# [D30:4M] Vision: [[The Sun is Hanging Over the Tower, The Tower is Made of Dust]] Hexagram: [[Thirtieth Hexagram]] Trials: [[Thirtieth Hexagram]] Archetypes: #fire #tower #water #machine #game #fly #river #mountain #sun #dust #shadow July 23rd, 2026 1. It is drying up, the world around here. The Rio Grande has been slurped away. The first invention was fire.  The second was noise.  The third was immortality.  The Tower of Babel was the fourth because, by that time already, a sanctuary was needed to house the insane. 2. I started the Jeep and the hood smoked. I had driven as far as Jemez Springs and stopped at the cafe there for a breakfast burrito.  I was nowhere near a mechanic.  I bought six bottles of water, not distilled, from inside and dumped them in the coolant tank. There and then I remembered I’d dreamt the previous night about the leak. I asked the phone if I could get away with pouring this in my coolant tank and it said, probably yes.  I texted my wife and went home. I had meant to reach McCauly Springs to look at the aftermath of the recent wildfires there.  In the dream, it was as though I were lying with my head on the pavement watching a dark rain fall from the undercarriage of an aging machine.  Why was I lying on pavement? 3.  Everyone knows this: our world is dying. I myself continue to sit in meditation, to pray, to look at my phone while I poop, to practice tai chi, to get my colonoscopy.  It's not the promise of death which is the source of this sadness, but the denial. The Game has grown beyond games. Its Dreams have moved into my dreams. Does the Game move out toward Reality, or is it the other way around? Only in silence do I accept what in noise is refused: the blessed end of myself, the tickling pretarsi of a fly at the tip of my vanishing nose. 4. Death can present new opportunities. It had never been possible to walk on the Rio Grande when there was water in it, to watch the orange and violet light coruscate over the escarpments and alluvial fans of the riverbottom.  Some say it's because of the data center in Farmington that the river has vanished. I blame Prometheus, Noah, Nimrod. AI says data centers might have something to do with it but that it's definitely not Meta's fault. I am watching a dust devil spin upward from the empty river, Bruegel bronze and darting before a pinkening Sandia Mountain backdrop. A still-hot sun is hanging behind the spiral tower and me.  The tower is made of dust and my shadow quickens to touch it.