I lift up my eyes toward the sky; know my heart and home are there, where the ones before me lie. One day, I’ll be gathered up and carried to that place where I shall know as I am known, and see my Maker’s face. It’s appointed unto us just once to be: We linger here, but soon we’ll be set free. No more reaching upward ‘til we die, Our roots stay here. We stretch beyond the sky.
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resilientgiant187

I lift up my eyes toward the sky; know my heart and home are there, where the ones before me lie. One day, I’ll be gathered up and carried to that place where I shall know as I am known, and see my Maker’s face. It’s appointed unto us just once to be: We linger here, but soon we’ll be set free. No more reaching upward ‘til we die, Our roots stay here. We stretch beyond the sky.

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I lift up my eyes toward the sky; know my heart and home are there, where the ones before me lie. One day, I’ll be gathered up and carried to that place where I shall know as I am known, and see my Maker’s face. It’s appointed unto us just once to be: We linger here, but soon we’ll be set free. No more reaching upward ‘til we die, Our roots stay here. We stretch beyond the sky.
I have a little shadow that goes in and out with me, And what can be the use of him is more than I can see. He is very, very like me from the heels up to the head; And I see him jump before me, when I jump into my bed. The funniest thing about him is the way he likes to grow— Not at all like proper children, which is always very slow; For he sometimes shoots up taller like an india-rubber ball, And he sometimes goes so little that there’s none of him at all. He hasn’t got a notion of how children ought to play, And can only make a fool of me in every sort of way. He stays so close behind me, he’s a coward you can see; I’d think shame to stick to nursie as that shadow sticks to me! One morning, very early, before the sun was up, I rose and found the shining dew on every buttercup; But my lazy little shadow, like an arrant sleepy-head, Had stayed at home behind me and was fast asleep in bed.
Southeast Asia. Modern day. The damaged and the broken ones; all rooted in the past, live life the way it always was, from their first day to their last. Motes of dust in beams of light, in the darkness of this day, we tip the hat and give a nod, for the truth we can’t convey. Everything is real, but nothing matters, anyway. Where life is only what must be, from the cradle to the grave. Everyone does what they can: Nothing less, but sure no more. Tip the hat and give a nod to the ones who’ve gone before. We tip our hats and give the nod to the world we’ve all ignored
Personal POV scene. Me and Jesus in the desert on a cool morning at daybreak walking toward a bright star. Jesus is wearing old clothes and carrying a satchel. I’m wearing old clothes and sandals just like Him. The air is cool and crisp. The sky is bright blue on the horizon with deep purple fading into black at the upper atmosphere. The air is crisp and clear. It’s like the desert in California looking east toward Arizona. There are desert hills on the north and south sides and mountains in the distance.
Mr. Chen has arranged for the little family to cross secretly into Hong Kong—a place known for its bright skyline and bustling streets. Under the cover of darkness and with careful planning, Siu Zi, her father and Grandmother, along with Mr. Chen have boarded a small boat that carries them silently across the water. The sea is calm, its surface reflecting a tapestry of starlight, as if the heavens themselves are guiding them. Siu-Zi lies nestled between her father and grandmother, wrapped up in blankets, in the forward part of an open boat with quiet motors propelling them along. Their is an air of mystery and tension.
Personal POV scene. Me and Jesus in the desert on a cool morning at daybreak walking toward a bright star. Jesus is wearing old clothes and carrying a satchel. I’m wearing old clothes and sandals just like Him. The air is cool and crisp. The sky is bright blue on the horizon with deep purple fading into black at the upper atmosphere. The air is crisp and clear. It’s like the desert in California looking east toward Arizona. There are desert hills on the north and south sides and mountains in the distance.
Nayoma washed his bowl and sat down in a meditative state. I’ll meditate first, then practice Bushin no Jutsu, then Body Flicker, then wall walking. After that, I’ll take a cold shower and sleep. He opened his eyes, jumped out of meditation, and formed the hand signs for Clone Jutsu. A puff of smoke appeared, and a clone popped up right in front of him. It wasn’t perfect — its earlobes were stretched oddly — but it was still a success. Well, not so perfect… but with time I’ll correct my mistakes. Hmn, I guess I really had it easier than Naruto. I’m sure even Kibe‑sensei couldn’t do this on his first try. The clone disappeared with a puff of smoke, leaving Nayoma standing there, satisfied but already thinking about the next step.
Personal POV scene. Me and Jesus in the desert on a cool morning at daybreak walking toward a bright star. Jesus is wearing old clothes and carrying a satchel. I’m wearing old clothes and sandals just like Him. The air is cool and crisp. The sky is bright blue on the horizon with deep purple fading into black at the upper atmosphere. The air is crisp and clear. It’s like the desert in California looking east toward Arizona. There are desert hills on the north and south sides and mountains in the distance.
I sat, long ago, on an Asian hill with a Shakya Mundi friend, and watched the autumn leaves fall down from high above, giants in the forest casting off their wakefulness, falling progressively into winter’s long, white sleep. “The important thing to know about trees” he said, “is that they are most beautiful in autumn; just before the winter snow. They live and grow through the entire year just for these brief moments of stunning beauty. We are like that.” He said, “but we have only one autumn, and a very long winter.”
This day, though, I hiked another autumn wood. Eastern Europe ancient; overgrown. So thick the view was dark at just a few feet off the path. All red and yellow; orange and brown, a million trees, each one in blazing preparation for long, frozen winter. I cannot but recall my friend’s words, lasting long, though he did not, and the instant truth that follows. Looking upward at the fiery canopy, matched against the bright cerulean sky beyond, I embrace autumn! Winter surely comes one day, but spring beyond. I have a winter to prepare for, but it is not yet.
In Penang, Malaysia. Wing Sun's Grandmother is elderly and lives in Penang, on the island. Grandma's house is in a quieter part of the island, closer to the coastline where the sea breeze can be felt through the wooden windows. It's near the ocean, in Tanjung Bungah where there are old-style homes and a slower pace of life. There are many resort "homestay" hotels, and also some high-rise condos, but Grandmother's house has been there many years. Wing-Sun's mother grew up in that house, near the beach, with the ocean breeze. We see the house from down the street with Grandma standing in the doorway greeting us.
The San Gorgonio Pass, Mt. San Gorgonio) rises in the North, all hoary-frost and granite. Snake-like clouds adorning her peak, I gaze past the big white house toward her uplifted boulders. And at the South, Mt. San Jacinto has lost his head in cloud. Burned bones against a blue sky backdrop. Between the two, another sunrise gleams and beams of brilliant, white-hot day flash forth: They accentuate the Sonora desert’s west extreme, and last night’s moon forgot to go away.
The San Gorgonio Pass, Mt. San Gorgonio) rises in the North, all hoary-frost and granite. Snake-like clouds adorning her peak, I gaze past the big white house toward her uplifted boulders. And at the South, Mt. San Jacinto has lost his head in cloud. Burned bones against a blue sky backdrop. Between the two, another sunrise gleams and beams of brilliant, white-hot day flash forth: They accentuate the Sonora desert’s west extreme, and last night’s moon forgot to go away.
At his Grandmother's house in Penang, Wing Sun is lying down on a futon in his bedroom, covered up with a beautiful lightweight quilt Grandma made. Outside his room the rain is coming down. In Penang, every corner of the old town—every whisper of the wind through ancient trees—seems to echo with promises of renewal and love. And as the rain softens outside, Wing-Sun closes his eyes with the comforting knowledge that every detour, every farewell, is simply a step toward a new beginning. A lantern gives soft light to the room, and all is quiet.
Now, those captains must learn what the river will do when it makes that great turn out of sight. How it dashes them up on the rocks of the shore How it spins to the left and the right. It beats them and breaks them and crushes their pride Leaves them dizzy and sick and all jumbled inside ‘til they’ve all but forgotten that glorious ride lying flat on their deck in the sun. There they lie, drying out in the sun. As you round the point where the river was bent and survey the great wideness ahead, you can see all those captains alone on their decks, beat and broken and very near dead. Then the current takes hold and there’s naught you can do as it drags you down into its maw. Headed straight for those rocks, you make ready to crash but at last, you rise up, roll and yaw. Going back and away, then forward again, fearing each time, the rocks will prevail! You’re trapped in a cycling, circling tide, in an eddy withstanding a gale. But each time you circle that great whirling tide and you’ve not hit the rocks or been thrown to the side and you’re kept from the falls, cascading and wide, for the eddy’s small mercy give praise. Give the merciful currents your praise!
The San Gorgonio Pass, Mt. San Gorgonio) rises in the North, all hoary-frost and granite. Snake-like clouds adorning her peak, I gaze past the big white house toward her uplifted boulders. And at the South, Mt. San Jacinto has lost his head in cloud. Burned bones against a blue sky backdrop. Between the two, another sunrise gleams and beams of brilliant, white-hot day flash forth: They accentuate the Sonora desert’s west extreme, and last night’s moon, high up on the left, forgot to go away.
Act as a AAA stylized game artist (Blizzard / Riot style). Create a cinematic cartoon-style recruitment poster for “HELIX OF FATE” with a mix of epic fantasy and humor. 🎨 expressive characters. 🌌 SCENE A medieval fantasy city mixed with a cosmic sky. A giant eclipse in the background. At the center of the eclipse: a glowing red demonic/cosmic symbol. A golden helix spiral of energy connects the eclipse to the ground. 🎭 MAIN ACTION A charismatic leader character is dramatically controlling the helix like pulling strings of destiny… …but slightly exaggerated in a fun way (overconfident pose, dramatic energy). Behind him: a diverse group of heroes (warrior, mage, hunter, cleric), reacting: impressed hyped 🦝 RACCOON HUMOR (MAIN DIFFERENTIAL) Raccoons are part of the scene in a FUN way: one hoarding stamina potions in a pile one holding shiny loot proudly one acting like a “cult priest” one holding a small sign one whispering to a character Expressions should be funny but well integrated (not chaotic). 😂 COMMUNITY MEMES (VISUAL, NOT BLOCK TEXT) Integrate naturally in the environment: “Listen to the raccoon inside” “Hoard stamina potions like a raccoon” “Join the Jin religion” “Sunday compensation is coming” 👉 Place as: wooden signs banners graffiti small props 👁 DARK ENTITY (CARTOON STYLE) A shadowy cosmic creature behind the title: simplified but expressive glowing eyes slightly funny but still mysterious 🧾 TEXT (SHORT & CLEAN) HELIX OF FATE JOIN OUR RANKS Guild Level 5 3 Runs per Day Open 24/7 EXP Boost Legendary Upgrade Success Chance Loot Drop Rate discord.gg/p9HH457j4d ⚠️ RULES Keep composition clean and readable Balance epic + humor (not full meme chaos) Characters expressive and stylized Helix should still feel magical and important Poster must feel like a polished game promo
This day, though, I hiked another autumn wood. Eastern Europe ancient; overgrown. So thick the view was dark at just a few feet off the path. All red and yellow; orange and brown, a million trees, each one in blazing preparation for long, frozen winter. I cannot but recall my friend’s words, lasting long, though he did not, and the instant truth that follows. Looking upward at the fiery canopy, matched against the bright cerulean sky beyond, I embrace autumn! Winter surely comes one day, but spring beyond. I have a winter to prepare for, but it is not yet.