This is a story. It is a reflection. It is incomplete, because the life it mirrors is incomplete. It will change beyond all recognition. It already has changed. Some of it is true, none of it is true, all of it is true.
I never lie, and I am always right.
The beginning is lost. Then there are dim memories of descent and of waiting.
He emerged into the first world. A dark horse danced sparks from paper; they became words and the first key of magic was turned. Growing, water was his home as much as land. Friends dwindled one by one. His imagination ranged far into the stars, into time. Ten words were spoken by a reader, a teacher, and the second key of magic was turned.
The wheel swung; change accelerated in his body and he entered the first dark gate, skimming the sleepless borders of madness until he broke the chains that dragged him down. In that rising of the dark, he found light, and the holy became plural. In that time, the third key of magic was turned.
He emerged into the next world. Mostly alone, he began to gather threads of companionship. The romance of history was opened to him. After that, the place of truer learning. After that, the garden of love. After that, the community of spirit. And so the fourth key of magic was turned. He found his voice; began to court his muse.
The wheel swung and he entered the next dark gate, skimming the razor edge of death. Possibility collapsed around him and hope nearly failed. Then he turned, defied the hopeless struggle, and sought rescue.
He emerged into the next world. He found the other half of his soul, courted and won her. Where there was one, now there were two who were one. Together they planned, journeyed, grew roots.
The wheel swung and he entered the next dark gate, skimming the cruel fields of helplessness. His other half languished in sorrow, and they nearly came to ruin. But then they piled small change upon small change, and rebuilt the fire. He began to forgive his limitations.
They emerged into this world.