Updated Version of my Post on the Community-Thread

It is my version of the interpreation of twi TES-Elements: The Psijics, as a kind of CHIM-Guild and the Concept of GodHead

Fragments of Mikhel Krux' spirit.

He was the current ruler of all Psijic-monks of the vanishing island Artaeum which was between the Valenwood of the Boiche and the Archipelago of the High Elves. His goal was a hut near the port city of Anvil in the goldcoast of Cyrod. It offered an amazing sight on the coastline of Cyrod. The distant Hammerfell was even recognizable because of its characteristic cliffs.

Mikhel had been called because of a man who went mad after he was dying, but it could still recover. As a Psijic-monk he recognized in the description of the aid request, the signs for something bigger than a normal madness, so he made his way.

He crossed the yellow grasslands of the Gold-Coast of Cyrodiil and reached the hut, near a cliff. Mikhel knock at the door. Tiny pieces broke out of it. Jennifer, the man's wife opened the door a bit. She was a skinny, long-nosed Breton, with long brown hair. Her dark eye circles, and her slight tremor were signs of sleepless nights.

“Can I help you?” She asked and Michel showed her the note that he pulled of from the black board of the inn 'to the floating bowl' in Anvil “Are you a healer?”

Mikhel nodded. “Yes. A freelance one. I also do not require the payment when the patient is not cured.”

Jennifer nodded and opened the door. Mikhel was greeted directly by a damp smell. It was a mixture of fish and mold. “Please follow me. He's on the back part”, she said and started walking.

In the back part of the windowless wooden hut the man, Lawrence sat, only with trousers clothed on the bed and wrote something.

“Has he always liked to write?” Asked Mikhel, his eyes fixed on Lawrence, who swung the feather as he was in ecstasy.

Jennifer shook her head. “No. Until his sickness, he could not even read.”

“What exactly was it for a disease?”

“Brain rot. He'd get it from a mud crab, while he was out fishing on the sea.”

“I understand. Would be so kindly to wait outside while I medicate him?”

Jennifer hesitated and Mikhel opened his yellow robe.

“I'm unarmed, and your husband will not get harm. I swear it.”

Jennifer nodded. “If something happened, just call.”

She goes, after she broke free her sorrow-filled eyes of her beloved husband, out of the hut and Mikhel walked slowly toward to Lawrence, who still wrote something.

“My name is Mikhel Krux, do you allow me to sit down, Mister Naty?”

But Lawrence did not answer and then Mikhel sat on the rickety wooden chair that stood beside the bed. Under the chair was a small tub of water in which swam a dirty cloth, which Jennifer had to use to cleaned her husband the last few days. “I heard that you were very sick until a few days. Do you remember it?”

“You can not help me. The rot is gone. I have other problems,” said Lawrence without taking his eyes from the parchment. His Breton accent was extremely rough.

Mikhel looked at the note and read in messy handwriting the words 'fiction, real, reality, culture' over and over again. Some of these concepts were edged and connected with lines.

“I heard of it too. Your wife is called it a delusion you received after you have overcome the disease. I think I know this kind of madness.”

Lawrence gave a short laugh and sneer. “Like the other spirit-healer who've been here? What makes you different from them? What is your first question? 'How are you, Lawrence?' or how about 'How do you feel?' Idiots. Pig [censored] charlatans!”

“How about: 'My dear Lawrence, would you be so kindly to tell me your most confidential wisdom and knowledge of which will free you from the sufferings of material existence?”

Lawrence looked up from the note and directly into the blue-in-green eyes of the Psijic-ruler.

“I ... wisdom? Could you understand what I have seen at all? What is going on in me?”

Mikhel shrugged. Something very stressful if you wore this heavy, golden Psijic Robe. He stood up and took it off and hung it over the chair.

“Maybe? Speak simply clear. A wise but poorly written HeShe said one: 'Thus whoever performs this holy act shall be proud and mighty among the rest!' “

Lawrence had his mouth open. “Poorly written? As if he was ... fiction ?!”

He looked immediately to his note and then back to Mikhel. His eyes shot up across the face his opponent.

Mikhel smiled. “Please, begin your lesson.”

Lawrence smiled and nodded. He put the note and the pen aside. “What if I would tell you that ... I do not know. We know that the Aurbis is real, right?”

Mikhel nodded, surprised that a fisherman seemed to understand the concept of Aurbis, the entire universe.

“But what does 'real' really means? Does that mean that I exist? But .... no. I'm sorry. I have to start it different ...”

He grabbed for his parchment and pen.

Mikhel nodded and grabbed his arm to prevent him from write again. He still remembered the process that his own spirit had to go through when he realized the enlightenment of CHIM.

“Just say what you think, my friend. I will be able to understand you. Do not block your mind with its secular understanding of logic. Your mind has been confused by seeing this horrible knowledge that is not possible. It should be enough for now. Be free from all confusion. With placid spirit you can see the answer, after you are looking for.”

Lawrence closed his eyes and a tear ran down his cheek. He blocked his new thoughts now for days, which Mikhel was aware that he had done at the time. Each Psijic did this until it was too exhausting. But now Lawrence was about to open his mind and flooded it with a new sight on the world.

He opened his eyes and his mind was focused and calm. “What is a thought? Can an idea be real? I mean ... I can see it when I close my eyes. I can feel it, when I think of my beloved Jennifer and I can even taste it if I think about Eating. So is it real? Yes! It's [censored] real!”

He started to talk in ecstasy, but Mikhel remained quiet and nodded. This process was exhausting for body and mind. Some will even become unconscious.

“And now the important question!” Lawrence raised his finger like a teacher who wanted to teach something to his student. “What is fiction? Is fiction not a more perfect thought? Yes! So ... if a thought is real, it is fiction too, right?”

Mikhel raised his eyebrows and let his mouth fall. He underestimated the kind of development that Lawrence was going through. Many times. He thought it would be the realization of CHIM, and that he was only here to escort the poor soul through the Zero-Sum, the deletion of the existence, if a mind did not get along with the new knowledge. But that was much, much more.

Mikhel sat down at the edge of the chair. “Go on, please!”

“I mean ... I do not know. I have ideas, but they are just theory. It feels ... like a single piece is missing! A little thing. Something that I need to know, to understand. To really to understand!”

Mikhel nodded, grinning. Maybe he had just found here the next ruler of the Psijics. “I can give you this last piece. But if you can't learn it, you could ... be lost.”

Lawrence nodded. “I give a [censored] on me! I just want to be clear again! Either that, or simply disappear to not loaded my beloved Jennifer.”

“Well then. But if I tell you, you have to serve me in pure love.”

“I will.”

“Then take this.” Mikhel sat on the creaking chair back and took a book out of his coat. It was the collection of the Thirty-Six Lessons of Vivec, the former God of the Dunmer from the eastern province of Morrowind, with comments by the highest learned the Psijic. “Read it probably even a few dozen times in silence and try to understand it. Your mind is currently on information-search and this literally devour it. You will read it in one day... I'll come back tomorrow to discuss it with you. Agreed?”

Lawrence took the heavy book and looked at the straight to Mikhel. “And that will help me?”

“Either this or take the load of your wife.”

Lawrence nodded and immediately began eagerly to read in his bed the book.

Mikhel left the hut. Outside, on a bench sat Jennifer and looked at the Abeceanic sea.

“I'll come back tomorrow, wife Naty.”

She got up. “How is he going?”, she asked, placed her hands anxiously on her chest.

“Better. I have given him some literature. That will reassure him. He will be able rest very well to night.” Mikhel grinned after he realized that the possible enlightenment of Lawrence was similar to a child, that ate too many sweet rolls.

“And tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow I will be able to cure him probably.”

Jennifer grinned. “Thank you.”

Mikhel nodded and stepped away from home. He went back to Anvil. Either would Lawrence tomorrow learn enlightenment, or he would be zero summed and will therefore deleted from existence. Either way knew Mikhel that he will have something good done.

The next day, Mikhel has knocked on the door of the hut. Jennifer opened it and stepped outside. She looked much more rested than yesterday.

“Good luck,” she said.

Mikhel was relieved. Lawrence was therefore not deleted, otherwise Jennifer would not have remembered him and thus Lawrence come a huge step closer to enlightenment.

Mikhel stepped back into the hut and Lawrence was back in bed, dressed up this time.

“Have you read it?”

Lawrence nodded, sighed and brushed exhausted through his short hair. “It makes perfect sense ...! Even it is absolute [censored]. How can that be? How ... why I believe that what is in there?”

Mikhel sat down on the rickety chair and smiled pale. “Because it is the pure truth. Do you feel ... unnecessary? Or meaningless?”

Lawrence shrugged. “No, why should I?”

Mikhel looked at him disappointed. “Have you ever understood what it is in the book?”

“We are not 'real'. But it means nothing to me.”

“Nothing at all?”

“We are fake, from the perspective of something greater than we are, right? It is like if we were ants, and the higher entity were a man. What could we hope to accomplish? It is like a thought. We feel, see, hear. It is real. For us. For our understanding. That is enough for me.”

Mikhel now began to grin. Lawrence had now experienced the full enlightenment and would now have a lot of questions. “All right. Take the lesson yesterday continued.”

“I mean ... now I wonder, of course, what kind of 'inauthenticity' we are. Are we the dream of this ... Godhead? An idea? No. For a dream it is to clear, if we believe the comments on the Thirty-six lessons. That means, we would be somewhat larger than a thought. “ He slipped through his face. “Maybe we are ... Fiction?”

Mikhel frowned when he heard the question.

“Do you mean, like a book?”

“No. That does not fit it. I can feel it. We are more than that. Fiction is a larger, more perfect idea of ??an entity. But I think ...” He looked at his note. “Yes! We are the fiction of many people. As a library full of great stories, short stories, great novels and theories.” And Lawrence believed. He was so sure that he knew he was right. And with this knowledge, he looked with new eyes to the existence. “Many people ... many creators of fiction created many inconsistencies. How can it be that two or more creators of fiction are so contradictory?”

Mikhel did not understand where this question was leading. Such questions were asked by no Psijics. “What are you talking about? It's just a theory.”

Lawrence grazed his forehead. She was wet with sweat. “No, and now let me think. There are many creators and that means that they will contradict sooner or later each other. It must be so. Everyone and everything has different experiences, preferences, and opinions. Everything which creates this existence is a creative entity. And with creativity come the discrepancies. This existence is suppressed by a concept that we call 'logic'. And this approach reveals to me that something impossible is not possible. If a creator says, orcs are Dwemer, and the other says they are elves, can only one of them be happening, right? Unless ... there are several existences!”

Lawrence jumped up from his bed and Mikhel recoiled. “Every new creator, creates a new universe based on the first Aurbis once he has a new idea. I am fiction, and the creators are Godhead. Is this thought, this scene only another creation?”

Now Lawrence reached a never reached enlightenment in the universe. He did no longer recognized the existence as existence. He saw it as a text. A post in a forum, as part of an information-network. And with the enlightenment he had full control over it.

“Now let me talk to you, dear Creator,” Lawrence said to you. “I do not know you, but I know I'm fictional, and you are all a Godhead. Let me speak to you about this, 'Bethforum' called Forum, for each existing fiction. You write not only something. You create something. Every thought is real, for all that is in it. For each entity. And not only that. Every time someone reads your work, he creates new thinking about it and with these thoughts, he creates a new existence. You believe me not, then seeing me! I have suffered in my life, when I buried my son! I loved when I made him and later holding him. I'm real. You can not deny me. Every thought is art and every art is reality. And by reading this post you not only break the fourth wall, you break all boundaries.”