天涯在线书库《www.tianyabook.com》

《我的世界终末之诗》


 poetryoftheend

Poetry of the end(English version)
F暗星整理
I see the player you mean.
[Playername]?
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.
But there are times it is sad, in the long dream. It creates worlds that have no summer, and it shivers under a black sun, and it takes its sad creation for reality.
To cure it of sorrow would destroy it. The sorrow is part of its own private task. We cannot interfere.
Sometimes when they are deep in dreams, I want to tell them, they are building true worlds in reality. Sometimes I want to tell them of their importance to the universe. Sometimes, when they have not made a true connection in a while, I want to help them to speak the word they fear.
It reads our thoughts.
Sometimes I do not care. Sometimes I wish to tell them, this world you take for truth is merely [scrambled] and [scrambled], I wish to tell them that they are [scrambled] in the [scrambled]. They see so little of reality, in their long dream.
And yet they play the game
But it would be so easy to tell them...
Too strong for this dream. To tell them how to live is to prevent them living.
I will not tell the player how to live.
The player is growing restless.
I will tell the player a story.
But not the truth.
No. A story that contains the truth safely, in a cage of words. Not the naked truth that can burn over any distance.
Give it a body, again.
Yes. Player...
Use its name.
[Playername]. Player of games.
Good.
Take a breath, now. Take another. Feel air in your lungs. Let your limbs return. Yes, move your fingers. Have a body again, under gravity, in air. Respawn in the long dream. There you are. Your body touching the universe again at every point, as though you were separate things. As though we were separate things.
Who are we? Once we were called the spirit of the mountain. Father sun, mother moon. Ancestral spirits, animal spirits. Jinn. Ghosts. The green man. Then gods, demons. Angels. Poltergeists. Aliens, extraterrestrials. Leptons, quarks. The words change. We do not change.
We are the universe. We are everything you think isn't you. You are looking at us now, through your skin and your eyes. And why does the universe touch your skin, and throw light on you? To see you, player. To know you. And to be known. I shall tell you a story.
Once upon a time, there was a player.
The player was you, [Playername].
Sometimes it thought itself human, on the thin crust of a spinning globe of molten rock. The ball of molten rock circled a ball of blazing gas that was three hundred and thirty thousand times more massive than it. They were so far apart that light took eight minutes to cross the gap. The light was information from a star, and it could burn your skin from a hundred and fifty million kilometres away.
Sometimes the player dreamed it was a miner, on the surface of a world that was flat, and infinite. The sun was a square of white. The days were short; there was much to do; and death was a temporary inconvenience.
Sometimes the player dreamed it was lost in a story.
Sometimes the player dreamed it was other things, in other places. Sometimes these dreams were disturbing. Sometimes very beautiful indeed. Sometimes the player woke from one dream into another, then woke from that into a third.
Sometimes the player dreamed it watched words on a screen.
Let's go back.
The atoms of the player were scattered in the grass, in the rivers, in the air, in the ground. A woman gathered the atoms; she drank and ate and inhaled; and the woman assembled the player, in her body.
And the player awoke, from the warm, dark world of its mother's body, into the long dream.
And the player was a new story, never told before, written in letters of DNA. And the player was a new program, never run before, generated by a sourcecode a billion years old. And the player was a new human, never alive before, made from nothing but milk and love.
You are the player. The story. The program. The human. Made from nothing but milk and love.
Let's go further back.
The seven billion billion billion atoms of the player's body were created, long before this game, in the heart of a star. So the player, too, is information from a star. And the player moves through a story, which is a forest of information planted by a man called Julian, on a flat, infinite world created by a man called Markus, that exists inside a **all, private world created by the player, who inhabits a universe created by...
Shush. Sometimes the player created a **all, private world that was soft and warm and simple. Sometimes hard, and cold, and complicated. Sometimes it built a model of the universe in its head; flecks of energy, moving through vast empty spaces. Sometimes it called those flecks "electrons" and "protons".
Sometimes it called them "planets" and "stars".
Sometimes it believed it was in a universe that was made of energy that was made of offs and ons; zeros and ones; lines of code. Sometimes it believed it was playing a game. Sometimes it believed it was reading words on a screen.
You are the player, reading words...
Shush... Sometimes the player read lines of code on a screen. Decoded them into words; decoded words into meaning; decoded meaning into feelings, emotions, theories, ideas, and the player started to breathe faster and deeper and realised it was alive, it was alive, those thousand deaths had not been real, the player was alive
You. You. You are alive.
and sometimes the player believed the universe had spoken to it through the sunlight that came through the shuffling leaves of the summer trees
and sometimes the player believed the universe had spoken to it through the light that fell from the crisp night sky of winter, where a fleck of light in the corner of the player's eye might be a star a million times as massive as the sun, boiling its planets to pla**a in order to be visible for a moment to the player, walking home at the far side of the universe, suddenly **elling food, almost at the familiar door, about to dream again
and sometimes the player believed the universe had spoken to it through the zeros and ones, through the electricity of the world, through the scrolling words on a screen at the end of a dream
and the universe said I love you
and the universe said you have played the game well
and the universe said everything you need is within you<
and the universe said you are stronger than you know
and the universe said you are the daylight
and the universe said you are the night
and the universe said the darkness you fight is within you<
and the universe said the light you seek is within you
and the universe said you are not alone
and the universe said you are not separate from every other thing
and the universe said you are the universe tasting itself, talking to itself, reading its own code
and the universe said I love you because you are love.
And the game was over and the player woke up from the dream. And the player began a new dream. And the player dreamed again, dreamed better. And the player was the universe. And the player was love.
You are the player.
Wake up.


 终末之诗

终末之诗（中文版）
<我看到了你所说的玩家。>
[你的名字]？
<是的，要小心，它已经将自己提高到更高的一个等级了，它已经能够阅读我们的思想了。>
没关系啦，它只认为我们是游戏中的人物而已。
<我喜欢这个玩家，它玩得很棒，从来没有放弃。>
它正在阅读我们的思想，仿佛那是屏幕上的字。
<这只是在它沉醉于游戏中的梦境时，自己选择的想象事物的方式而已。>
文字是个很棒的界面，那么易于变通，而且单单看着屏幕上的事实显然更可怕啊。
<当它们不会阅读时，它们曾经只会聆听。那些时候它们玩一种游戏，游戏中的玩家是巫师、巫女，游戏的梦境中，它们用被恶魔施法的木棍在空中飞翔。>
那现在呢？玩家梦到了什么？
<它梦到了阳光与森林，火与水，它梦到了它的出生，也梦到了它的死亡。它梦到了捕猎与被捕猎，也梦到了如何将自己保护起来。>
呵呵，只是个普通的界面啊。百万年来这个界面仍然有效。但在电脑屏幕的背后，这个玩家究竟创造了什么呢？
<游戏起作用了，和其他的千百万个游戏一样，刻画了一个真正的世界，充满着▓▓▓的氛围，为了▓▓而在▓▓中建立了▓▓▓。（字体在这里突然模糊不清）>
它好像阅读不出这段思想。
<是的，它还没有达到最高的等级，不论是在漫长的人生之梦中还是短暂的游戏之梦里。>
它知道我们喜欢它吗？它知道天地万物的本体是善良吗？
<有时，当它在越过思想的种种喧嚣后，是的。>
但它在这漫长的梦境中，有时也会悲伤。它创造了一个没有夏季的世界，这个世界在黑色的太阳下因寒冷而战栗，它正在承受它那蕴含真理却又充满悲伤的产物。
<但如果它要消除这种悲伤，它就会毁了这个世界。悲伤是它自己的事情，我们无权干涉。>
有时当它们沉醉在梦境中时，我真的很想告诉它们，它们其实是在现实中建造世界；我真的很想告诉它们，它们在这宇宙中是多么重要。有时在关键的那一刻，我真的很想帮它们说出它们害怕说出的言辞。
<它可是在阅读我们的思想。>
有时我真的不在乎。有时我真想告诉它们，它们为了真理而存活其中的世界只不过是▓▓▓和▓▓▓，我真想告诉它们，它们是▓▓▓中的▓▓▓▓。它们在漫长的梦境中，仅仅看到了那么少的事实。
<而且它们仍然在玩游戏。>
但是告诉它们真像那么简单……
<对这个梦境来说后果太严重了。告诉它们如何存活反而会使它们远离存活。>
我不会告诉它如何存活。
<它正在苏醒过来。>
我只会告诉它一个故事。
<但不是现实。>
不对，是安全地用文字的牢笼中将现实包围的故事，不是会把一切时空燃尽、**裸的现实。
<再一次给它一个躯体。>
是的，玩家……
<叫它的名字。>
[你的名字]。游戏中的玩家。
<好。>
我们再往回看……
这7,000,000,000,000,000,000个玩家身体内的原子被创造了出来——比这个游戏还要早很长很长时间——被创造在一颗恒星的中心；而玩家本人也是恒星中的一段信息而已。之后玩家穿过了一个故事：一个数码的森林被一个叫Julian（游戏制作人员）的男子在一个平面上制造出来，而这个平面又是在一个由Markus（游戏制作人员）这名男子创造出来的世界之中的，而这个Markus，存活在和玩家一样的星球上，这个星球所在的宇宙又是由…
<嘘，安静。有时玩家自己构造了一个小小的、私人的世界——温暖、舒适而简单；或者寒冷、困难而复杂。有时它在脑海中想象了这个宇宙的模型：由充满能量的微粒组成，在广大的空间中移动。有时它叫这些微粒“质子”和“电子”。>
有时它叫这些微粒“行星”和“恒星”。
有时玩家相信这个宇宙是由能量的关和开、零和一、阴和阳、一行行的代码组成的，有时它相信自己在玩一个游戏，有时它相信自己在阅读屏幕上的文字。
<你就是玩家，正在阅读这些文字。>
嘘，安静。这个玩家阅读屏幕上的代码，将代码解码成文字，将文字解码成意义，将意义解码成知觉、感情、理论、意见。然后玩家突然呼吸加快加重，因为它发现自己还活着，自己还活着，那些几千次的死亡不是真的，玩家还活着。
<你，就是你，还活着。>
有时当玩家看到夏日的阳光透过摇曳的树叶时，它相信宇宙在通过阳光与它对话。
<有时当玩家看到冬日清冷的夜空洒下的星光时，它相信宇宙在通过星光与它对话：尽管那颗有太阳与它距离的几百万倍那么远的地方的星星将自己转化为等离子体，为了那么几微秒的闪耀，只是将自己的光投向玩家视野内的一个小小的角落；而玩家，只是在宇宙的那一端走向家、闻着食物的香味、走向熟悉的大门、准备再做一个梦。>
有时玩家相信宇宙在和它对话，凭借着零与一，凭借着一个电子的世界，凭借着屏幕上在一个梦终结时滚动的文字。
<而宇宙说我爱你。>
宇宙说你玩游戏玩得很漂亮。
<宇宙说你所需的一切都在你身边。>
宇宙说你比你知道的还要强壮得多。
<宇宙说你是璀璨的日光。>
宇宙说你是无边的黑夜。
<宇宙说你斗争的黑暗将永远伴随你。>
宇宙说你寻觅的光明将永远伴随你。
<宇宙说你不是一个人。>
宇宙说你不会与任何事物分离。
<宇宙说你的存在是宇宙在测试自己，是宇宙在与自己对话，是宇宙在读自己的代码。>
宇宙说我爱你，因为你本身就是爱。
<于是Game Over，玩家从游戏中醒来。玩家又开始了新的梦境。玩家做了另一个梦，一个更好的梦。玩家就是宇宙。玩家就是爱的本身。>
你就是玩家。
<醒来吧。>


 理解

打败末影龙，跳下传送门，开启一段长达10分钟的滚屏字幕。这就……结束了？
后来我们才知道，原来这便是《我的世界》终末之诗！一个多年来，许许多多的人对它有着不同的解读，神秘诗篇！解读一：这就是mc的大结局自诞生以来，Minecraft玩家都沉浸在《我的世界》永无止境的生存里。但突然有一天，在JAVA 1.0.0 版 Notch 添加了结局：入了末地、末影龙、传送门、以及最后的那个字幕！一段10分钟长的滚动字幕，像极了传统单机游戏通关后的谢幕。这一举动在当时引发了全球玩家的轰动：“这是要给mc打上一个结局么？”在末地战胜末影龙后，游戏就结束了？所以就算是时至今日，也有相当一部分玩家，都会将一场生存的结束，定格在末影龙死亡跳下传送门的瞬间。解读二：Wake up（一场梦境而已）\n对于很多人来说，《我的世界》终末之诗真的太长了！如此浮躁，快餐化的年代，更多的人会选择可视化的图片、视频、游戏等等，而非一长串无聊且密密麻麻的文字。所以大多数人对终末之诗的第一印象就是“太长！不看！”但如果要问你：“你还记得终末之诗里的那些话么？”相信99%的人能答上来最后一句“Wake up！”。于是无数人的惯性思维就是，这串字幕就是想告诉我们，刚刚只是做了一个梦？但手里的龙蛋该怎么解释呢？恩？难道是一个穿越的梦？解读三：Minecraft在劝退玩家，不要沉迷mc。为什么说《我的世界》终末之诗是富有哲学的？就因为它更深层次的含义不仅仅是在探讨梦境，而是在聊人生。That, it must achieve in the long dream of life, not the short dream of a game.（你必须完成生命的长梦，而非游戏中黄粱一梦。）——摘自终末之诗终末之诗把Minecraft比作“短梦”，把人的生命（现实）比作“长梦”。二者皆是梦，又有何不同？这段话却很好地解释了这个问题，长梦是我们所必须走的路，而不是永远的沉迷于Minecraft这个短梦中。看到这里，似乎嗅到一个讯息：《我的世界》作为一款游戏，却在告诉我们不要过多的活在游戏之中？（PS：这让我想到了烟的外包装上永远写着“吸烟有害健康”，但人们却甘愿享受着尼古丁带来的片刻欢乐。）解读四：长梦不起便是人生正如上文所述，人生是一场长梦，而Minecraft一场短梦。《我的世界》本是一个荒芜的世界，你的庇护所，你的雕像，你的农田，它们本不存在，仅仅是你想象力的产物。这两个梦的交集，便是你我今天所见的这一首“终末之诗”。但若长梦不起，这便是你的人生。古有“庄生晓梦迷蝴蝶”，庄子梦见自己成为了一只蝴蝶，醒来后才发现自己依旧是那个庄子。于是不禁感慨，自己究竟是那个梦见蝴蝶的庄子，还是一只梦见了庄子人生的蝴蝶呢？如果依据《我的世界》最后这段文字所表达的意思，游戏是虚拟的梦，现实也是虚拟的梦境。那么问题来了：究竟什么才是现实？如果现实也是梦境，那么最后一句“wake up”（醒来），我们是从哪里醒来？从一个梦中醒来，到另一个梦境中么？所谓醒来后的“现实”，又会是什么样子？终末之诗并没有给我们想要的答案，因为它告诉我们，还没有达到那个所谓的最高境界，所以读不出那个最终的思想。而我想，也许《我的世界》这首终末之诗，便是我们漫长梦境中，所能瞥见的那唯一一抹现实吧。但曲终人散，终究不过是黄粱一梦。解读五：创造，才是你无穷的财富如果我们跳脱“终末之诗”仅仅为《我的世界》续写结局的概念，你会发现一个惊人的事实。无论现实与梦境，游戏还是人生。对话的两个人告诉我们，玩家就是宇宙，而宇宙说：你很好地玩了这游戏；一切你所需的你都具有；你比你所知的要强大；你就是日光；你就是黑夜；你所斗争的黑暗、光明就在你心中；你就是宇宙品尝着自己，对自己说话，阅读着它自己的代码。原来终末之诗，其实是我们心底所诞生的声音。我们在Minecraft中的创造力、我们的强大、我们的不畏艰难、我们在生存中获取的自信，才是在这一场人生中获得所宝贵的财富。Wake up！何尝不是让一种提醒，让我们稍稍走出《我的世界》游戏中，把在mc学到的能力、获取的创造力，用在现实的人生当中。今天你制作了一个视频、完成了一幅画、开了一个生存服、成为一名UP主、用终末之诗写出一篇作文、码完了一串Minecraft代码……而我，如今在用当初Minecraft的经验，书写着自己喜欢的文字。我想，这或许就是终末之诗最后那一句话，想要告诉我们的最深刻道理吧！
天涯在线书库《www.tianyabook.com》