Escher, A Mad Tea Party, Gödel, Arias and Why: a STORY to hear

Hear ye all, for I have a story to tell. It begins with Estel, a child of hope who was raised by elves. Though the elves possessed mastery over many arts, they lacked creation. Hanging on his bedroom wall is Relativity, a print of what the world can be. This was the child's creation, intricate and beautiful, yet incomplete. He awoke in the morning beneath its frame. Through the curtains a single elf could be heard singing an Aria. She was singing into her natural element, the Air. The child peeked through to watch her sing, only to turn away not knowing whether it was hours, days or years that had passed. There is no sense of time in the elfin world. No seasons signalled the passage of time, as the flowers were in constant bloom.

However, today was not such a day. The child was quickly distracted by talk more interesting than the lady's song. Within the council, whispers could be heard of lords discussing Endianness - whether eggs should be cracked open on the little or big end. Listener, you may think this a small matter not worth your time, but when you have all the time in the world, perhaps 'tis worth considering. To the elves, it was a grave matter, to reach the essence of perfection. The child, not knowing his time flowed faster than that of his kindly hosts, also considered it of utmost importance.

As a dream to the elves, but as a reality to the child, time flowed through the ages, traveling as a bungee cord. Down and up again, with many years passing in the cycle...

Sunrise gives birth to the day as light shines through the Ether. Once the child of hope in the elfin lands, he returned to the human empire as Elessar, King of Men. In the elfin tongue, his name acknowledged the beryl he wore upon his hand. Long and bountiful would be his rule. His kingdom would agree to be Open to all residents of the land. In place of the lady's voice, he would restto a choir sing him a joyous Ode to ease his soul. Before he slept, he would take a final look upon his realm. The artwork hanging above the King's bed depicted Une Pipe, but claimed it wasn't actually one (ceci n'est pas). Every night, he would stare at this image until it was etched into his vision. This was the last image he would have in mind every night, for it reminded him of friends long ago. But that is another story altogether...

I shall no longer keep you, young grasshopper, as you continue your journey. Already, you have dilly-dallied enough in this humble abode. May you have rested well these days you have spent here and may your soul have found joy in this world so devoid of it. Alas, you are left with the image of a powerful king. Proud, yet still humble. May you look to him and gain strength during the most difficult stretches of your journey. Namárië!