So, who am I?
This is a tricky question to answer as I’m not always
entirely sure who I am from one moment to the next.
In fact, all I'm certain of is that I'm not quite the same
person as I was when I first arrived on VR. A close
friend says I'm like the wind, always changing intensity
and direction.Anothers said time and important
happenings in my life didn't change me at all.
I know for sure that yesterday I had it all and lost it
and today I am on the road searching for another way,
my way.
The universes are our model of the Universe.
They are great schemes of intricate thought
– grand belief systems –
that rationalize the human experience.
They harmonize and invest with meaning the rising
and setting Sun, the waxing and waning Moon,
the jewelled lights of the night sky,
the landscapes of rocks and trees,
and the tumult of everyday life.
Each determines what is perceived and what
constitutes valid knowledge, and the members
of a society believe what they perceive and perceive
what they believe.
A universe is a mask fitted on the face of the
unknown Universe.
A mask is applied not only shielding ugliness.
Shall I be known through the masks I wear.
So masked my face - so masked my mind.
It doesn’t matter which side of me hides or reveals this mask,
I sometimes use it as a shield to look at what others can never see.
The darkness masks the mask.
And when not only the mask dies, may you then mask this dying naked soul of mine.
All the world's a stage,
And all the men and women merely players:
They have their exits and their entrances;
And one man in his time plays many parts,
His acts being seven ages. At first the infant,
Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms.
And then the whining school-boy, with his satchel
And shining morning face, creeping like snail
Unwillingly to school. And then the lover,
Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad
Made to his mistress' eyebrow. Then a soldier,
Full of strange oaths and bearded like the pard,
Jealous in honour, sudden and quick in quarrel,
Seeking the bubble reputation
Even in the cannon's mouth. And then the justice,
In fair round belly with good capon lined,
With eyes severe and beard of formal cut,
Full of wise saws and modern instances;
And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts
Into the lean and slipper'd pantaloon,
With spectacles on nose and pouch on side,
His youthful hose, well saved, a world too wide
For his shrunk shank; and his big manly voice,
Turning again toward childish treble, pipes
And whistles in his sound. Last scene of all,
That ends this strange eventful history,
Is second childishness and mere oblivion,
Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.
William Shakespeare
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