Perhaps and then, though once upon a time might well have been how it began. You are here. Again. Still. Suddenly. Always. You do not know for you are already moving, making your way about, surrounded by what is already there. You are walking on something that seems to form a grid in the sky. In fact, clouds, blue sky, and other parts of the grid are all that you can see. There is no ground. Even when you look down, there is only sky. It should be rather frightening, but you find that it is only scary when you think about it. Otherwise, you move along quite steadily. The grid is narrow, but somehow it is enough. Nobody else seems worried about falling either. Everybody moves freely about—apparently at their own pace and in their own direction. Left, right, up, down, curving, cornered—it doesn’t matter. One is always going straight in the end. You do not feel the tug of forces except for the one that might be said to be impelling you forward. There seems to be nothing to do here but move forward—to do otherwise would be to do nothing. And the way that you move forward is by repeating the words that appear in front of you. They come at you, it seems, from the sky, you say them to yourself, and you continue on. Everybody seems to be doing this, including your friend up ahead whom you are trying to keep up with despite the fact that he doesn’t seem to bother about your whereabouts.

This grid that you traverse does not seem to have any clear shape or conform to any pattern that you can discern. It is as though pieces were merely put together as it went along without concern for any overall form or structure. Of course, it is possible that you might find patterns or shapes if you could only step back and view the grid from afar. But, though you may think those words, it is not clear what it would mean to be “outside the grid.” Being at a certain point on the grid, still surrounded by other parts of the grid and the sky, is all you have ever known. Furthermore, if you were to wind up standing in the very same spot facing in the same direction at two different times, you would find it extremely difficult to be certain that this was the case not only for the reason mentioned already—the lack of apparent patterns—but also due to the possibility that there might be a cloud formation on one occasion and none on another. You realize, additionally, that the grid itself might perhaps change over time—a piece added here, a part taken away there—the bit of grid you are now walking on might be changing at this very moment and you would have not an inkling! In what sense, then, could one ever be said to be standing in the same spot at two different times? But calling it the same or different hardly matters anyway—you merely read the words and move on.

There does not seem to be a general route or direction that one is meant to pursue. People move about here and there on the grid, some going this way, others going the other way. That is, there does not seem to be a sense to the phrase “going the wrong way.” Everyone simply continues moving forward whichever direction it might lead them. This would seem to imply that there is no mutual end or goal which people on the grid are attempting to reach. Besides, this itself would imply an end or escape from the grid, but it is not clear what such a thing would mean since it is not clear where or how one would go without the grid. Again, you either continue moving forward or do nothing. You have some vague sense that you are moving toward something, but it is not clear what this “something” might be—you move toward the words that you see, you move to other parts of the grid and that is all.

Interestingly, despite the grid’s wide-open endlessness, you continually find yourself in close proximity to your friend. Is this your doing, is it mere coincidence, or is there some sort of deep organization to the grid which nobody has yet discovered? These questions cross your mind, but there is not really time to dwell upon them—you must, after all, continue to move forward.

It is at this moment that the grid begins to sharply decline—so much so that it wraps underneath itself such that, in order to continue, you must be walking upside-down in relation to how you stood moments before. No problem, you merely continue to read the words before you as you have been all along. But you cannot find any words here, and therefore, you cannot continue. Ah, but perhaps you were too distracted by your friend to notice the words that you were supposed to see. You try again, but again the words do not come. You make another attempt but are still not able to continue forward. Each time you move to traverse this portion of the grid, you find yourself disoriented and lost. You do not understand—you have performed far more challenging maneuvers in the past. This stretch should not be so troublesome. But each time you look about in vain. There is nothing there! Worst of all, other people come along and pass by with no problems whatsoever. Now you are truly frustrated! How is it that your friend and these other people should have no difficulty here where you are like a childish amateur? You see more people approaching. In anger and desperation, you plead with them to turn around, tell them not to go this way. You tell them that it is no use—they will not be able to pass—that there is some trickery that lay ahead of them. Not surprisingly, they do not listen. They continue on with casual ease. You feel miserable, useless. This has never happened to you before. Why now? Why here? Why has the world left you stranded, alone? At least if there was another person who also could not pass, you could commiserate with them. Perhaps you could even help each other to figure out a way to move ahead. But you think of your friend and how he did not need anyone else to move ahead. You wonder where he is now—you will probably never see him again. You will probably never travel to those parts of the grid that he will. You wonder what you must be missing. You lean, standing on tiptoes trying to see the way ahead—trying to see where the others have gone. It’s no use—the grid descends so sharply that you can only see sky in that direction. What lies beyond this point will remain unknown to those who cannot pass it. You feel a bit badly about the fact that you sort of hate your friend—you realize this hatred merely stems from your own failings. Even more, you hate the grid itself. What’s so great about the grid anyway? What did it ever do for you? It is merely there—inexplicably and inextricably there. You move upon it because it is there and for no other reason. You wonder what has changed. Before, you walked ahead and the words came right to you as though by magic. Why did this suddenly stop? You wonder if you’re supposed to be doing something different now and, if so, how you are supposed to know what that is. You tell yourself that you will stop the next person that comes along—tell them of your predicament—ask if they have ever heard of such a thing—ask them for advice, help. But there is nobody. Previously, people were coming and going seemingly everywhere you went, but nobody has passed by here for a long time now. You wonder if you are the last person to cross this threshold. All of humanity has surpassed this juncture—you alone have not been able to do so. This portion of the grid will probably be abandoned—you alone will remain here, die here. What despair! Surely no other can have known such pain! These thoughts are making you dizzy so you sit down. Ah, never has sitting down felt like such a momentous act! You wonder if this is what you are resigned to: standing up and sitting down. You wonder if anything else will ever happen again.

It is nobody’s fault, this situation. It is not the grid’s fault. It is not your fault. It is just a situation—a deplorable one, yes—but a situation and nothing more. But now get up. Up, I say! What other option do you have? One may only do nothing for so long, really. You walk forward, not particularly hopeful, expecting that you will once again fail to pass this spot. But this time, something different does happen. This time you walk forward and there are words. But unlike other times where the words seemed to come at you and dissipate, now the words continue toward you. You read them but they approach closer and closer and become larger and larger until your only choice is to climb on top of the words as they arrive. You are no longer disoriented. In fact, you do not even notice that you are upside-down in relation to your previous position. Every way you go is straight. You merely make your way over the words that reach you. You look down briefly. You realize that it has been this way all along. You feel better, reassured. What joy! What freedom! Ecstasy such as you have never felt before! How lovely it is to be able to move again! How silly to have thought that you would never leave that place! You thought you could never love the grid again, but, now that you are once again on your way along it, you realize that you have always loved the grid though it remains unfathomable as ever! You lovely, lovely inexplicable and inextricable grid! You wonder what it was that delayed you in the first place—why did the words suddenly come when they refused for so long? Did you change or was it the grid? Or something else? Worry and doubt creep into your mind that it could just as well happen again in the future. Just like that. Why not? But you are moving again and that is all that matters. Furthermore, you feel that your recent realization explains why nobody here is afraid of falling from the grid. A misstep off of the grid is as impossible as taking a step back from it to gain a wider view. Being somewhere on the grid is the only place that one may be. You merely move forward until you cannot anymore. Perhaps your movement forward will bring reiterations of what has already passed. Perhaps your movement forward will take you to new, interesting places. Perhaps. Perhaps. You cannot be sure. You are sure you are here. Here on the grid. Otherwise, there is only