“So this is where it all ends for us.”
“I don’t know,” spoke Tropp honestly. Opp. Or, I suppose, Septimius Felton in this garb.
Wheeler Misty puts both hands under her chin; speaks more earnestly.
“Did you hear there’s a rumor going around that I’m Karoz’s mother? Did you hear that?”
“Well it’s true.”
Septimius wondered if she meant the mother part was true or the rumor part, but didn’t ask for clarification. “What next?” he said instead.
“We stay here. In Heterocera. Karoz Blogger and Baker Blinker have returned to their home of Chilbo. *Their* true home. This is ours. We *are* Chilbo in many ways. Er, Heterocera I meant there.”
“Of course.” He looked away and then back. “I’d like to be Giant for a Day again.”
“Black hole, yes.” Misty sighed. “We’re playing around with that. Actually, playing *around* that. Dangerous game. Like wrestling.”
“Yes, I’m tired of wrestling.”
“Tired of me beating you to a pulp all the time.” Misty cackles.
“We are not evil.”
“That’s exactly what I told Baker Bloch the other day. We are not evil. We are like everyone else. All the core avatars. We are representations of the whole. Like white light separated out into the rainbow colors. Each has its place.”
“Each,” Septimius echoed.
Misty looked at her ruby red nails. “We should return to Philo. Maybe get another set of clothes.”
“I think that you maybe might have enough.” Septimius then broke a smile. Both laughed.
Karoz spoke over to the meditating Baker Blinker. “The Oracle Tree is broken, yes, but it’s still good to be back.”
“Chilbo. Without the ‘l'”
Few souls reach the top of the Oracle Tree. It was planted obscurely, in a small backwater of the Metaverse, with its uppermost branches hidden in the clouds, across a narrow path that’s easy to tumble off for the uninitiated traveler.
But now that you’ve arrived, relax a moment, ponder the blueness of the sky or the twinkle of the stars, and think about the view.
Perhaps you’re looking for a bit of wisdom from the Tree. It has such a promising name after all. “The Oracle Tree,” one thinks, “It must have something to say.”
But it doesn’t. It’s a figment of someone’s imagination, left behind as a monument to creativity, exploration, wonder, and fancy. A whimsical flower perched atop, I wish I could see it flutter in my imaginary breeze. Yes, someone came along to this spot and planted The Oracle Tree, and left us no bits of wisdom at all.
Though perhaps that isn’t true either. Perhaps there is wisdom in the expression of our imaginations, our flights of fancy, our whim. Tinkering and messing about to make our dreams visible, to ourselves and to others. Perhaps make them more real in this world and the next.
That’s the wisdom I’ve taken from the Oracle Tree, and I pass it on to you, traveler. Build something wonderful for the next person to find.
Safe journeys through the Metaverse. It’s certainly a curious place.