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August 14, 2005
Volume 5, Issue 14
The theme for the day is the word fold.
Ted: Sacred
This precious fold, the one that gives all life. The golden bowl of hope and despair. The basket of fruit that is ever fresh and young, spawning the world's greatest poets, artists, kings, paupers, scientists, and moguls.
This precious fold. The one before me now, goddess incarnate, that men kill or die for. A need greater than food, a solace greater than death, this precious fold.
The one before me now, as I prepare to worship, binds souls together, brings joy.
This precious fold of flesh and blood drives the universe to achieve. For without this, we are as nothing.
Laurence - The monk
Ever seen the monk?
He looks like a burlap-wrapped lump with darkness in the openings of his dirty robe.
However, if you offer paper to the monk, he'll twist and shudder for a few moments before placing an intricate origami sculpture on the sidewalk.
These aren't just swans and horses and crabs. No, these are amazing things he folds into existence, like merry-go-rounds and jugglers - they actually move.
Unfold them, and they're just sheets of paper. No magic at all.
Once, I reached in his robe. It stung, and my hand came away bloody.
Just like a paper cut.
Andy: The Oracle
Merlin opened the chest, reached in, and, after a few moments, withdrew a piece of parchment. He placed the square of rough-hewn edges before his King.
Arthur, eyebrow cocked and fingers drumming, watched Merlin crease the paper many times in an intricate pattern. Merlin held his work aloft on the thumb and forefinger of each hand.
"Ask what ye wish, Arthur," said Merlin.
"Who shall be my queen?" he replied.
"One, two, three, four." Merlin opened a single fold, read what lay beneath, and smiled. "Siobhan of Locksley."
Such sad magic would fail many a young girl in centuries hence.