Stories and Vectors

An identity is this "Story of Me", a vector that points towards the future with both solemn gravity and hopeful yearning.

身份是“我的故事”，是指向某个方向并带有一定动量的向量。

The is different than when others point to "Me", with precision and finality. Externally imposed stories feel sharp and suffocating, even when well intentioned.

这种故事不同于他人对“我”的定义。即使是出于好意的外界叙述，往往也让人感到锋利而压抑。
被置于高台上被人崇拜，有时和被忽视、被拒绝一样孤独；生于富贵人家的期望，可能像贫穷的限制一样令人窒息。

We rebel against externally imposed stories. Who are they to tell us who we are and where we should be?

我们反抗那些外界强加的故事——他们凭什么告诉我们，我们是谁，我们该去哪里？

When a story is not allowed to breathe it feels blocked. Anything that interferes is conflict and collision.

当一个故事无法自由发展时，就会感到被阻碍。一切干扰都会带来冲突与碰撞。

Like at an airport where everyone else is an obstacle.

就像在机场，每个人似乎都是障碍物。

Anyone who gets in the way is an enemy. Anyone going too slow is an NPC.

每个挡住你去路的人都成了敌人；每个动作太慢的人则成了无关紧要的背景人物。

Retreats feel calm because the stories do not point so insistently, trying to shove their way into open space. Everywhere is open, physically and mentally.

而在静修的日子里，感到平静的原因是：故事不再那么咄咄逼人，不再试图挤入那些稀有的开放空间。在那里，无论身体还是心灵，四处皆是开阔之地。

For a few days everyone puts down their stories. That desperate seeking subsides. The silence makes room for the storm to settle. The stories unknot themselves and gently float.

在这些日子里，每个人都放下了自己的故事，接受那种迷失感。不再迫切地渴望前行。寂静让风暴沉淀，平静的水面让我们看清曾经的自己、现在的自己，以及将来的自己。

The undisturbed reflections allow us to see who we were and who we are becoming.

在这短暂的时光里，故事们变得平行，就像漂流在同一条河流上的小舟。它们失去了那种尖锐和重要性，那种急切的追逐逐渐消退。

To be addicted is to be stuck in a story that is always fighting reality. One that has lost the plot and is always stuck at the airport. Ever other story is an imposition.

成瘾，是陷入了一个永远与现实抗争的故事。
这样的故事失去了主线，被困在机场的无限循环中，对其他所有故事充满了怨恨，视其为干扰。

You have to shove yourself forwards to feel seen. There is a constant fear of disappearing into the crowd. You no longer know why you are traveling or why you are so flustered, arguing with this random person. Something about not making it...

为了让自己的故事前进，必须不断发出自己的声音，害怕在熙熙攘攘的人群中消失。不再知道为何旅行，也不明白为何对陌生人咆哮。只知道这一切与“无法抵达”有关。
更多的追随者，更多的认可，更多的股东价值，更多的点赞，更多的道德感，更多的美德……更多，更多，更多，更多——现在永远不够。

My Story has a capital S, it should part seas of conflict like a prophet. A path paved to promised destiny.

我们的“故事”带着大写的S，像先知一般分开红海，铺就通往命运的道路。

Like traveling in a car or plane, the more we only care about the destination the faster we want to go. We pay dearly for small luxuries in such a cramped space.

就像一辆车或一架飞机，当我们只关注目的地时，前进的速度便成了唯一追求。我们为狭窄空间中的小小奢侈品付出了巨大代价。

We hold it in until we desperately need to purge. We reach open space to relieve ourselves of what we carry.

我们忍耐着，直到不得不在某片开阔地带倾泻那些积累的重负。

Cigars are lit in the darkness. A flash of light. "I am alive."
Another flash "And so am I."
Red embers fade in and out like childhood memories of fireflies.
The scent of flowers mixes in with bitter smoke.

在黑暗中点燃雪茄，微弱的火光一闪，“我活着。”
再一闪，“我也是。”
红色的火星忽明忽暗，像萤火虫一样。

Outside everything glows softly white under the reflection of the moon... which itself is a reflection of the sun.

外面，一切在月光的反射下散发出柔和的白光，而月亮本身也是太阳的反射。

A new day is rising. The stories move ever onwards.

新的一天正在升起，而这些故事将继续前行。