I am Merrick, a humble monk of the Pious Order of Wujec. My life has been spent in quiet service — copying, preserving, and slowly deciphering the writings of the god Yolansteppen. It is not glamorous work. The scratch of quills in the cold scriptorium, the faint smell of lamp oil, and the dark ink stains on my frock are my legacy. I make no claims to insight, only to persistence. What follows is what I have come to understand — or think I have understood — offered in the hope it may be of use to others walking the long road toward Abithemmin, enlightenment.
This book is divided into four parts, each reflecting a different facet of our tradition and its revelations.
It begins with The Pious Order of Wujec — a reflection on who we are, how we came to be, and why we attend so carefully to the words of gods, even when they are elliptical, contradictory, or scribbled on the back of a cheese ledger. I include this not out of vanity, but because the shape of a message is always touched by the hand that carries it. To know our Order is to better understand the spirit in which this work was compiled.
The second part, The Nature of Reality, describes the architecture of consciousness itself — a sacred trinity of levels: the Unified Mind, the Divine Mind, and the Human Mind. These are not places, but states of being — pathways along which gods and mortals alike may travel. To understand the gods, one must first understand the shape of their world. Or at least squint thoughtfully in its general direction.
The third part, The Gods, offers portraits of ten divine beings known to us through Yolansteppen’s writings: Allend, Anticia, Basyaran, Beralien, Froshta Soss, Parinelle, Sequorin, Raushan, Walla Immen, and Yolansteppen herself. Each is presented not as an ideal, but as a being in process — fallible, radiant, often absurd, and always in motion. They do not demand worship. They demand attention. A small offering of figs now and then would not go amiss.
The fourth and final part, The Game of Dasmark, turns to that sacred puzzle of motion and stillness, said to be played by gods and mortals alike. In its shifting patterns and unsolvable grace, it offers not merely pastime, but parable — a mirror to the soul’s unfinished journey. It is a game without a winner, a perfect pastime for monks and gods.
Much of this book draws upon five collections attributed to Yolansteppen — enigmatic writings gathered over the last two centuries by monks of our fellowship. Each bears a different character. Consider This speaks directly to humans, urging self-reflection. Esoteric Knowledge unveils glimpses of higher realms and the nature of consciousness. The Human Questions views us through divine eyes — a dim view to be sure. The Nature of Unity wrestles with reality’s deepest shape. And Scattered Passages, as its name suggests, collects what was left unsorted — fragments, musings, and stories whose meanings still unfold like piled laundry.
The writings are not easy. They contradict. They conceal. They burn. And yet, again and again, they reveal truth — not in definition, but in movement. Yolansteppen does not teach by declaring, but by disrupting. She once wrote: “A truth held too tightly becomes a wall. Let your truths breathe.”
Use this book not as a lantern, but as a mirror. And if you find yourself disoriented at times, take heart: “The gods themselves are still becoming.” So may we.
In service and sincerity,
Merrick of Alcove
Monk of the Pious Order of Wujec