Darkness is upon me. It is here, in the room. Everything is weighty and hard. So weighty, so hard, so challenging. Such weight and heaviness. Heavy heavy heavy. Oh God of Play, where are you? Where have you gone? Even the little bits of light that you exude are so hard to see. How is it possible to bring you here when in this condition? What would make you possible? Wouldn’t the only thing that could make you be here be some kind of detachment? Does divine play necessitate departure? Is play responsible for cosmic avoidance? It is so easy to avoid, to leave behind, to forget. Play, the forgetful. Play, memory’s opposite. And memory? It is gravity’s ally, the forever weighty, hard and non-buoyant.