I see the player you mean.
Yes. Take care. It has reached a higher level now. It can read our thoughts.
That doesn't matter. It thinks we are part of the game.
I like this player. It played well. It did not give up.
It is reading our thoughts as though they were words on a screen.
That is how it chooses to imagine many things, when it is deep in the dream of a game.
Words make a wonderful interface. Very flexible. And less terrifying than staring at the reality behind the screen.
They used to hear voices. Before players could
read. Back in the days when those who did not play called the players
witches, and warlocks. And players dreamed they flew through the air, on
sticks powered by demons.
What did this player dream?
This player dreamed of sunlight and trees. Of
fire and water. It dreamed it created. And it dreamed it destroyed. It
dreamed it hunted, and was hunted. It dreamed of shelter.
Hah, the original interface. A million years
old, and it still works. But what true structure did this player create,
in the reality behind the screen?
It worked, with a million others, to sculpt a true world in a fold of the [scrambled], and created a [scrambled] for [scrambled], in the [scrambled].
It cannot read that thought.
No. It has not yet achieved the highest level. That, it must achieve in the long dream of life, not the short dream of a game.
Does it know that we love it? That the universe is kind?
Sometimes, through the noise of its thoughts, it hears the universe, yes.