Preface
What is Laloym? Where does it come from? Who discovered it? And what might it do for me?
Attempting to answer these questions by way of direct proclamation would be like spooning flour, butter, sugar, eggs, and baking soda into one’s mouth and hoping they become a cake in the stomach. It would be neither enjoyable nor effective.
People have always understood the world through a narrative lens. We enjoy stories, we learn from stories, and we live stories. Far from being a mere human quirk, storytelling is the means by which meaning penetrates more deeply — past the point of verbal comprehension, down to the level where it can be truly felt. It gives us the freedom to find and extract meaning for ourselves. It is the difference between unpacking a sword from a box and pulling it from a stone.
What follows is a myth that I will reveal one chapter at a time. It contains a mix of prose and poetry that I hope you will find both entertaining and dense with meaning. And while each line has been crafted slowly and thoughtfully, the meaning that oozes out from between the lines will likely say more about the reader than the writer.
In any case, I hope you enjoy
The Lore of Laloym
Chapter 1 - Prylof
Let’s get one thing straight: I am not the hero of this story. I am the hero of my own story, as I believe every person should be. For me, Laloym is an ancient truth, a modern reminder, and an aspirational mode of being. I tell its tale and sing as its steward, but I am not its hero. No, with respect to The Lore of Laloym, I am merely a bard—though, if I may say so myself, a decent one.
Our story begins long ago with a man named Prylof, an unassuming and good-natured fellow of average stature. He had dark hair and a fair complexion, with a square chin, broad shoulders, and callused hands. If you smiled at him, he’d smile back, but if you glanced at him without his noticing, you’d see an expression that hinted at a mind that had wandered far from where he stood—perhaps with intention, perhaps simply lost in thought…
Chapter 2 - Hevenin
The city of Hevenin had once been a wonderful place to live—or so Prylof had been told many times by the older folks who lived there. He had never asked them about the days of old, and didn’t need to. If you encountered an elderly resident and stood still for long enough, they would tell you all about how the light of the sun used to illuminate every inch of the city, about how it was a warm place with friendly neighbors who knew and helped one another, about how it was optimistic, industrious, and proudly self-sufficient.
As a child, Prylof had mostly dismissed these stories as the nostalgic ramblings of walking, talking relics of a bygone era. But as he reached adulthood, Prylof began to think differently. He no longer viewed their current predicament as inevitable. He began to believe that perhaps life could be different from the way it was now, maybe very different. At times, he even found himself longing for the days described by his ancient neighbors—as if he felt nostalgia for a time that he himself had never actually experienced. He knew of course that they could not go back. But sometimes he wondered if there was another way forward…