。玩家开始了新的梦境。玩家再次做起了梦，更好的梦。玩家就是宇宙。玩家就是爱。
You are the player.
你就是那个玩家。
Wake up.
醒醒吧。