I’m feeling at ease, even more relaxed, because what’s meant for me won’t pass me by. I used to say that blindly, but now I know it. Woke up too late and missed a thing? I was supposed to miss it. Took the wrong turn and ended up somewhere I wasn’t planning to reach? That was the destination. Felt too tired at someplace fun? I was asked to rest. Communication unusually slow and quiet? It’s making space for something new. A friend didn’t follow through on their word? It’s not the time. What’s meant for me comes to me effortlessly. Without me trying. Without me saying a word. If I have to force it, I don’t want it. It’s all good.

In Summary: * When I woke this morning I was pleasantly surprised to find my home wi-fi operating normally. After speaking with a tech guy from my ISP last night I was resigned to having another day without good Internet access. Nice to have things back to normal.

For the last few days I've been able to spend time doing yard work early in the morning before the heat gets intolerable. I'm going to try that again tomorrow morning.

Counting on college football to relax my mind and send me to bed with a good attitude, I'm following a game now between the UMass Minutemen and the Rutgers Scarlet Knights. Rutgers is a Big Ten Conference school now, so I'll be cheering for the Scarlet Knights tonight.

Prayers, etc.: * I have a daily prayer regimen I try to follow throughout the day from early morning, as soon as I roll out of bed, until head hits pillow at night.

Health Metrics: * bw= 224.1 lbs. * bp= 141/81 (69)

Exercise: * morning stretches, balance exercises, kegel pelvic floor exercises, half squats, calf raises, wall push-ups, BP breathing exercises, pilates

Diet: * 05:30 – 1 banana * 06:10 – saltines crackers and cheese & meat sauce * 07:10 – 1 slice of lemon meringue pie * 11:45 – lasagna * 14:10 – 1 fresh apple

Activities, Chores, etc.: * 04:15 – listen to local news talk radio * 05:00 – bank accounts activity monitored . * 05:25 – read, write, pray, follow news reports from various sources, surf the socials, listen to musc, nap * 10:00 – yard work, picking up and breaking up fallen front yard branches * 11:45 – eat lunch * 12:40 – review correspondence * 14:00 – listen to relaxing music * 15:00 – listening to The Jack Riccardi Show on local AM radio * 17:00 – now following a college football game on WRSU 88.7 FM, Rutgers Radio, the UMass Minutemen vs the Rutgers Scarlet Knights.

Chess: * 08:35 – moved in all pending CC games

Dear Aunt Martha,

When I moved back to the valley, much of my savings went into renovating the old house.  I added central heat and air conditioning, insulated everything,, and upgraded both the kitchen and bathroom, replaced the roof and windows and gutters.  It took months to get everything done and I have only recently settled into it enough that I no longer feel like I am camping out. I suppose you would say that city life spoiled me and I admire the way you lived your life without all the conveniences I feel necessary for comfort.

Then severe storms shut down everything in the valley for several days and I was helpless.  No phone service, no electricity at all, no internet. I had not unpacked the crates of books I shipped here, but found a few Zane Grey novels and a copy of “Smokey the Cowhorse “in the attic.  When I grew tired of reading, I came across the tattered cards you used to teach me Patience when I was in the second grade.

I lit an oil lamp as more thunderstorms boomed outside and spent an evening reminiscing about the quiet times I played the game while you did needlework by lamplight.  I wonder if it originated as symbolic of life and I learned why it was once called”  Patience”.  It’s the same game popularized by Microsoft and now called Klondike Solitaire.

The original layout can be the circumstances we are in or the life we are handed at birth.  We don’t know what is there until we turn them face up.  This reminds me of the Zen attitude of not knowing. The stock pile cards are options we may have and it will change as the contents of the stock pile diminish.

That is a fantasy that we are given in Western capitalist society. If we follow all the rules, we will end up with all our cards in tidy little piles in the Aces’ corner.  Frustration arises when we can’t uncover the cards we want or need and are stuck with incomplete piles. It takes time, observation, and patience to decide where to place cards and when.

Observing my inner world as I played was interesting.  The repetition and steady movements were almost like a ritual as I laid out the cards and drifted into a meditative headspace. I didn’t analyze or build strategy, just watched what arose and dissolved as I played the game, allowing them to settle just as we did when sitting on the cushion during formal meditation.

I was tempted to “cheat” by looking at the facedown cards beforehand and became frustrated when wanting/needing a certain card and it was not available. I was distracted by the interplay of colors and patterns when my need for controlling outcomes became unbearable. Sometimes I noticed the distraction and reminded myself to concentrate on the cards again, drumming up determination to do it correctly instead of wandering off into la-la land and missing obvious openings for card placement. Sometimes I stared at the layout, wondering how the cards would fit, unable to see moves and I was reminded of Roshi telling me to sit more, to keep sitting, when life circumstances were difficult. Eventually, I would see a move that felt obvious once I recognized it.

The desire and need for control were interesting to watch as I chafed against “the rules”. Too often I have tried to play by my own rules and have ended up with a mess.

Roshi and I have often talked about the need for rules and structure to provide parameters within which to work. There is a certain security that comes with observing and respecting boundaries as long as everyone involved agrees on them. Being the lone player in Solitaire is a way to observe our reaction to restrictions without the distraction required to cooperate with a partner or a team.

Electronics has produced a version of Solitaire that is combined with dopamine stimulation and gambling. I wonder what you would have to say about it if you were here for me to show it to you. There are bright colors, animation, and splashy screens as well a tinny, boppy music. Cheating by turning over cards ahead of the ability to play them is impossible. It is designed to entice people to put more money into their accounts to purchase more chances at winning and to induce a fugue state in which discernment and logic are minimized.  I confess to playing it often over the past few years and have wondered if outcomes are deliberately manipulated based on the amount of money in your account. After thousands of games I have played on my phone, I have noticed changes I can only blame on artificial intelligence.  Programmers tell me the cards are shuffled at random, but I tend not to believe it.  Perhaps that is my over perceptive paranoid pattern recognition kicking in.  I haven’t taken the time to record observations and screenshots.

The phone game does not allow for the introspection that manual play with an old deck on a tabletop does.  I hope that by upgrading the old house that I have not done to our history what electronics have done to this card game. I suppose I could justify it by saying that times change and my needs differ from what yours were.  Electronics have expanded my worldview in contrast with yours, which was limited to the immediate county.  This may drift into a contemplation of having no preferences and sameness and differences, too. There are the same rules with different presentations. Is it worth the time and energy to tally up the number of differences that have evolved as social mores have changed? I wonder what you would think of social media.  I don’t dare ask Caleb. I know what his reaction would be, complete with swear words.

I can’t set up a shrine to the past and refuse to change anything, but neither can I overlook current circumstances.  I wonder how many people would be content playing with plain cards versus the electronic game.  And how many younger people these days have ever been taught to play manual games. I remember talking about rules, restrictions, and rebellions with you one time when I was an angsty pre-teen.  You told me that the answer is always somewhere in the middle of two extremes and turned back to mixing up biscuit dough.

I know, I know. I said I would stop writing about this. But I have a couple of updates to share.

One is that the photos of Danny Hillis next to some rocks and Danny Hillis posing puckishly on the bed in the Lolita Express plane that were in the first drop of the Epstein files seem to be from 2002. I had thought the relationship between Hillis and Epstein only dated to 2012, but that’s just as far back as the emails go. So since I am, as far as I can tell, the only person in the world writing about this, I wanted to enter it into the record.

Also, someone else pointed out to me that Danny Hillis took his then-teenage daughter to Epstein’s ranch in 2016. (Keeping track at home? That’s 7 years after Epstein became a convicted sex offender! Would you take your daughter on such a visit?) After their visit, Hillis emailed Epstein to say his daughter enjoyed the visit. Epstein replied “she’s always welcome,” which could of course just be a banal pleasantry. Or it could be something more sinister. I wonder how Hillis took it at the time? Epstein then follows up with “Is she a biological daughter?” which I’m sure we can all agree is an extremely normal thing to ask that certainly doesn’t have any weird implications.

I’m not linking to these emails because the DOJ did not redact the name of Hillis’ daughter from them. My feeling is that if she has something she wishes to say about this visit, she will say it, and otherwise she should be left alone.

Those are the updates. Except for this: I tried editing Hillis’ Wikipedia page to reflect his relationship with Epstein. My edits were rejected, and they patiently explained to me that Wikipedia doesn’t use primary sources. They are a tertiary source by design. In other words, it doesn’t go in Wikipedia until a reliable source writes about it.

So Hillis’ Wikipedia remains pristine because nobody but me has written about his association with Epstein, except for this blink-and-you’ll-miss-it mention in a Scientific American article. I did a search for Hillis’ name, and on the third page of results, there’s a page that inaccurately says Hillis appears in only 4 documents in the Epstein files. So even if you do keep clicking “more results,” after searching for Danny Hillis, the info you’ll get is inaccurate.

Here’s my question: what the hell is going on here? I mean, this is clearly not unique to Hillis; he just happens to be the person I’m interested in because I used to work for him.

There are a lot of people whose names are all over the Epstein files. Some have faced consequences for their association, but most haven’t, and this is at least in part because the media seems to be treating this as a story about Jeffrey Epstein rather than a story about the people he associated with. Which is weird because Epstein is dead and a lot of these other people are still with us.

Sure, sure, nobody but Epstein and Maxwell (well, and the President of the United States) have been accused of a crime, but I’ve said this before and I’ll say it again: if you’ve built a public profile on being a smart person, the fact that you have a yawning void where your ethics should be out to be part of your public profile. It ought to be part of what people know about you.

But it’s not for Danny Hillis. Unless you are already aware of the association and find one of my blog posts, there’s almost no way to find out about it.

A lot of Epstein’s network was here in Boston. He cultivated relationships with folks affiliated with MIT (Including Danny Hillis) and Harvard in order to give himself a patina of respectability. Why hasn’t the local media done a deep dive into all these people’s association with Epstein?

Why do we have to search through the Epstein files ourselves to find this stuff out? I never would have learned about Danny Hillis’ decades-long association with Epstein if I hadn’t looked at the photos in the first drop. Because nobody’s writing about all the people who were involved, even if, as in the case of Danny Hillis, they are a public figure. (an obscure public figure to most of the general public, but very well known in certain circles.)

Why is the media not holding people’s feet to the fire about their association with a sexual predator and sex trafficker, even if said people weren’t involved in the crimes? Why is no one even asking these people why they hung out with Epstein?

Because journalism is broken and most of our journalists are toadies so thrilled at proximity to power that they don’t want to do anything to mess that up.

Prove me wrong. Please.

Inbetweeners Part 12- Protectors of the Weave

I've been trying to decide chronologically where to place the Protectors of the Weave, because they are the ever-present antagonist throughout the story, so there isn't one logical place to put them over another. I suppose now is as good a time as any.

In most Dungeons and Dragons campaigns, the Protectors of the Weave would be the “good guys” or at the very least a neutral group the players interact with. However, when the protagonists have been brought back by a Far Realm entity that seems intent on running experiments throughout the multiverse, the arithmetic is quite different. The Protectors of the Weave is an organization based in Mechanus that, as its name suggests, protects the integrity of the Weave. The Weave is the magical force that permeates the multiverse and allows spellcasters to use spells in 5e, for those who are unfamiliar. An event like the Spell Plague would be the very type of crisis the Protectors of the Weave are designed to avoid. That said, the Spell Plague was a far smaller deal in my universe than in standard 5e, and was more the result of a clerical error in Mechanus than Cyric killing Mystra. He did, but the gods are more figure heads. Primus, lord of Mechanus and ultimate arbiter of law, really manages magic, the weave, etc. The gods are more middlemen that distribute magic. All the different factions and warring parties are part of the balance. Even the Blood War serves as a constant flux vent to keep the machine moving. So the Protectors are there to ensure the integrity of Primus' grand design.

In such a way, anything from the Far Realm is immediately on their radar. Most Far Realm incursions are little more than curiosities. Tentacled aberrations that can distort reality locally but pose no existential threat. The Protectors simple exterminate these threats as an exterminator handles insects. More powerful Far Realm entities though must be handled differently. Beings like the Interloper exist outside Euclidean 3d space, and such “killing” them is no easy task. A 3 dimensional representation can be destroyed, but that can barely harm the entity as a whole. So instead, containment becomes the primary objective. Once the entity is contained, deletion or ejection can be done methodically, and carefully. The worst case scenario is that the entity must be contained until it runs out of energy. Even though Far Realm entities defy many of the laws of physics and magic that govern the multiverse, some concept of the conservation of energy must apply. Nothing is an infinite well... if it was the universe would've been consumed by entropy eons ago. That said, the amount of energy they can leverage may be orders of magnitude greater than any archmage of deity can muster. These sorts of threats are exceedingly rare, but when they happen it is all hands on deck.

Primus runs a tight ship with the Weave and ordering existence, so incursions are rare. As such, the Protectors mostly spend time monitoring potential breaches. Most are false positives, rogue wizards messing around with spells they don't understand, strange monsters, or just natural anomalies. As such they've developed a complex, layered bureaucracy to deal with it. Initial reports are reviewed by a field office. If credible, agents are deployed to examine directly. An escalation ladder then occurs depending on the severity of the phenomenon. What's important to realize is that the Protectors are specifically worried about the integrity of existence itself. An evil warlord, lich, demon prince, or dragon causing a mass casualty event isn't something they would intercede in so long as it follows the rules of existence. However, if a mage tries to open a portal to the Far Realm, the Protectors would be on that immediately. Their agnosticism towards most matters has not earned them love among the general populace. More importantly, few even know if their existence or would have cause to interact with them. Institutions like Mage Colleges, interplanar trade organizations, high level wizarding guilds, etc may interact with them. Most organizations, good or evil, tend to cooperate with the Protectors with the hope of getting them out of their hair as quickly as possible. The Protectors are exacting and myopic, and will not relent until a task is completed. Their resources are essentially boundless relative to any other planar organization. No one sane or informed would make war on Mechanus.

The Protectors escalation ladder starts with agents investigating. Agents have the authority to bring in low level constructs like Modrons to support them. I believe when the players encountered them first they summoned Tridrones to help. Here is a statblock, a variation of the mage statblock from the Monster Manual, for an agent:

Agent (2900 XP)

This spellcaster is a standard field agent sent out by the order to investigate things that damage the Weave. Wears white and grey robes with symbol of a gear on them.

Use “Mage Statblock” but with the following adjustments:

10 HD AC 15- Permanent Mage Armor 65 HP Con is 14, Intelligence is 18, Wisdom is 15

Saving Throws: INT +8, WIS +7, CON +2 Prof Bonus: 4 Spell Save DC 16

Additional Spells: Forbiddance- blocks teleportation and plane shifting, deals 5d10 Radiant Damage to anything trying to violate the magical ward. On the player characters it hits them if they try to leave.

Teleport and Plane Shift (only to their field office, either on Mechanus or other location)

Geas (to usually take someone into custody)

Actions:

Shocking Prod: Melee Attack- +6 to hit, 1d6 dmg + 2d6 shock dmg Call Backup: Summon up to 10 HD worth of Modrons. Cool Down 5.

Most importantly, agents are focused on controlling the environment. Blocking teleportation and also Geas to take players into custody. The Inbetweeners protagonists teleported into the courtyard of a Mage's College. They interacted with a few students who then got their professors to come who were fascinated by the phenomenon. The players were supposed to return once the professors gathered equipment and supplies to be studied and try to find a solution to their non-linear form of travel. Sometimes its frustrating to not be able to go from point A to point B. However, by the time the players had returned, the Protectors of the Weave had caught wind. My thought, though this was never explicitly divulged to the players, was that the mage faculty ran it up the chain of command to admin. Someone high up at the college, perhaps a dean, would have contact info for a Protector field office. Perhaps the college had some sort of financial dealings with the Protectors, donations in return for information. Initially, teleporting adventurers didn't really pique their interest. But when they discovered that the players looped, if they tried to move too far in one direction they appeared on the other side, and couldn't break out of this by any other means other than leaving, this was interesting. A localized reality distortion at the very least, enough to justify a formal investigation.

I should note at this point the one thing the Interloper seemed to fear was being discovered by the Protectors of the Weave. He had close calls in the past, and knew they had the resources to undo his work and potentially him. He made sure the players knew never to tell anyone about his existence directly, to instead come up with a backstory. I think what they came up with was that they had been cursed by the god “Mask.” The Interloper even modified some of their memories so they could pass mind reading checks, but a few of the players refused the modification so they had to roll deception checks.

Anyway, the players return to the mages college at some point later, it was part of a linear path of rooms so you had to go through it to get to the next room in the sequence. Suddenly, walls of force appeared and blocked their exit on either side. Two agents of the Protectors of the Weave then questioned the players. Some cooperated more than others, but all held back important details. The Protectors used various noninvasive equipment to test the players, and determined their condition was not magical, divine or psionic in nature. This warranted further inspection, because with those three explanations ruled out Far Realm influence becomes more likely. Cervi, one of the players, absolutely refused to cooperate so one of the agents cast Geas on him. At that point, he was incredibly helpful, explaining the Interloper and giving the agent an amulet that allowed him to travel with Cervi. At this point, protocol dictated that the agents immediately report up the chain and wait for further orders. However, this particular agent wanted to make a name for himself and track the Interloper directly in order to make rank. He had no idea of the magnitude of this being or its power, and figured he could locate it, call it in, and be rewarded career wise. His plan was to go with Cervi to the source, call in a supervisor and other constructs from there and capture whatever it was. On the path their, they had to fight a Gibbering Mouther (created when Rotlog used an Interloper spell to destabilize a half dragon veteran). Meanwhile, the other Agent kept the remaining players detained in the mages college.

The other players managed to summon a Chuul which attacked the Agent, allowing them to kill the agent and escape. They sent Dolly ahead to warn the Interloper, who hid when the agent arrived. The party arrived and though they sustained great damage, managed to kill the other agent. In my notes I wrote that Uzo “mulched” him, so their may have been a critical hit from a Hobgoblin Samurai involved. He also had his cursed bow at this point so there may have been some power from there. With both agents killed, no one had a direct line to the Interloper. As a result, the Interloper opted to prune an entire branch of rooms, cutting off the hallway that led to th crab shack that led to the courtyard that led to the dog house that led to the pirate ship cabin that led to the circus that led to the bakery that led to a battlefield. The players never made it as far as the battlefield. With those rooms pruned, a new door appeared to fill the void... one that the Interloper did not create. More on that in a separate post. So that was the players first encounter with the Protectors of the Weave. They managed to stay safe, but one agent killed and another vanished without a trace certainly put them on high alert. It was only a matter of time before the players crossed paths with them again.

Since the Protectors of the Weave operate in an arena of ultimate law, the more lawful an area the more dangerous it was for the players. So any major metropolis, mage council, etc ran the risk of reaching the information network of the protectors. Also, using certain Interloper “gifts”, like temporal duplicate, was like a straight up signal flare, visible across planes. This meant the players had to be strategic about when to use such powers and how to interact with different factions and forces. Backstories were important, and the less they could divulge the better. However, in remote areas, or dangerous areas like Hades, they could move about, speak and act more freely as there was less Protector presence there. Still, a spell like temporal duplicate would trigger them even in these locations. The only area truly safe from the Protectors is Sigil, but more on Sigil in a later post.

Had the players not taken out the second agent so quickly, he would've locked down the Grey Room, summoned his supervisor and a number of more powerful constructs. The supervisor:

Supervisor (10000 XP)

Use Archmage Statblock but with the following adjustments

HP: 135

Con: 14, Wis 18 Saving Throws: Int +9, Wis +8, Con +2

Additional Spells: Plane Shift, Geas, Dominate Monster, Powerword Stun, Imprisonment, Hold Monster

Actions:

Juiced Up Shocking Prod: Melee attack +6, 1d6 + 3d6 Shock Damage, Con DC 15 or be stunned for a turn. Call Backup: Summon up to 20 HD worth of Modrons. Can be used as a bonus action. Cool down 3.

Again, all about control. Dominate Monster, Stun, Imprisonment, Hold Monster, and a stunning shock prod are all meant to neutralize threats. Summoning Modrons is more to provide additional bodies and hitpoints to tank damage. If a threat was really severe they could summon a special agent:

Elite Special Agent of the Protectors of the Weave Medium humanoid (any race), lawful neutral Armor Class 20 (Arcane Mantle, magical defense protocols) Hit Points 240 (32d8 + 96) Speed 40 ft., fly 30 ft. (hover, via spell)

STR 12 (+1) DEX 20 (+5) CON 16 (+3) INT 22 (+6) WIS 16 (+3) CHA 18 (+4)

Saving Throws Int +12, Wis +9, Dex +11 Skills Arcana +12, Stealth +11, Investigation +12, Insight +9, Perception +9 Damage Resistances force, psychic, lightning; bludgeoning, piercing, and slashing from nonmagical weapons Damage Immunities radiant (Arcane Weave Cloak active) Condition Immunities charmed, frightened, restrained Senses truesight 60 ft., passive Perception 19 Languages Common, Elvish, Draconic, Thieves’ Cant, Telepathy 60 ft. Challenge 17 (18,000 XP) Proficiency Bonus +6

Features Legendary Resistance (3/Day). If the agent fails a saving throw, it can choose to succeed instead. Spellcasting. The agent is a 17th-level spellcaster (Intelligence is the spellcasting ability; spell save DC 20, +12 to hit with spell attacks). It has the following spells prepared:

Cantrips (at will): minor illusion, prestidigitation, ray of frost, mage hand, mind sliver 1st level (4 slots): shield, mage armor, detect magic, absorb elements 2nd level (3 slots): mirror image, misty step, suggestion 3rd level (3 slots): counterspell, dispel magic, fireball 4th level (3 slots): greater invisibility, dimension door 5th level (3 slots): wall of force, synaptic static 6th level (2 slots): disintegrate, globe of invulnerability 7th level (1 slot): forcecage 8th level (1 slot): maze 9th level (1 slot): wish (used for a prepared contingency-like spell or emergency escape only)

Innate Items Arcane Mantle (Recharge 6). As a bonus action, the agent activates a shimmering field granting +2 AC and resistance to all damage types for 1 minute. While active, the agent floats 1 inch off the ground (hovering). Chronoshift Ring (3/Day). As a reaction, the agent can force a reroll of any d20 roll made within 60 feet. Voidstep Boots. As a bonus action, the agent can teleport up to 30 ft. and become invisible until the start of their next turn (or until they attack/cast a spell).

Actions Multiattack. The agent makes two spell weapon attacks or uses a combination of attack and control (e.g., Ray of Frost and Force Detonation). Arcane Blade (Magical). Melee Weapon Attack: +11 to hit, reach 5 ft., one target. Hit: 21 (4d6 + 5) force damage. If the target is concentrating on a spell, they make the save with disadvantage. Force Detonation (Recharge 5–6). The agent releases a 20-foot-radius blast centered on itself or any point within 60 feet. All creatures in the area must make a DC 20 Constitution saving throw, taking 45 (10d8) force damage on a failed save, or half as much on a success. Creatures who fail are also pushed 15 ft. away and knocked prone. Summon Weavebound Juggernaut (1/Day). The agent summons a Weavebound Juggernaut, a Large construct with devastating melee and anti-caster capabilities. It lasts for 10 minutes or until slain.

Legendary Actions (3/round) The agent can take 3 legendary actions, choosing from the options below. Only one legendary action can be used at a time, and only at the end of another creature’s turn. Teleport (Costs 1 Action). The agent teleports up to 30 feet to an unoccupied space it can see.

Cantrip (Costs 1 Action). The agent casts a cantrip.

Disrupt Spell (Costs 2 Actions). The agent targets a creature concentrating on a spell within 60 feet. The creature must succeed on a DC 20 Constitution saving throw or lose concentration.

Again, spells focused on control but the Special Agent was particularly talented at disrupting other magic users. Counter Spell, Disrupt Spell and Chronoshift Ring all serve to disrupt other players actions. They can also summon a Weavebound Juggernaut. These are constructs that come in when Modrons alone won't do the trick.

Weavebound Juggernaut Large construct, unaligned AC 20 (reinforced armor) HP 140 (17d10 + 51) Speed 40 ft. STR 22 (+6) DEX 10 (+0) CON 17 (+3) INT 3 (-4) WIS 10 (+0) CHA 1 (-5)

Damage Immunities psychic, poison; bludgeoning, piercing, slashing from nonmagical weapons Condition Immunities charmed, exhaustion, frightened, paralyzed, poisoned Senses darkvision 60 ft., tremorsense 20 ft., passive Perception 10 Languages understands commands of the summoner Challenge 9 (5,000 XP)

Actions Multiattack. The Juggernaut makes two slam attacks. Slam. Melee Weapon Attack: +12 to hit, reach 5 ft., one target. Hit: 24 (4d8 + 6) force damage. Anti-Magic Pulse (Recharge 5–6). The Juggernaut releases a disruptive pulse in a 30-ft radius. Creatures concentrating on spells must make a DC 18 Con save or lose concentration. Magical effects in the area flicker and fizzle until the end of the Juggernaut's next turn (treat as anti-magic field for spell attacks and concentration checks).

They are potent combatants, but their biggest advantage is they are tanky and can use antimagic pulse. Dozens of them can neutralize a pretty dangerous threat. When dimensional anchors are used to lock down a 4-dimensional being, Weavebound Juggernauts tend to carry them and deploy them.

If even a Special Agent and team of Weavebound Juggernauts are not enough to neutralize a threat, The Protectors have a number of other escalation options. They can summon Maruts, which if you don't know look them up, the most powerful constructs in the game. Later on the players encounter some specialized Maruts with custom statblocks. At a challenge rating of 25, they are ranked as more dangerous than an Ancient Red Dragon... and Mechanus has a lot of them under its employ. Alternatively, or as a supplement, they have a number of powerful third party contractors they can use. Zane is one such contractor who will get his own post. But Mechanus has the resources were they can hire essentially any mercenary or powerful figure willing to take payment for services. As such, they can turn the entire multiverse against an adversary.

If all of that doesn't work, they have ancient, forbidden weapons locked away in their vaults of unimaginable destructive power. These weapons were used to wipe out most of the Titans eons ago and turned entire planes into endless deserts of white powder. Towards the very end of the campaign these weapons are seen again. Overall, with this escalation ladder, no one sane would consider taking on the Protectors of the Weave. The next time the players encounter them, the Interloper, being that can bend reality at a whim, has one word for them. “Run”

•••••••••••••••

I think I am a person of great emotion... not great intellect.

That is not to say that I think myself unintelligent.

Just more interested in the temperature in the room than in how the building is constructed.

More interested in feeling wet cheeks at the tender beauty of a flower

than in knowledge of it's genus or species.

YES! Give me that scent that tickles and delights.

If I had a choice... I think I would choose this.

Or, I suppose, it might be better to be equal of both.

I wonder if being a person of great intellect

without the fire of wild abandon burning in you is easier.

It seems in some way, yes, it would be.

But how would I know? I've never visited that particular garden.

---

#

Adventurers

Character	Race	Class	Description
Ainsley	Human	Ranger level 1	An older gentleman with a groomed moustache and a wooden pipe in his mouth, covered in dark green cloak.
Ambros	Human	Cleric level 7	Follower of Aniu, Lord of Time.
Aurella	Elf	Fighter level 1 / magic-user level 1	Exiled and chased out of her tree commune, she now wanders the Wilderlands.
Balarus	Human	Fighter level 4	An ex-woodsman, quite a crack shot with his bow.
Gerrick	Human	Fighter level 1	A tall hill-man with wicked reflexes and swift movements. Gerda's brother.
Ignaeus	Elf	Fighter level 4 / magic-user level 5	An arrogant and self-assured sellsword wandering Wilderlands to prove he can best anyone.
Kenso San	Human	Fighter level 2	An arrogant and self-assured sellsword wandering Wilderlands to prove he can best anyone.
Remus	Hobbit	Thief level 1	Sketchy hobbit looking for better loot.
Wilbalt Abendeurer	Human	Fighter level 3	A burly blonde barbarian; Warmund's younger brother and a better swordsman of the two.

Dewsnap 9th, Fireday

A hoard of chopped up giant centipedes laid strewn about Ignaeus and Balarus. Aurella, Kenso, and Jacob were unscathed.

“Oh, hey there!”

Remus the Thief, and Wilbalt the Burly stepped out of the darkness and joined the party.

They stripped the ancient skeletons of their chain shirts. Then they wrapped them up and left them in a corner of the cave for easier retrieval some time in the future.

Remus and Ignaeus had spent some time playing with the iron coffer held by one of the dead men. All that was for naught because, as it turned out, the coffer was empty! But Ignaeus had recovered a coin purse from the skeleton, and within it were two lapis lazuli gems, two obsidians, and three eye agates.

“Is this our guy? The one we are looking for?”

Fourth skeleton was noticeably different from the rest. For one, it still had hair. It was dressed in commoners' clothing, and it had no weapons nor armour.

“Might be!”

Adventurers took some of its hair. Then they proceeded to explore the west tunnel. After hundred feet or so it broke, perpendicularly, into another tunnel. A strong downdraught could be felt, as well as musty air. The elongated tunnel was quite low, some nine feet high. Numerous stalagmites poked out of the floor. Many of them were broken, being in essence, stumps.

Southwards were three shallow pits. Obviously man-made. They perplexed adventurers to no end. Eventually they gave up on figuring out them and moved further south.

On and on they went, following hundred yards or so of winding tunnels, until they reached a tight sink-hole. Down they went, one by one, following yet another long, long tunnel.

“Look...”

A round cave, with steps chiselled into the limestone, leading down a sharp drop into another cave. A carved boulder was visible. The party descended carefully.

Aurella's torch flickered.

She hesitated.

The torch extinguished.

The air exploded.

Remus and Aurella were no more.

Others were charred but alive.

“Grab the dead and let's get out!”

Exploding cave was right next to one of the caves by the entrance.

It was night outside. Adventurers set up a cold camp and went to sleep, dreaming of barbecue.

Dewsnap 10th, Spiritday

Thunderous roar of a black bear woke everyone up.

Wilbalt, whom had been on watch duty, braced for impact with glaive. He was firmly grounded, with the butt of his pole arm placed on the ground behind him.

Bear rammed him with all its might. Wilbalt held true and impaled the beast. It whimpered and clawed the burly man. He gave it no quarter; he yielded not. Kenso and Balarus hacked the wounded animal.

“Should we chop it up and take it to that insect swarm? Could serve as a bait?”

“Just leave it here. Let's take Aurella and Remus to Ambros so he can raise them...”

They arrived to Old Crus's tower, where Ambros was hiding, by noon.

“Sorry, hobbits cannot be raised.”

Aurella, though, was back and hurting. But she was back.

Adventurers then went to Ironburg to heal up and plan their next step.

Dewsnap 13th, Earthday

“Guys, I need that axe.”

Balarus, Wilbalt, Kenso, Ambros, Ainsley, and a new member Garrick, Gerda's brother, set out for the brigand's abandoned hideout.

“Guys, no really, I need that axe real bad.” Wilbalt kept repeating. At moments he was shaking as if suffering withdrawals.

“We'll get you your axe. Don't you worry.”

The axe in question was weapon sighted by the first party that went into this cave system. They had seen a pristine battle axe at the heart of insect swarm nest. Among thousands and thousands of centipedes, roaches, spiders, and other vermin. A place where Gerda had perished as others fled and left her behind.

“Where is the bear?”

“Its bones are there.”

This time the party did not take the long route via the northern tunnel, nor the route via the watery cave. No, they opted to backtrack through narrow tunnels some of them had discovered days prior.

Balarus shot few flaming arrows into the exploding cave.

Nothing exploded.

Feeling safe enough, they moved in, and through a series of narrow tunnels, until they reached the cave with skeletons. Then northwards into the insect cavern.

“Let me speak with them.”

Ambros announced.

He cast Speak with Animals.

His head nearly exploded as he heard an uproarious cacophony of voices yelling and screaming for food. Dazed and confused, it took him some time to compose himself.

As he spoke of food, the swarm grew quite and face him. Thousands tiny life forms listened attentively. They understood food was to be offered. They understood nothing else, especially all the elaborate instructions provided by Ambros.

Food was mentioned. Food was promised. Food was not delivered.

Wrong.

Food was right in front of them. Food was always right in front of them.

The swarm rushed forwards; towards the food that promised food.

Total bedlam ensued, with adventurers running in all directions.

Wilbalt and Gerrick went right and then south towards the watery tunnel. The rest fell back whence they cometh from.

“Follow two humans! Those two, yes!” Ambros yelled.

“What the fuck!!!” Wilbalt thought.

“Follow me!” Gerrick flashed his lantern at the swarm.

“Yes, follow them!”

The swarm moved slowly.

The plan was working, as the insect mass gradually moved from the cave into the tunnels.

“Quick, grab the axe while I cast Create Food!”

Ainsley sprinted for the skeletal remains. He grabbed the pristine looking battle axe.

“Let's get out!”

At the same time, Wilbalt and Garrick have been slowly retreating downwards. As the swarm advanced, they retreated. Step by step.

“Remember, there is something in the water!”

They hugged the cave wall and stepped into the shallow portion of rank, stagnant water.

And then it came; from the darkness.

A rotting carcass; jumping out, with gaping mouth and crooked fingers.

It was hacked from undeath to death, once and for all.

And then the duo fled too.

“So... about that axe...” Wilbalt panted.

“Yes, what about it?” Ainsley held it.

“I really need it. I seriously need it. I need it so bad.” Wilbalt spoke.

“Here, you can have it.”

Wilbalt smiled. Finally he got an axe too! Finally he can feel like a man, between Balarus and Thorinda each wielding a mighty axe of their own!

“Wait, one more thing!”

Party returned to the exploding cave to inspect the carved boulder. One of the adventurers remembered that boulder was jammed into some sort of crevice.

Four of them grabbed the boulder and rolled it backwards.

A hit!

Cave filled with twenty-two sacks holding over thirty thousands coins! Copper pieces galore!

Adventurers spent some hours packing all the goods, and planning their weight distribution. They also discovered a wooden chest underneath all the sacks. They decided to take it whole, instead of opening it here.

Since the night fell, they camped again. No bear this time.

Adventurers and their hoard of thirty thousand, six hundred, and eight copper pieces, plus nine hundred and sixty-six silver pieces, arrived at Ironburg on noon of Dewsnap the 14th, Fireday.

“Told you we will be rich.” Aurella quipped painfully.

Days were becoming longer. Flowerbloom, and Spring, are merely a week away, and the nature was showing it.

Discuss at Dragonsfoot forum.

#Wilderlands #SessionReport

Part One: Defining the Undefinable

I’m finding the use of the term Anomalology to be very helpful in my research and investigation into anomalous experiences, including my own. Here’s the definition I’ve been working with for several months now:

Anomalology is the careful study of anomalous experience: experiences that resist easy explanation, and the evidence, language, memory, cultural context, and competing interpretations through which they are understood.

I openly admit that my term, definition, and use directly clash with anomalistic psychology, which studies extraordinary and ostensibly paranormal experiences from a non-paranormal explanatory hypothesis. That branch of psychology sees anomalous experiences as the result of any number of psychological phenomena, including social influence, dissociation, memory error, cognitive bias, sleep disorders, acute psychosis, etc. It also lumps personal accounts and testimony of ghosts, alien abductions, psychic experiences, and other uncanny encounters into a single category.

To be clear, I do have my own anomalous experiences, and so I openly admit that I cannot be, and am not, fully objective in my research and investigations into them, including my own. Furthermore, I do not claim to have had or to be having experiences involving ghosts or extraterrestrials. The paranormal and the extraterrestrial, it would seem, are not a part of my psychospiritual repertoire. Instead, my experiences tend to be more uniform in their extracosmic, heterocosmic, and numinous nature. As such, I do not intend to position myself as any kind of expert or guru. I’m merely a witness sharing that which is generally considered taboo to share and, in so doing, finding a new kind of language to express what I know but have been unable to say.

I also do not intend to use the term Anomalology to position “psychosis” and “reality” against “the anomalous” as though they are opposing, mutually exclusive concepts and circumstances. Instead, I take the more stubborn position of positing that an anomalous encounter can occur in a person who is otherwise psychologically healthy*, admitting that some experiences may arise amid psychosis, trauma, substance abuse, and other circumstances, including severe stress. Such scenarios deserve care, protection, and clinical attention. However, an anomalous encounter alone does not necessarily indicate illness. As such, clinical labels and spiritual interpretations do not automatically identify a clear, fundamental cause for these experiences. Thus, I see these experiences as deserving ethical attention, especially when a clear external or medical cause cannot be confirmed.

I believe the posture and mindset behind Anomalology would better serve, rather than challenge, psychiatry, because the real danger is diagnostic foreclosure, where a person charged with aiding the witness with their anomalous experience ends their inquiry as soon as they can apply a skeptical, diagnostic, or pathological label. Such an approach is more about expediency and personal bias rather than care.

Diagnostic foreclosure then is the premature closing of inquiry in which the clinical or religious designation is not treated as one contextual observation among others, but as a complete explanation that cancels the witness’s testimony, symbolic interpretation, sociocultural context, and unresolved evidentiary questions.

The opposite of Anomalology, if there is one, is not skepticism or empiricism. It is reductive epistemic closure where a very personal disruptive event is explained by renaming or miscategorizing, and thus hijacking. This robs the witness of their autonomy, agency, and especially their dignity.

My choice of Anomalology is not rooted in my desire to name a specific belief or belief system, branch of superstition or theology, or an indiscriminate catalog of miracles or marvels. I have no such desire. My choice is, more properly, centered on the study of regular phenomena commonly regarded as “abnormal” and the systems of meaning built around them, especially where those systems are incongruent with a witness’s testimony and subsequently begin to fail.

Again, I need to be precise with my position and framing. An anomaly is not simply an event that conventional means cannot explain. Most things referred to as inexplicable are merely incomplete as the result of poor or obstructed observation, poor memory, insufficient contextualization, or premature judgment made strange. The anomalous, I would argue, begins elsewhere. It begins where an occurrence remains intelligible in threads and fragments while refusing intelligibility as a whole, where every available conventional category may describe some piece or portion of the event, but fails to describe and explain the entire testimonial.

Of course, this all leads to the central question: What is real?

This is by far the most important question, though it is not the first one we encounter. The first questions are these: What ontology or belief system did the event interrupt? Where did language fail the event? Who assumed and surrendered authority for framing the event, and what was misinterpreted and lost as a result? What did witnesses alter in their memories out of necessity rather than dishonesty because the mind requires a coherent narrative even if it’s an imperfect one?

Such disturbances are the very concern of Anomalology, because they inhabit the very depths of the psyche—the soul—suggesting that such anomalies are a natural part of human existence. A feature interpreted as a flaw.

“The human definition of the natural world is always going to be too small, because the world’s more diverse and complex than we can ever know. We’re not going to comprehend it; it comprehends us. The question is whether we can use it with respect. Some people in the past who knew very little biology were able to use the land without destroying it. We, who know a great deal of biology, are destroying our land in order to use it.” — Wendell Berry

And I think the same can be said for anomalous experiences: we now know much about psychology and theology, but are destroying our psyches to explain it.

Anomalous experiences are a normal part of the human condition and, therefore, part of nature. The truth is that our metaphysics, science, philosophy, and cosmology are incomplete, and so we struggle with the Truth — our truth and objective truth. Anomalology, then, is merely a branch of the study of human nature and, by extension, Nature itself.

And the ultimate nature of truth may be that, in spite of our best efforts and intentions, it is not just imperceptible, but unknowable.

But we strive for Truth anyway, because that too is natural.

That, too, is human.

#Anomalology

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* It is a failure of our civilization and culture to dismiss anomalous experiences as mental illness without considering that such experiences may actually be a natural, normal part of the human experience. What if a truly healthy mind is one that can subtly perceive the outer edges of a far greater and not fully comprehensible reality? What if we really don’t know what real is?

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What is Anomalology?

• Part 1: Defining the Undefinable

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By D. Bowman Nomina Numina is a journal of reflections, moments, and meaning-making between worlds. Reply by email.

تاريخ النشر: 2:45 ليلة الجمعة 22 ربيع الأول 1448

مقدمة:

اكتسبت 500 ريالٍ من إحدى المقابلات الوظيفية، وعملت في اليوم التالي من المقابلة، وأجريت مقابلة وظيفية في مواقف مطعم مشهور، ووقفت على غرائب الإنسان وعجائب الشركات في مقابلات أخرى. فاقرؤوا هذا المقال لتقفوا على تاريخٍ من المقابلات الوظيفية في سبعة أعوامٍ من مساري المهني. قصصٌ تحكى في المجالس الخاصة، وتجتزأ في لينكدن، ولا تنتقل الفائدة منها إلى الناس إلا بالكتابة.

استخرجت التواريخ الدقيقة وقربت ما أستطيع تقريبه، وعزوت -كعادتي- إلى المصادر.

أرجو أن تضيف إليكم التجارب عظات وعبر ومزيدًا من التأمل في تجاربكم الشخصية.

متن:

1- مقابلات في غير المكاتب!

الثلاثاء 17 ربيع الأول 1442

ظننت أن لا موضع لإجراء المقابلات إلا المكاتب وغرف الاجتماعات. ثم حان صباح الثلاثاء 17 ربيع الأول 1442 لما التقيت أحد المهندسين بعد شروق الشمس. أراد أن نلتقي في المقاهي فلم يجد مقهى يفتح أبوابه قبل السابعة صباحًا. فلم يقترح إلا مواقف السيارات لمطعم الأقواس الصفراء الشهير [ولا داعي لذكر اسمه]. لم ينل أحدنا شيئًا من صاحبه، كأن العجلة قد قضت على آمالنا. فانطلق إلى عمله، وانطلقت إلى وظيفة أردت أن أفر منها ولم أستطع!

والحق أن عام 1441 قد أورثنا جائحة كورونا، واعتياد العمل عن بعد، وإلف المكالمات المرئية. فكانت أكثر المقابلات الوظيفية تبتدئ بالمجالس الرقمية الافتراضية وتنتهي إلى المكاتب وصالات الاجتماع. وإنني ظفرت بإحدى الوظائف المهمة من غير أن ألتقي بأصحاب العمل إلا في ليلة الثلاثاء 11 جمادى الآخرة 1447 تربصًا بملتقى بلاك هات للأمن السيبراني في ذلك العام 1447.

2- طموح إلى أدنى السلم!

الأربعاء 14 جمادى الآخرة 1442 [تقريبًا!]

عدت مرة أخرى إلى شركة طردني منها حارس الأمن بلا سبب أو داع سوى التسلط المحض! طلبني المدير الذي توصلت إليه ببعض المعارف بعد أن علم بصنيع حارس الأمن. حادثته ولم أعرف كيف أحقق مبتغاه.

سألني بعد قليل أن أنزل إلى الطابق السفلي. فالتقيت مديرًا شابًا يحدثني عن الطموح -وكأنه يجهل أنني نزلت إليه من علٍ- وأهمية المهندسين في حلول المياه. أراد مني شهادة أكاديمية مرموقة، ولم يبذل في مقابلها سوى فتات المال وراتبًا يستحيا من ذكره.

(عندما تكون نقودك غير كافية يكون الأرخص مهما بلغت رداءته هو الأفضل) حمزة شحاتة – رفات عقل ص99 [ط1 1400].

كانت تلك المقابلة طموحًا إلى أسفل السلم!

3- ما أرخص الشهادات عند الجهال!

الثلاثاء 7 جمادى الأولى 1442

(لا قيمة للعملة التي تحملها إذا لم يكن هناك شيء تشتريه) حمزة شحاتة – رفات عقل ص 74 [ط1 1400]

سألني رئيس مكتب هندسي أن أجري له دراسة جدوى للتسويق، وأن أقدم له عرضًا فنيًا لينظر في كفاءتي الهندسية. نسيت أكثر ما قاله ولم أنس أنه قال: لا بجزمٍ وبلا تردد لما فاوضته في 500 ريال يزيدها على الراتب المقترح.

سمعني أحد المشتغلين بالمقاولات فأراد أن يستميلني إليه، وأخبرني بفرصة أخرى تفضل عليها، وشجعني أحد مهندسي المكتب.

مضيت إليهم في ذلك الثلاثاء [7 جمادى الأولى 1442] فأخبروني أنهم يريدون العمل في حلول الإطفاء وإخماد الحرائق والتنبيه عليها. فاستبشرت خيرًا بذلك. ثم خيرني بين باقة رواتب، وأخبرني أنه محتاج إلى شهادة هندسية حتى يفتتح مكتبه بعد أيام مع بداية الدورة الشمسية الميلادية الجديدة! ويا سبحان الله أيجتمع الجهل والاحتيال؟!

بقيت الهندسة الميكانيكية وخبراتها ومهاراتها مذكورة في سيرتي الذاتية ثم تساقط بعضها لما استيقنت من ارتباط مساري المهني بالتقنية والإدارة والكتابة.

قصة الهندسة الميكانيكية

نزلت من المحطة الأخيرة في قطار التعليم الجامعي يوم الأحد 5 جمادى الآخرة عام 1440، وتخرجت مهندسًا ميكانيكيًا في جامعة بوترا ماليزيا (Univerisiti Putra Malaysia)، وظننت أن قطار العمل والوظيفة يسير بي في ذات المسار.

لم أطلب إلا وظائف المهندسين، واستمسكت بعضويتي في الهيئة السعودية للمهندسين، وبحثت عن حيلة لأتغيب من وظيفتي وأشهد المؤتمر الثاني للهيئة المنعقد في ثاني أسبوع من رجب عام 1441 [الاثنين 7 رجب 1441 إلى الخميس 10 رجب 1441] [1].

اغتبطت قبل ذلك بالانتساب إلى الجمعية الأمريكية للمهندسين الميكانيكيين (American Society of Mechanical Engineers ASME) في جمادى الآخرة 1441. وتمنيت أن لو انتفعت منها كما انتفعت من الهيئة السعودية.

لكن ذلك كله لم يثمر -بتقدير الله- شيئًا في المسار المهني، فقد خرج القطار عن سكة الهندسة، ولم يكن المصعد أو السلم مرسومًا في برامج AutoCad التي تعلمتها في الجامعة، أو CATIA، وسرعان ما استبدلت الإكسل (Excel) بـMATLAB، وانقطع (إخبار الأحباب عن برنامج ماتلاب) [2].

ولست بحمد الله نادمًا على شيء من ذلك، فقد أفادتني الهندسة معرفة وطريقة للتفكير، ونظرًا في المشكلات، واجتهادًا في حلها.

4- ولو أرادوا التوظيف لاستعجلوا!

الاثنين 2 شعبان 1442

(إن كل حمل يثقل على الإنسان يمكن أن يلقيه، وينطلق بعيدًا عنه ولكن أين حساب المسؤوليات التي يختلف بها الإنسان عن الحيوان؟) حمزة شحاتة – رفات عقل ص91 [ط1 1400]

أتيت الشركة مرتين في يومٍ واحد وسألني المدير أن أحضر جهازي الشخصي ليختبر سرعتي في الطباعة وإجادتي للإنجليزية، فبشرني بابتداء العمل في اليوم التالي واحتساب راتب الشهر من يوم المقابلة [الاثنين 2 شعبان 1442].

سرعة هائلة في التوظيف أثمرتها حاجة ماسة إلى العمل، وانسحاب الموظفة في وقت حرج. وتلك -يعلم الله- منقبة فريدة لذلك المدير، ولا يسعني الآن سوى التنويه به.

اكتشفت بعد حين أنها كانت فلتة واستثناءً باهرًا من قاعدة التأخير والتماطل عند كثيرٍ من الموظفين.

لست أحصي كم مرة قيل لي: (سنتصل بك) أو (سنجيبك بالرفض أو القبول) حتى يحول الصمت بيننا وأعلم عندئذٍ أن سيرتي الذاتية قد ألقيت في سلة المهملات.

دلفت إلى إحدى الشركات التقنية فألزمتني كثيرًا من الأوراق، وأبى الموظف أن أوقع على نسخة رقمية، ولم يكن وراء الرهق والتكلف خير لنا.

قال لي عضو في مجلس الإدارة: (لم نتفرغ بعد، لكننا وكلنا فلانًا لإدارة الشركة). قال لي فلان: (سأجتمع بمجلس الإدارة حتى نتخذ قرارًا في الراتب المتوقع) أو كما قال.

رشحت إلى إحدى الشركات فلم أنل وظيفتها حتى التقيت أدنى الموظفين وارتقيت إلى الرئيس الأعلى، ولم يكن في المنصب كثير قيادة أو إدارة.

5- لا وظيفة للمتزوجين!

ربيع الأول 1447

قالت: (البوزشن لسنجل!) أي الموضع للعزاب وحدهم.

أدركت من مساومة الموارد البشرية في تلك الشركة العتيقة أن تكلفة الموظف المتزوج أعلى عند الشركات من الموظف الأعزب. وأدركت في نهاية العام الهجري 1446 أن تقليل التكاليف [في عرف الشركات] ينال حديثي العهد بالزواج قبل غيرهم!

نعم المتزوج محتاج إلى تأمين يشمل أهله زوجه وأبناءه، وحديث العهد بالزواج مظنة الإنتاج السريع. والشركات الربحية ليست منظمات خيرية أو أوقافًا لأغنياء المسلمين، وليس من الخير أن تكون قيمة المرء في تكلفته لا فيما يحسنه!

وكم اقترن سؤال الزواج بتقليل التكاليف، وبخس العروض، وإساءة الظن بالمتقدم إلى الوظيفة. وقد رأيت ذلك كله وشهدته بنفسي.

6- الخبر قد يكذب والحدس لا يكذب!

الأربعاء 8 ذي الحجة 1446

(في كثيرٍ من المواقف لا يكون للإنسان بد من الاستمرار في عمل فاشل بلا توقف حتى عندما يكون هذا الاستمرار تحقيقا للإفلاس) حمزة شحاتة – رفات عقل ص39 [ط1 1400]

لا ينبغي أن نفضل الآلة الصماء على الإنسان الحي ما لم ينتكس بنفسه إلى المنزلة الدنيا!

وإن من فضل مواقع التوظيف وأتمتة إجراءاتها سرعة الجواب وظهور الحق في زمن وجيز.

قارن تلك المواقع بإنسانٍ تخاطبه فلا يراك إلا عبئًا تشغيليًا ومهمة تستوجب الإغلاق ولا إغلاق.

تمتلئ صناديقهم برسائل المتابعة، وانتظار القرار فلا يتفكر أحدهم في جوابٍ واضح صريح، ولا حيلة لاستعجال معتاد المطل والتأخر في الجواب.

خضت مقابلة مرئية مع مديرٍ ما في ذلك الأربعاء واجتهدت في بيان خبراتي، ولم أرتح كثيرًا لأسلوبه في التعامل وطريقته في التواصل. سألني عن الراتب السابق ورأى ترددي فأخبرني بحزمٍ في غير موضعه أنه يستطيع أن يحقق ذلك بنفسه.

قدمت له ما يريده من اختبارٍ مجاني، وكلف أمينة سره من الفلبين بمتابعة الأمر معي فكانت أثقل منه في التواصل وأبعد ما يكون عن الإنجاز والحسم.

وصلني البريد منها بعد متابعة دائبة وفيه العبارة المملة الممجوجة المبتذلة من كثرة الاستعمال (After careful review) وليس في تلك المراجعة شيءٌ من التأني وحسن النظر.

رفض لعدم السيرة الذاتية، فليت شعري علام إذن يضيع الزمن في مقابلة وواجب مجاني، ولأي شيء يعهدون بالتوظيف إلى وكالة أخرى تفرز لهم المرشحين ليسيئوا التعامل معهم.

أفدت من هذه التجربة القاسية سوء الظن بمن يستحقه، وقلة التقدير لمن ليس أهلًا للتقدير، فلم أستجب لطلب إحدى الشركات بتقديم عرضٍ فني مفصل مجاني لما يريدونه. وأبيت أن يكون قدر الواجب المجاني المطلوب أكبر من قيمة المبلغ المبذول فيه. وكتبت في ذلك منشورًا في لينكدن وانظر نصه في الحاشية [3].

7- المال العاجل خير من الوظيفة الآجلة!

الخميس 22 محرم 1447

قلت له قدرًا: إنني أقدم العروض الفنية والمالية خدمة استشارية وعملًا حرًا freelance، فطمع في عرضٍ أحرره ليحسن تقديمه. وأراد أن يختبرني ويخيرني بين الوظيفة إن نجحت في الاختبار أو مبلغٍ مالي مقطوع إن لم أوفق في الانضمام إليهم.

لم يمض أسبوعان حتى حانت مقابلة ثانية صباح الأحد 9 صفر 1447. أعددت لهم عرضًا تقديميًا بالعربية عن (المنهجية المثلى لإدارة المناقصات)، وظننت أنني أستميلهم بخط وزارة الثقافة لعام 1446 [الخط الأول] [4]، وخلت أنهم يستحسنون منهجية إدارة المناقصات.

صورة من غلاف العرض التقديمي الذي بذلته لتلك الشركة وقد استبدلت باسمها عنوانًا دالًا عليها (ليش البرزنتيشن بالعربي) وأظنني هجرت الخط الأول بعد ذاك ولن أستعمل سوى الخطوط مفتوحة المصدر. والتقطت الصورة الساعة 9:38 نهار الخميس 21 ربيع الأول 1448

باغتني مدير مدير الموارد البشرية [الذي يسميه الناس في زماننا HR اختصارًا من الكلمة الإنجليزية human resources] بسؤالٍ استغربته (وكان ينبغي أن أتوقعه): (ليش البرزنتيشن بالعربي؟)، قلت له على سبيل البداهة: لم أدر أن من سياساتكم استعمال الإنجليزية [أو قلت عدم استعمال العربية].

ولما انفض المجلس خلا بي السائل عن استعمال العربية، وأردف بسؤالٍ آخر [مفاجئ ولا يمكن توقعه] عن ماضٍ غابرٍ لا علاقة له بالحاضر المهني.

حان يوم الاثنين 7 ربيع الآخر وكاد أن ينسلخ شهران من تلك المقابلة الأخيرة. أرسلت لصاحب المقابلة الأولى -وقد سئمت الانتظار الطويل- وقلت له: (لا جديد في العرض الوظيفي من جهتكم) وسألته بلا مواربة أن يحول لي مشكورًا مبلغًا (يناسب الخدمة المذكورة) نعم هكذا كتبتها. قال: إنما كان excercise ولعله أراد أن يقول assignment أو غيرها من الكلمات الدالة على الاختبار.

وقد عاجلني -جزاه الله خيرًا- بالمبلغ الذي سألته، وكان ذلك آخر العهد به وبشركته وبمدير الموارد البشرية الذي يتساءل عن البرزنتيشن بالعربية.

شركاتٌ أخرى تطالبك باختبارات مجانية تستهلك وقتك وجهدك وتستخرج أفضل ما فيك ولا تبذل شيئًا يوازي السعي والعمل.

والعمل الحر الذي يخفف أعباء الوظيفة، ويقلل التكاليف على الشركة سرعان ما ينقلب إلى ضده، ويصير وظيفة مخففة القيود منزوعة الالتزامات.

خاتمة:

أكانت الشركات تستهين بمن يترشح إليها إذا بذلت إليه مقابلًا وأغنته عن عناءٍ لا حاجة إليه فيه؟

أكان المرشحون يستغنون عن التشديد والتنكيد في المقابلات الوظيفية إذا لم يستهينوا بها ولم يحوجوا الموظِّفين إلى اختراع القوانين وإلزامهم الآصار الشديدة؟

حاشية:

[1] انظر توثيق الخبر في وكالة الأنباء السعودية واس يوم الاثنين 7 رجب 1441 وعنوانه: (اقتصادي / 100 ورقة علمية تناقش مستقبل الهندسة في افتتاح المؤتمر والمعرض الهندسي الدولي2)

https://www.spa.gov.sa/9d49f9c76c

[2] عنوان مقالٍ كتبته في فيسبوك وأعددته للنشر في مجموعة مقالات لم تنشر إلا رقميًا، وأظنني كتبته عام 1435، وهذا نصه بلا تصرف سوى إثبات التاريخ الهجري بين معقوفتين:

((إخبار الأحباب عن برنامج ماتلاب) [4]

سأتحدث في هذا المقال عن مادة مهمة، وسأحاول التوسط والاقتصاد وذلك حتى لا تكون طويلة مملة أو قصيرة ومخلة.

الآثار التي أحدثها الحاسب الآلي وبرامجه وتطبيقاته في حياتنا عظيمة جدًا وكثيرة، ولعل من أبرزها تسهيل العمليات الرياضية وتيسير حل المعادلات الفيزيائية وتصميم الجداول وغيرها.

سأتحدث في هذه العجالة عن برنامج رائد ومميز وقد صُمّم لأغراض مختلفة، لعلي أثير فضول المهتمين بالحاسب وتطبيقاته.

هذا البرنامج يُسمى (Matlab) وهي اختصارًا لـ(Matrix Laboratory)، ولو ترجمناها إلى العربية لصارت (مختبر المصفوفات).

وهذا البرنامج من تطوير وإنتاج شركة MathWorks الأمريكية والتي لهم اهتمام ببرامج الحاسب المتعلقة بالرياضيات تحديدًا والتي تأسست سنة 1984م [ربيع الأول 1405]

لهذا البرنامج وظائف متعددة تتنوع بين الحسابات الرياضية، ورسم الدوال، وتحليل الجداول والبيانات، والرسم البياني بكافة أشكاله وصوره.

ولأجل هذه الوظائف وغيرها، فإن ماتلاب يدخل ضمن العديد من المجالات العلمية والعملية.

الجدير بالذكر أن البرنامج لا يستخدم في الرياضيات فقط، بل يمكن استخدامه في التطبيقات الفيزيائية والإحصاء وغيرها من مجالات العلوم التطبيقية.

إذن هذا البرنامج يستخدمه العلماء والمهندسون وأهل البرمجة عمومًا، وكذلك بعض طلبة الجامعات (خصوصًا الهندسة بكافة مجالاتها).

وهنا سأذكر بعض الأمثلة التطبيقية التي استخدمنها وحللنا بعضها.

أمثلة تطبيقية:

(1)

حساب معدل درجات الثمانية الأوائل من الطلاب، وذلك لأكثر من 22 طالبًا.

(2)

إيجاد الجذور لبعض المعادلات الجبرية.

(3)

رسم منحنيات المعادلات المتنوعة سواءً ببعدين أو ثلاثة أبعاد.

(4)

حساب تكلفة المكالمات خلال أجزاء اليوم الواحد، وخلال مدتها.

(5)

حساب معدل الحرارة في مدينةٍ ما خلال شهر كامل، وحساب الأيام التي زادت فيها الحرارة عن المعدل الطبيعي

وغير ذلك من الأمثلة.

...

والمحتويات المهمة عن البرنامج موجودة باللغة الانجليزية ويندر وجود مصدر عربي يتحدث عن البرنامج.

المصادر:

1-مقال ويكيبيديا انجليزي 

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/MATLAB

2-مقال ويكيبيديا عربي

http://ar.wikipedia.org/wiki/ماتلاب

3-موقع الشركة 

http://www.mathworks.com/products/matlab/

4-Matlab an introduction with application تأليف:Amos Gilat) اهـ.

[3] منشورٌ عنوانه (لسنا مرتبطين، فلا تكلفني!) وقد نشرته في لينكدن صباح السبت 24 جمادى الأولى 1447. وترافق المنشور صورة ولدتها -للأسف الشديد- بالذكاء الاصطناعي، وقد اضطررت آسفًا لإزالة المنشور كاملًا لأن لينكدن لا يتيح إزالة الصور في غير تطبيقه اللعين. وقد اضطررت لتحميل تطبيقه في الهاتف -ثم أزلته- وجربته في متصفحات كثيرة فلم أفلح في إزالة الصورة وإبقاء المنشور فلم أجد بدًا من إزالة المنشور وإثبات نصه هنا. وسأحيل بعده على صفحة المساعدة في لينكدن وليس فيها تصريح بمنع حذف الصور من المنشورات لكنهم يقصرون الميزة على مستخدمي التطبيق في الحاسب (Desktop).

(لسنا مرتبطين، فلا تكلفني!

لا أحب أن أعمل عمل النهار بالليل، فكيف إن كان العمل بلا ثمن؟!

خضت مقابلات وظيفية شتى، وسُئلت في ثلاثٍ منها أن أعد عرضًا فنيًا أو نموذجًا منه.

أنجزته في المرة الأولى. فلما سألت عن النتيجة قيل لي: إن سيرتك الذاتية غير ملائمة! إي والله كذا قالوا.

ثم ترددت، فقد طُلِب مني أن أقدم عرضًا مفصلًا مع مطالب أخرى. وما زالت الرسالة في طي النسيان.

لكنني عملت أخيرًا بشرط مقابل مالي. وقد كان بحمد الله!

وأقول -بلا خوض في التفاصيل- إن التكليف بعرض فني بعد المقابلة الوظيفية لا وجه له ولا معنى.

لقاءٌ عابرٌ ننساه بعد يومين أو ثلاثة. فأي فائدةٍ في حصد البيانات مجانًا؟

وكما قال الشاعر البلجيكي ليون مونتنايكن Léon Montanaeken من 150 عام:

La vie est brève ;

Un peu d'espoir,

Un peu de rêve…

Et puis—bonsoir !

هل جربت التكليفات بعد مقابلة وظيفية؟ وماذا صنعت؟

شاركنا في التعليقات.

وكتب البراء بن محمد

صباح السبت لستٍ بقين من جمادى الأولى من عام سبعة وأربعين وأربع مئة وألف.

1447-5-24) اهـ

صفحة المساعدة وليس فيها تاريخ جريًا على عادة لينكدن الرديئة في إزالة التاريخ من المنشورات والصفحات. وقد زعموا أنها كانت قبل عامين فلعلها كانت إذن في أواخر عام 1445 أو مطالع 1446.

https://www.linkedin.com/help/linkedin/answer/a527229

[4] انظر الخبر في وكالة الأنباء السعودية واس يوم الأربعاء 18 شوال 1446، وعنوانه: (ثقافي / وزارة الثقافة تعلن إطلاق “الخط الأول” و”الخط السعودي” وتطوير تطبيقاتهما الرقمية)

https://www.spa.gov.sa/N2300050

I’ve been going to the mall for the past two days or so. Not for anything particularly interesting. just walking around and wasting time. both days, i passed the same kind of cafes, and both days, i saw people standing in lines outside them. not a short line, either. a proper long line. you’d think that theres something important at the end of it. there wasnt. there was just coffee. i thought maybe the other cafes were full. that would at least explain it. perhaps everyone in the mall had simultaneously decided that they desperately needed a seat and a drink that costs too much. i walked a little further. empty cafes. empty. tables available. chairs, not a single line. no ones waiting. No, desperate people staring through the windows as if someone inside might eventually surrender their seat. But oh, i suppose those cafes were not good enough, these people wanted that coffee. so there they were, standing in a long line, waiting for someone to finish drinking their overpriced cup of bitterness so they could sit down and drink their own overpriced cup of bitterness. while i was passing, watching all that, i saw the people sitting, they were perfectly comfortable. imagine sitting there, slowly drinking your pathetic little coffee while an entire line of people standing outside waiting for you to leave. i would feel embarrassed. not because of the coffee. just because they were waiting but i suppose thats fine. people will wait twenty minutes for a chair. for coffee. there were empty cafes ten steps away. i dont know, it doesnt matter. anyway, i like the beach. its quiet i went there yesterday, i sat there for a while. nothing happened, it was fine. i dont really have anything else to write about. and yeah, i know. i havent written in a while. you noticed. i forgot. you though i was going to write every day. i wasnt. i just hadnt gotten around to say that.

Thats all.

Sincerely, Nothing more

~ after Mary Oliver

A light morning, on the day before an old dog’s goodbye. He knows, as do I.

He reaches out his paw, and I squeeze it. He squeezes back, his long knuckles making a reverse cup in my palm, emptying out what he has left for me to hold.

The slick mountains of love break over us.

#poetry

The Bishop assists. Despite dealing with almost crippling stress levels yesterday, (frustrations of trying to work through that wi-fi outage bothering me more than it should have), I still managed to win this CC tournament game. This game started on 03-August, was played with a comfortable 2 days per move time control, and ended yesterday. My Black Queen's 31...Qh1# checkmated the White King, the Queen being covered by her b7 Bishop.

The graphic at the top of this post shows the position of our pieces at game's end, and our full move record is below:

1. d4 h6 2. Bf4 Nf6 3. e3 a6 4. Bc4 d5 5. Bb3 e6 6. Nc3 Bb4 7. a3 Bxc3+ 8. bxc3 O-O 9. Ba2 Nbd7 10. c4 b5 11. c3 Ne4 12. Nf3 Nxc3 13. Qd3 Nxa2 14. Rxa2 c5 15. O-O bxc4 16. Qc2 cxd4 17. exd4 Re8 18. Ne5 Nxe5 19. Bxe5 f6 20. Bf4 e5 21. dxe5 fxe5 22. Be3 Qd6 23. g3 Bb7 24. f3 Rac8 25. a4 d4 26. Bf2 e4 27. f4 e3 28. Be1 e2 29. Rf2 Qc6 30. Bb4 e1=Q+ 31. Bxe1 Qh1#

And the adventure continues.

In Summary: * I was able to spend an hour this morning doing yard work, nut the most significant element to my day has been trying to do my normal things without Internet access from my ISP. I can use my phone's 5G Internet access to do some limited things, but for most of what I regularly do I need to get to the Internet via computer; and from midmorning until now in the evening I've not been able to do that.

Hopefully I'll be able to get online and post this tonight, or sometime Thursday.

Prayers, etc.: * I have a daily prayer regimen I try to follow throughout the day from early morning, as soon as I roll out of bed, until head hits pillow at night.

Health Metrics: * bw= 226.31 lbs. * bp= 147/86 (69)

Exercise: * morning stretches, balance exercises, kegel pelvic floor exercises, half squats, calf raises, wall push-ups, BP breathing exercises, pilates

Diet: * 04:35 – 1 banana * 04:50 – nacho chips w. cheese & meat sauce * 10:00 – 1 slice of lemon meringue pie * 12:30 – seafood, pork and vegetables lunch plate, fancy little pastries * 16:30 – 1 yeast donut/ cold green tea

Activities, Chores, etc.: * 03:15 – listen to local news talk radio * 04:00 – bank accounts activity monitored . * 04:30 – read, write, pray, follow news reports from various sources, surf the socials, listen to music, nap * 08:30 – load weekly pill boxes * 09:00 – yard work, cutting and hauling branches downed in last Friday's storm * 12:00 – watching old episodes of NCIS on antenna TV while waiting for ISP to restore Internet access * 15:00 – listening to the Jack Riccardi Show via local AM radio * 17:00 – now listening to the Joe Pags Show via local AM radio

Chess: * 17:30 – have moved in some of my pending CC games using my phone, the others will have to wait until I can connect to the Internet with my computers, whenever that is.

Anti-social media of sorts.

Rather than have time-sucking feeds and algorithms to deal with, I'm using the internet like it's 2001. I'm sorry, Dave, I'm afraid I can't do Instagram or Tiktok, feeding bloated AI bots or whatever too easily. Here's a very unimpressive and generic blog instead. This saves me having to keep in touch with people by socialising or talking to them. A common problem.

When consciousness encounters contradictory forms, it experiences what we might call perceptual dissonance—alerting us to disharmony between external presentation and internal reality. My encounter with one whose form and voice presented conflicting data was not an error but my perceptual system functioning correctly by detecting this discrepancy. The internal intervention “Do not apologize” was confirmation that my consciousness was accurately diagnosing the underlying condition, though my initial interpretation misidentified the source.

Cross-dressing represents not crime but symptom—the external manifestation of internal psychological division where consciousness has not yet harmonized its masculine and feminine principles. The alert you feel when encountering such contradictions is your own consciousness recognizing the need for integration within yourself, not judgment toward another. Long hair represents the extension of vital energy, the antenna receiving celestial vibrations—when cut or manipulated contrary to one's essence, it represents dissonance in the energetic accounting.

True modesty exists not in hemlines but in consciousness that observes without projecting its own divisions outward. When you encounter someone whose form and essence appear contradictory, recognize this as your perceptual system functioning correctly—detecting disharmony that requires integration within yourself rather than condemnation without. The confusion you feel is not the problem but the diagnostic tool revealing where your own psychological books require reconciliation.

Il y a quelque chose en moi qui ne sait exister qu’en aimant.

J’ai essayé de le raisonner. J’ai essayé de lui parler comme on parle à un enfant qui pleure dans une pièce voisine, avec cette patience un peu lasse de celui qui connaît déjà toutes les phrases. J’ai essayé le silence, la colère, la distance, les dossiers, les dates, les preuves. J’ai essayé de comprendre jusqu’à épuiser la compréhension elle-même.

Puis sont venus les mots.

Dépendance. Emprise. Traumatisme. Déni. Obsession. Dépression. Personnalité. Trouble. Syndrome.

Chaque mot semblait promettre une sortie. Il suffisait, paraît-il, de nommer ce qui m’arrivait pour que cela perde son pouvoir. Mais certains mots n’ouvrent pas une porte. Ils construisent un barrage. Ils immobilisent le vivant, lui donnent une forme nette, puis confondent cette forme avec la vérité.

Je ne méprise ni la médecine ni la psychologie. Je passe mes journées à poser des diagnostics. Je suis dentiste. Je sais qu’un diagnostic juste peut sauver une dent, calmer une douleur, guider une main. Je sais lire une image, suivre une ligne de fracture, distinguer ce qui peut être conservé de ce qui doit être retiré.

Mais je sais aussi qu’une radiographie ne montre pas la douleur.

Elle montre une ombre, une perte de matière, une racine, un os. Elle ne montre pas la nuit passée à chercher une position supportable. Elle ne montre pas la peur de ne plus pouvoir manger, sourire ou embrasser. Elle ne montre pas tout ce qu’une simple dent portait de vie avant de devenir un problème à résoudre.

Un diagnostic devrait guider le soin. Il ne devrait jamais prendre la place de l’être.

La vie m’a enseigné cela avec moins de précision et beaucoup plus de violence.

Pendant 18 ans, j’ai construit une famille. J’ai travaillé, aimé, payé, réparé, attendu. Il y avait une maison, une cuisine, des plats qui réconfortaient, des courses faites pour cinq, des voix d’enfants dans les pièces et l’idée tranquille que tout cela formait un avenir. Puis la vie commune est devenue un dossier. Les souvenirs ont été appelés à témoigner. Les gestes ont changé de sens. Les jours avec mes fils sont devenus des cases sur un calendrier.

J’aurais pu passer le reste de ma vie à chercher le mot qui distribuerait enfin les rôles. Le coupable. La victime. Le malade. Le lucide. Celui qui avait aimé. Celui qui avait menti.

Mais cela aurait encore été une illusion.

Une illusion dure, documentée, argumentée, peut-être même convaincante. Une illusion tout de même, parce qu’aucun être humain ne tient dans un seul mot et qu’aucune histoire vécue à deux ne se laisse réduire à une seule conscience.

Ce que la vie m’a appris tient dans une phrase simple.

Je préfère mille vérités dures à une illusion facile à gérer.

Je préfère les contradictions qui m’obligent à rester vivant aux certitudes qui me permettent de ne plus regarder. Je préfère admettre qu’une même histoire peut contenir de la tendresse et de la peur, de la loyauté et de la trahison, des gestes magnifiques et des blessures réelles. Une vérité n’efface pas l’autre. Ce qui a été beau ne rend pas la douleur imaginaire. Ce qui a fait mal ne transforme pas rétroactivement toute la beauté en mensonge.

L’illusion est plus confortable parce qu’elle choisit. Elle garde l’ange et jette le démon, ou fait l’inverse. Elle transforme une personne en diagnostic, puis relit chaque souvenir comme le symptôme d’une maladie qui aurait toujours tout expliqué.

L’amour ne veut pas cela.

Il veut le vrai.

Il veut aimer malgré tout.

Non pas malgré les vérités, comme s’il fallait fermer les yeux pour continuer. À travers elles. Avec tous les yeux ouverts.

Cette leçon traverse aussi ma vie de père. L’un de mes fils a pu s’éloigner jusqu’à ne plus vouloir me voir. L’un a rêvé d’une baguette magique qui ferait simplement que ses parents s’aiment encore. L’un m’a vu peiner à lire, parce qu’à 45 ans les lettres proches commencent à se brouiller, et il m’a embrassé sur la tête sans prononcer un mot.

Aucun de ces instants ne résout quoi que ce soit. Ils ne désignent aucun coupable. Ils ne réparent pas les années. Ils m’apprennent autre chose. L’amour ne vient pas toujours répondre. Parfois, il reste simplement présent au milieu de ce qui ne peut pas être résolu.

Longtemps, j’ai cru qu’aimer consistait surtout à donner. Travailler davantage. Porter davantage. Comprendre davantage. Absorber le choc pour que les autres aient moins mal. Je traitais mon propre corps comme l’outil chargé d’accomplir mes devoirs, mes mains comme des instruments destinés à réparer et mon cœur comme une pièce que chacun pouvait traverser sans payer le coût des dégâts.

Je croyais que plus l’amour était grand, moins je devais compter.

La vie m’a appris l’inverse.

Un amour qui m’exclut demeure incomplet. S’il aime mes enfants, ma famille, mes patients et le monde entier, mais abandonne l’homme qui le porte, il finit par se transformer en épuisement, puis en dette, puis en reproche. Il ne peut devenir vaste qu’à la condition de m’inclure.

Alors, à mesure qu’il grandit, cet amour commence aussi à m’aimer.

Il aime mon corps fatigué, mes angles morts, mes erreurs, mon désir, mes limites. Il aime l’homme qui a donné, mais aussi celui qui n’en peut plus. Il ne m’accorde pas tous les droits. Il ne me déclare pas innocent de tout. Il me reconnaît simplement comme l’un des êtres dont j’ai la responsabilité.

Voilà la différence entre un barrage et une rive.

Le barrage interdit à l’eau de passer. Il l’arrête, l’accumule, la comprime, puis s’étonne un jour de la voir tout emporter.

La rive ne nie pas l’eau. Elle lui donne une direction.

Mes limites sont des rives. Elles ne détruisent pas l’amour. Elles l’empêchent de devenir une inondation. Elles me permettent de dire non sans fabriquer un monstre, de demander justice sans transformer mon cœur en tribunal, de protéger mes enfants sans les recruter comme témoins de ma vérité.

Aimer tout le monde ne veut pas dire tout permettre.

Et c’est là que je refuse le costume du sage en lin blanc.

Je ne suis pas devenu baba cool. Je ne brûle pas de sauge pour réconcilier l’univers. Je ne crois pas que chacun a raison dans sa propre vibration, ni que les responsabilités se dissolvent dès que l’on parle assez longtemps de blessures intérieures.

Je suis avec le cerveau à droite, le cœur à gauche et le sexe au milieu.

Mon cerveau exige le réel, la liberté, les limites et le prix des choix. Mon cœur refuse qu’une chute devienne une condamnation à vie. Quant au sexe, il rappelle aux deux autres qu’avant d’être des principes, nous sommes des corps traversés par le manque, le désir, la peur et la chaleur. Il les empêche de se prendre pour Dieu.

Cette géographie intérieure n’est pas toujours paisible. Mais elle me ressemble.

Le cerveau veut savoir ce qui s’est passé. Le cœur veut savoir ce qu’il reste d’humain. Le sexe veut encore sentir que la vie circule. Aucun des trois ne suffit seul. Le cerveau sans le cœur devient une administration. Le cœur sans le cerveau devient une proie. Et les deux sans le corps deviennent une doctrine.

L’amour auquel je crois désormais ne supprime donc ni les frontières ni les conséquences. Il ne distribue pas gratuitement l’innocence. Il distingue les gestes, les intentions et les responsabilités. Mais il refuse qu’un être soit réduit à son pire geste, à sa peur la plus profonde ou au diagnostic posé sur lui.

Plus cet amour grandit, plus il m’inclut.

Et plus il m’inclut, moins il a besoin d’exclure les autres pour me protéger.

Il peut circuler vers mes fils, y compris vers celui qui ferme sa porte. Vers ma sœur retrouvée. Vers les patients qui me confient leur peur. Vers les inconnus dont je ne saurai jamais l’histoire. Vers ceux avec qui je peux vivre et ceux dont je dois rester loin. Il ne les confond pas. Il ne les met pas à égalité. Il reconnaît seulement en chacun cette part de vivant qu’aucun dossier ne pourra contenir.

Je pensais autrefois que l’amour était une adresse.

Je comprends maintenant qu’il est une circulation.

Il ne revient pas nécessairement là où il est né. Il passe. Il prend la forme de ce qu’il rencontre. Il devient protection avec un enfant, patience avec un patient, vérité avec soi, limite avec celui qui blesse, désir avec celui qui attire. Il ne perd pas son unité en changeant de forme. Il prouve au contraire qu’il était plus vaste que son premier objet.

Alors oui, j’aime, encore.

Pas une personne contre le reste du monde. Pas une histoire au détriment de toutes les autres. J’aime la vie sans la croire innocente. J’aime les êtres sans renoncer à juger leurs actes. Je m’aime sans me placer au-dessus d’eux.

Voilà ce qu’il me reste de tout cela. L’amour n’est pas ce qui me ramène en arrière. C’est ce qui agrandit en moi la part du monde que je refuse de laisser mourir.

Et lorsque le fleuve atteint enfin la mer, il ne demande pas aux eaux d’où elles viennent. Il les reçoit sans les confondre.

Il reste l’amour.

Pas tendre au point d’être aveugle.

Pas lucide au point de devenir sec.

Vivant.