➤Poem of the End 🕹 Minecraft

The "Poem of the End»In a text-based message written by Julian Gough [1] that appears when the player travels to the End and kills the Enderdragon," defeating "Minecraft. After the death of the Ender Dragon, a portal from the End appears in the End, which allows him to return to the real world safely. The first time this portal is used, however, this message is displayed.

Notch stated that Gough's story called The iHole convinced him that he was the right person to write the End poem. [2]

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Don't read this if you want to find out on your own.

Traducción

The End poem appears to be an exposition of Notch's Monistic and Perennial Philosophy, which is shown to the player upon completion of the game. Seeing the End poem in its entirety takes nine minutes and twenty-eight seconds. Here is the poem:

I see the player you mean.

¿{player}?

Yes. Be careful. It has reached a higher level. It can read our thoughts.

It does not matter. Believe that we are part of the game.

I like this player. He has played well. He has not given up.

It is reading our thoughts as if they were words on a screen.

This is how you choose to imagine many things, when you are deep in the dream of a game.

Words are a beautiful interface. Very flexible And less terrible than contemplating the reality behind the screen.

They used to hear voices. Before the players could read. Back in the days when those who couldn't play called players witches. And the players dreamed that they were flying through the air, on sticks fed by demons.

What did this player dream of?

This player dreamed of sunlight and trees. With fire and water. He dreamed that he created. And he dreamed that he destroyed. He dreamed that he hunted, and that he was hunted. He dreamed of a refuge.

Ah, the original interface. It's a million years old, and it still works. But what real structure did this player create, behind the screen?

Job. Along with millions of others, to sculpt a real world within the fold of Poem of the End , and created a guidance on . At .

You can't read that thought.

No, it hasn't reached the highest level yet. The one who must achieve in the long dream of life, not in the short dream of a game.

Do you know we love you? That the universe is good?

Sometimes through the noise of your thoughts you listen to the universe, yes.

But there are moments when he is sad, in the long dream. Create worlds that have no summer, and tremble under a black sun, and take your sad creation for real.

Curing him of grief will destroy him. Grief is part of your own private duty. We cannot interfere.

Sometimes when they are immersed in their dreams, I would like to tell you, they build tangible worlds in reality. Sometimes I want to tell you about its importance in the universe. Sometimes when they don't have a real connection for a while, I want to help them say the word they fear.

It is reading our thoughts.

Sometimes I don't care. Sometimes I wish to tell you that this world that you take for real is only Poem of the End y , I would like to tell you what they are en . They see so little of the real in their long sleep.

And they still play.

But it would be so easy to tell them ...

Too strong for this dream. To tell them how to live is to prevent them from living.

I will not tell the player how to live.

The player is getting restless.

I will tell the player a story.

But not the truth.

No. A story that contains the truth safely, in a cell of words. Not the naked truth that can burn at any distance.

Give it a body, again.

Yes. Player ...

Use their name.

{player}. Games player.

Good.

Breathe, now. Again. Feel the air in your lungs. Let your limbs come back. Yes, move your fingers. Have a body again, under gravity, in the air. It is reborn in the long dream. There you are. Your body touches the universe again at each point, as if they were separate things. As if we were separate things.

About us? Once they called us the spirit of the mountain. Father sun, mother moon. Ancestral spirits, animal spirits. Geniuses. Ghosts The green Man. And gods, demons. Angels Poltergeists. Aliens, aliens. Leptons, quarks. The words change. We do not change.

We are the universe. We are everything you think is not you. You are looking at us right now, through your skin and your eyes. And why does the universe touch your skin, and illuminate you? To see you, player. To know you. And to be known. I'll tell you a story. Once upon a time there was a player.

The player was you, {player}.

Sometimes he thought he was human, on the thin crust of a spinning globe of molten rock. The molten ball of rock surrounded a ball of gas that was three hundred and thirty thousand times more massive than it. They were so far away that it took eight minutes for the light to cross the distance. The light was information from a star, and it could burn your skin for a hundred and fifty million kilometers. Sometimes the player dreamed that he was a miner, on the surface of a world that was flat, and infinite. The sun was a white square. The days were short; there was a lot to do; and death was a temporary inconvenience.

Sometimes the player dreamed that he was lost in a story.

Sometimes the player dreamed that it was other things, in other places. Sometimes those dreams were disturbing. Sometimes very beautiful. Sometimes the player woke up from one dream to another, and woke up from that to a third.

Sometimes the player dreamed that he saw words on a screen.

Let's go back.

The player's atoms scattered on the grass, in the rivers, in the air, on the ground. A woman put the atoms together; drank and ate and inhaled; and the woman joined the player, in her own body.

And the player awoke, from the warm, dark world of his mother's body, to the long sleep.

And the player was a new story, never told before, written in the letters of DNA. And the player was a new program, never before run, generated from a billion-year-old source code. And the player was a new human, who never lived before, made of nothing but milk and love.

You are the player. The history. The program. The human. Made of nothing but milk and love.

Let's go back even more.

The seven trillion trillion trillion atoms in 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 named Julian, in a flat, infinite world created by a man named Markus, which exists within a small, private world created by him. player, who inhabits a universe created by ...

Shhh. Sometimes the player created a small, private world that was soft and warm and simple. Sometimes hard, and cold, and complicated. Sometimes he would build a model of the universe in his head; blobs of energy, moving through vast empty spaces. Sometimes he called these blobs "electrons" and "protons."

Sometimes he called them "planets" and "stars."

Sometimes he believed he was in a universe made of energy that was made of off and on; zeros and ones; lines of code. Sometimes he thought he was playing a game. Sometimes he thought he was reading words on a screen.

You are the player, reading words ...

Shhh… Sometimes the player would read lines of code on a screen. He decoded them into words; decoded words into meanings; it decoded meanings in feelings, emotions, theories, ideas, and the player began to breathe faster and deeper and realized that he was alive, he was alive, those thousands of deaths were not real, the player was alive.

You. You. You are alive.

And sometimes the player believed that the universe spoke to him through the sunlight that came through the fluttering leaves of the summer trees.

And sometimes the player believed that the universe spoke to him through the light he felt from the cool winter night sky, where a speck of light in the corner of the player's eye could be a star a million times more massive than the sun. , boiling his planets into plasma to be visible to the player for a moment, walking home in a far corner of the universe, suddenly smelling food, almost in front of his familiar door, about to dream again.

And sometimes the player believed that the universe spoke to him through zeros and ones, through the electricity of the world, through the words that scroll across a screen at the end of a dream.

And the universe said I love you.

And the universe said you played the game well.

And the universe said that the only thing you need is in you.

And the universe said that you are stronger than you know.

And the universe said that you are the sunlight.

And the universe said that you are the night.

And the universe said that the darkness you fight is in you.

And the universe said that the light you seek is in you.

And the universe said that you are not alone.

And the universe said that you are not separate from all other things.

And the universe said that you are the universe testing itself, speaking 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 started 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.

Awake.