Tales

The Great Barrier is, in truth, not a barrier but an ocean. It is not that which blocks passage, but instead that which is the final form all consciousness will assume.

“Fox, do you think there is a place beyond these fields?” the phantom had asked one day, a time long before Reapers had dominated the Golden Fields. “I’ve spent my entire life here and haven’t found an edge,” the fox had answered, eyes glinting with something sharp and

Caliban darts between golden stalks. He knew it would come to this, he just knew it. His small, agile frame is hard to track in the dark, but he still worries the rustling grass will give his position away. Not much farther now, he thinks to himself. He bursts into

By the Editorial Board Recently, dear reader, we’ve noticed an influx of fan mail criticizing our journalistic integrity here at The Inquirer and Reflection. We must say that while this has disappointed some of the editorial staff here, it has done nothing more than inspire us to continue our

Roger Heelman slams his office phone back onto its receiver. The clerk he had just hired two weeks ago has failed to show up to their shift. Roger does not remember that this is the fifth time this has occurred, nor does Ms. Lauer, a frequent customer of Heelman Convenience.

Perpetual communion with the Universal Consciousness is the ultimate aspiration. It is Enlightenment.

The Universal Consciousness has no sense of self. This lack of self is the Great Barrier we must chart should we attain our Enlightenment. Thus we Dive.

“What d’you think’s out there?” Antwohnette sits on a rickety porch propped up on makeshift stilts, staring out across an endless sea of amber grass. Caliban curls up next to her. “Trouble,” he says. Antwohnette runs her hand through his black fur. “You think it’s worth it?

“Those who call The Well home are each provided a house. They are less ‘dream-houses’ and more explorations of personality and soul. Many a first-time denizen has been unsettled by the sudden appearance of a house meant ‘just for them’, yet they never refuse hospitality. Better to sleep in an

So I sat on a log among the hill folk, unsure if I were still among the land of dreams or not. A woman with skin the color of the deep blue, midnight sky approached. As she stepped through shifting moonlight, her arms and face scintillated as if she were

Todd couldn’t believe it. After everything he’d been through to make it to Harvest, those incredulous pencil-pushers were sending him back to the flatlands. He’d come to them for help, but as usual they couldn’t see how dangerous the situation had become. True, now that The

Beyond our personal consciousness exists a Universal Consciousness, the source, the Ground of Being, from which we all come and to which we all return.

Yesterday, a strange man entered the headquarters of The Inquirer and Reflection. This man (named Todd) was quite angry with us; he claimed to be an employee of the paper! When we told him we had no record of his employment, now or in the past, he grew red in

Perched upon Scrivener’s Point, the spirit of inspiration casts its gaze upon the wilds beyond. Many people, many lives, but always the same spirit. Is that what I think it is? There, floating high on some fluffy collection of water vapor… is that, a castle? Imagination flows — ships in

The Skeleton King stepped over stars and hopped over a beautiful, blue and orange nebula to set me down among the hill folk. “These folk can be trusted,” the king said. “You’ll be safe here.” He turned and prepared to leap into the cosmos once more, but before he