Somewhere at the End is Not the Beginning

At the end of a long hall filled with treacherous traps, a man finds that he has returned to where he started, and before him is stretched out a long hall that is filled with treacherous traps.

He has risked his life to travel in a circle. His heart sinks.

Wait. No.

It is a mirror he gazes into, showing him the path he has traversed, the obstacles he's overcome. What had defeated him briefly was only the image of where he'd been.

Some might say that stories are circles: if the end doesn't bring you back to the beginning, it has failed perfection.

But a story, by its very structure within the confines of time and narrative, can only contain an image at the end which reflects back upon the journey, giving the illusion of circularity.

The story, every story, is a line. At its end, you may look back on what has come before, perhaps in a way that is so evocative, that for a moment, you can believe in a nostalgia-proof circle.

Hwaet, Me Worry?

If I seem on edge, it isn't because Ragnarok partially describes the future. It's because it accurately describes the near past and present.

The old Norse didn't know everything, but they had a pretty good handle on the strength of the world and its people, but also the fire and ice that burns and freezes inside creation and evelopes its destruction.

Ice can heal a wound, fire can light a path. But what did Smeagol scream when put in chains? "It burns! It freezes!" Destruction, too, can be ice and fire.

I see Ragnarok, not in a mythical time, but in ours, today. Today, I acknowledge the martyrs.