One way to keep a thing hidden is to destroy the creative will to explore.
Warning words overheard in dreaming.
Ideas are alive. Ideas are free.
Imagine every idea worth spreading, like seeds on winds of sheer light. Light a candle; Pass it on.
A geodesic biodome, here on our own ground; surrounding a settlement that's learned to live in balance, safeguarding its seeds from wind and rain and hurricane, starfall and nightfall and snowfall and fire. Preserving the chance for a second chance.
A geodesic biosphere, adrift in skies above; A lightweight scaffolding surrounds a blue breathing sky; Drifting free, suspended by gravity above the surface of the smaller sphere it envelops. Both crafted from resilient spindles, noded together like tinkertoys; the skysphere surface uniform, the terrasphere surface crinkled to make way for new streams and hilltops. This small world's crevices teem with new life. Far from being alone, its peers might ring our solar system. Countless eggs in many baskets.
Each small world hosts a fractal portion of our collective cultural record; networked, ephemeral, redundant. Each small world safeguards a vault of adamantine diamonds, the most permanent substance we know, each holographically etched with the visible traces of Earth's collective lore.
One quantum future of many, for growers and worldbuilders. Creating some space and some time, for humanity to relearn perspective, and heal our wounded world.
Step 1: Ensure that the better part of us survives, on Earth, reweaving our world. Step 2: Ensure that the better part of us survives, in orbit, rewriting our odds. Step 3: Ensure that the better part of us survives, in the timeless, vast beyond.
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