Water’s Wish
Water’s Wish
“That was incredible!” the Matoran gasped. Tuyet smiled at the Matoran. “How did you do that, mighty Toa?”
“Years of practice, little one,” Tuyet insisted. It was a simple elemental trick for a Toa of Water, but to the powerless Matoran’s eyes, it appeared like a miracle.
“Who taught you? I need to know!” asked the Matoran. “If I became a Toa one day, I want to be coached by the same one that coached the great Toa Tuyet!”
Tuyet frowned, slightly agitated by the Matoran’s pestering. She had hoped the Matoran would move on with her day, but she persisted to hang around. As much as she wanted, this Matoran was annoying at best. Tuyet knew a little about fate— enough to sense that this Matoran was not destined to be a Toa.
A thought popped into her head. The Toa of Water smiled.
“The Great Spirit, in all his wisdom, taught me,” Tuyet lied. “because of something my Turaga taught me when I was a Matoran like yourself.”
“What was it?” the Matoran cried, excitement leaping from her voice. “I must know!”
The impatience of the Matoran was starting to wear on Tuyet. She did her best not to snap.
“It was when the twin moons of the Great Spirit were full, and his gaze was upon my island,” Tuyet began. A wolfish smile grew upon her mask as she ‘recounted’ the tale. “I went to the water in between the riptides on the beach. The beams of the moon were shining down on the water. I made my way into the ocean, and scooped it up in my hands.”
“Scoop up the ocean water?” the Matoran asked, confused. “Why would you do that? Was it blessed?
Tuyet held up a hand for the Matoran to be quiet. “My Turaga had told me if I scooped water and held the moon, I would have caught the sight of the Great Spirit,” she explained. “If either of the moons had stayed in the water in my hand, I would have caught the Great Spirit’s eye. He would see that I was a skilled enough Matoran to become a Toa.”
“…did you?”
“I stand before you as a Toa, little one,” Tuyet snipped. “Of course it did!”
“My apologies, Toa,” the Matoran bowed her head. “If I may, I have one question.”
“What is it?” she asked.
“How did this catch the sight of the Great Spirit Mata Nui?”
“It is said that the cupping of the moon gives you a month of good luck, little one,” Tuyet explained. “And in that month, the Great Spirit looked down from the stars and showed me wisdom that to this day I cannot describe. With that wisdom I was able to figure out where to find my Toa stone.”
The two were silent for a moment as the Matoran reveled in the ‘magic’ of the tale.
“I need to try this!” the Matoran breathed, incredulous.
“If you want to be a Toa, you may,” Tuyet said softly. “But I must give you some warnings, and you must heed them carefully.”
“What are they?” asked the Matoran. “I will follow them as you say.”
Tuyet smiled. The Matoran was taking her advice without any question. It was ridiculous, she thought, as to what these villagers would believe. “If you want the attention and blessing of the Great Spirit, you must do so under two conditions.
First, only go when the moon is full. If the twin moons are not at their fullest and brightest, then go nowhere near the water. The Great Spirit’s attention is elsewhere, and you will not find it on that night.”
“That makes sense,” the Matoran supposed. “And the second?”
“Make sure you go alone,” Tuyet said, her voice grave. “Go alone, and tell no one you are going. If someone comes with you or is even knows of your plans, then they will distract the Great Spirit from you. This needs to be your night and your night alone. No one else can be there. If there is someone else present, the Great Spirit will not be able to put his attention on solely you.”
The Matoran bowed deeply. “Toa Tuyet, you are a wise Toa, and I hope to one day walk with you as a sister. I am forever in your debt.”
Tuyet smiled and offered a fist to her. “Heed my advice little one, and we will have many adventures together as sisters of the tide.”
The Matoran clanked her fist, bowed once more, and ran along.
She did not happen to see the wolfish smile on Tuyet’s mask as she ran away.
***
Moonglow danced along the sand in the stillness of the night, casting a silvery shine along the coast.
The Ga-Matoran’s feet wove through this shine and the shadows that intertwined with it as she made her way down the beach. Excitement pulsed through her system as she breathed in the crisp air of the eve. She could hardly believe what was happening— the moment she had been waiting for was unfolding before her very eyes. To her, everything looked and felt just as she thought it should.
The twin moons were brimming full as they looked upon the night shore. Their light spilled into a miraculous pool out on the horizon line, before trailing their gaze towards the beach through long, matching columns of light. The shine of moonlight sparkled as it refracted in the ocean.
Long lines of whitewater toppled in to shore. They tumbled softly over the sand, before washing back into the greater ocean.
The Ga-Matoran’s pace quickened as she crossed the sands and shells, making her way toward the water. Her hands were in front of her as she walked, cupped almost as if in prayer.
Her breath was ragged as she stepped from the sand to the sea, so nervous with excitement as she was. The surf tumbled lightly around her legs as she waded into the water. She walked through effortlessly, not allowing anything to deter her from her goal.
“Oh Great Spirit,” she called into the night. “Please let me catch your gaze in these waters tonight. Please see me out here, so I might be graced with your blessing.”
The ocean glimmered with white light as she waded thigh deep into the ocean. Moonlight danced all around the Ga-Matoran, surrounding her in a nighttime glow.
She took her gaze off of the sky and stared solely at the ocean. The night sky was mesmerizing, but it was not where she needed to focus her efforts. She needed to look to the sea. The reflection of the moon was there, bobbing to and fro in the waves. The Ga-Matoran cupped her hands and dipped them into the ocean. She held her breath in anticipation, anxious to see what would come with her.
Her hands emerged with a hefty scoop of ocean being held so very carefully by her hopeful palms.
Moonlight came with her, glimmers visible in the sloshing of the night ocean. Little pockets of white light flashed in the water in her hands as she gazed as it, the moonlight sparkling into her mask.
The moon itself though did not come with her. The orbs were still only visible in the surface of the water, not coming with her hands.
She let the water spill between her fingers to join the rest of the ocean. Her eyes, so filled with starlight and hope, grew troubled. Did she do it wrong? The moon had been right there. She had scooped it, but it did not come with her.
She would try again, she decided. Fixing her gaze upon the reflection of the moon, she dipped her hands once more. She then lunged into the deeper waters, scooping at the sphere with her hands…
But when she brought it to her mask, the water was only glimmers of moonlight again.
It came up for just a moment with her that time. She had seen it in her hands. She was almost there!
Toa Tuyet had not told her this would be an easy task, she understood that. The Great Spirit was not an easy being to get the attention of. He was testing her. If she really wanted his full attention, she had to try harder.
She pulled herself through the water, closer to the moon once more. Putting her hands out, she reached once more, only for a wave to wash over her.
The moon seemed to grow closer in her grip as she persisted. As it grew higher in the sky, the moon seemed to travel less, the Ga-Matoran had more and more of a grip on it. It was as if the Great Spirit was making her chase him, she thought. She would play his game, she decided, and in exchange she hoped he would give her what she wanted.
She kicked in the water, propelling herself toward the moon. Taking a stroke, she stroked underwater and pulled herself toward the moon…
A wave washed over her, tossing the Matoran back under the water. She let out a yell of surprise, only to feel the salt water rush into her mouth. Her world spun as the water toppled over her.
She popped to the surface, gasping for air. Her head went in all directions, until she could see that she was very far from the coast. The shore was but a thin line of white sand in the dark. She had ventured out very far.
The wave washing over her had awakened her in a way, driving all thoughts of the Great Spirit from her mind. She needed to get back to shore, she knew. It was dangerous to be this far out in the ocean at night.
The Matoran started to swim in shore. She pulled herself through the water towards the land,
trying with all her might only to make no headway. She could feel herself fatigued as she stroked, no longer energized as she had been moments before.
The Matoran’s strokes grew more frantic, as she tried fighting whatever was keeping her from the shore. She stroked and kicked rapidly, using all of her fading might. But her limited skill in the water and her efforts were no match for the riptides that were keeping her from the shore.
She moaned in despair, utterly exhausted in her fight against the ocean. She wanted to keep paddling, she wanted to kick more, but she was so tired…
A glimmer of moonlight caught her eye. The moon, now at its peak in the night, reflected right next to where the Matoran swam. Her eyes went wild, suddenly remembering what she had come out here for. She could reach for it, ask the Great Spirit for a wave—something, anything that would help her get to shore…
The water was pulling against her, and the moon was only a few strokes away. The Matoran had to get it, to make her wish— not for Toahood or power, but for the safety of the shore.
The Matoran took a deep breath. It was now or never. She plunged herself under, ready to kick and come up right next to the moon…
And after that the black water was unbroken for the rest of the night. The twin moons, eyes of the Great Spirit, beamed down to look at an empty beach and a still, uninterrupted sea.
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at some point it's just like. do they even fucking like the thing they're asking AI to make? "oh we'll just use AI for all the scripts" "we'll just use AI for art" "no worries AI can write this book" "oh, AI could easily design this"
like... it's so clear they've never stood in the middle of an art museum and felt like crying, looking at a piece that somehow cuts into your marrow even though the artist and you are separated by space and time. they've never looked at a poem - once, twice, three times - just because the words feel like a fired gun, something too-close, clanging behind your eyes. they've never gotten to the end of the movie and had to arrive, blinking, back into their body, laughing a little because they were holding their breath without realizing.
"oh AI can mimic style" "AI can mimic emotion" "AI can mimic you and your job is almost gone, kid."
... how do i explain to you - you can make AI that does a perfect job of imitating me. you could disseminate it through the entire world and make so much money, using my works and my ideas and my everything.
and i'd still keep writing.
i don't know there's a word for it. in high school, we become aware that the way we feel about our artform is a cliche - it's like breathing. over and over, artists all feel the same thing. "i write because i need to" and "my music is how i speak" and "i make art because it's either that or i stop existing." it is such a common experience, the violence and immediacy we mean behind it is like breathing to me - comes out like a useless understatement. it's a cliche because we all feel it, not because the experience isn't actually persistent. so many of us have this ... fluttering urgency behind our ribs.
i'm not doing it for the money. for a star on the ground in some city i've never visited. i am doing it because when i was seven i started taking notebooks with me on walks. i am doing it because in second grade i wrote a poem and stood up in front of my whole class to read it out while i shook with nerves. i am doing it because i spent high school scribbling all my feelings down. i am doing it for the 16 year old me and the 18 year old me and the today-me, how we can never put the pen down. you can take me down to a subatomic layer, eviscerate me - and never find the source of it; it is of me. when i was 19 i named this blog inkskinned because i was dramatic and lonely and it felt like the only thing that was actually permanently-true about me was that this is what is inside of me, that the words come up over everything, coat everything, bloom their little twilight arias into every nook and corner and alley
"we're gonna replace you". that is okay. you think that i am writing to fill a space. that someone said JOB OPENING: Writer Needed, and i wrote to answer. you think one raindrop replaces another, and i think they're both just falling. you think art has a place, that is simply arrives on walls when it is needed, that is only ever on demand, perfect, easily requested. you see "audience spending" and "marketability" and "multi-line merch opportunity"
and i see a kid drowning. i am writing to make her a boat. i am writing because what used to be a river raft has long become a fully-rigged ship. i am writing because you can fucking rip this out of my cold dead clammy hands and i will still come back as a ghost and i will still be penning poems about it.
it isn't even love. the word we use the most i think is "passion". devotion, obsession, necessity. my favorite little fact about the magic of artists - "abracadabra" means i create as i speak. we make because it sluices out of us. because we look down and our hands are somehow already busy. because it was the first thing we knew and it is our backbone and heartbreak and everything. because we have given up well-paying jobs and a "real life" and the approval of our parents. we create because - the cliche again. it's like breathing. we create because we must.
you create because you're greedy.
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