The Mystery of Bitcoin

Hi Bitcoin, kindly hand this message to your creator.

Thank you for your recent letter. I am lonely back here, and aware that I bate this “mystery” with an unusual awkward angle. I apologize in advance for any offense and my heart is already filled with sorrow. I hope that my words will be well received as there is a tiny window in my house from where I can share glimpses of how my land is intertwined with your mystery. I like it when things are mystic for it allows a space to play around with specific details, stretch the ones where we hold a string, and decide whether to leave a door closed or shine a specific light on a peculiar aspect.

Hey do you remember that early summer day when we were driving your car in the outskirts of my village and again, the cops came after us? Is the mere fact of the proximity of our body sharing a common space breaking any law? But it must just be by a strange occurrence that when we hang out together they sneak at our coattails.

I do want to point out to you that I tried to be your friend. You might not understand this, but I didn’t want to sleep with you because I liked you, and I saw that we could have lived a world of beauty together. Remember that evening? Sorry, let me rephrase that – do you remember when we were confecting the leather masks in preparation for a grand event. You took a picture of me in your kitchen; I’m standing there from the back with a puppet covering my hand. I decided not to join a copy of it for this letter for I knew Bitcoin was to open it first. I know, I know, it doesn’t show off your photography skills but you wouldn’t want me to fuzz too much in any ways so I’m keeping it low key here.

What were the masks for again? Burning man! Oh I remember my Dear Nevada. I used to walk its rocks to welcome the sunrise every morning when I lived there. Was the fire of epic flames? That heat is quite a contrast from Yukon’s ice. It’s amazing how the wind blows the desert grounds to erases all traces in the sand. No spy could manage to retrace anyone’s footsteps. The desert is spy proof! And no one could ever trace back one single grain of sand. It makes me think of the painting of a giant eye that I finished recently. Your mom would be proud of me. It is the left side of a duo. At the bottom of the right one there are two pearls. When we retrace their origin, one could say that they came from a tiny grain of sand. There is an analogy with it that I find mimics your brilliance. It goes like this:

If the world of cryptocurrency were to be encrypted in the sky, only a super spy could ever demystify that the heavenly pearls were created from a particle of ether that entered the shell. But no one knows that Bitcoins’ missing fortune is stored and sealed in that mirage. They could never find it because all they see is a blurry vision projected by the mind’s eye. They would need to reverse the clocks and trace back the image into time only to find out that what is seen is being altered by layers of thick cataract. Tada!

P.S. Mr. Denman, please send my special salutations to my friend Doc and tell him that I REALLY miss him. I wonder if, in the early morning when the dew delicately rises from the lake, he stays still for a moment only to hear the echo of my voice resonating from the sunlit spring mountains. Perhaps he could pass the word to Kenobi that I am deeply touched that he can now read; I hope you remember how you regain sight. By the same occasion, he could tell Big Brother that I pray for him to receive healing and that I am still grateful for the bravery he demonstrated that night when he sneaked in my sleep and woke me up covering my mouth with his hand. And finally, he could let Princess know that she is an important member of the royal family and that I admire her loyalty towards me. And for Ninja Twin I appreciate that her door is not fully closed and locked. My brethren, lets greet the Youngest for he is my rock. Our memories together, my children, are forever engraved in our hearts, we are bound by the shared experiences of our past, and I am grateful to have crossed yours. I love you all dearly. Indeed, it is a harsh journey that leads to the greatness of this world.

P.P.S. Oliver, I never forgot the delicate texts you wrote in the past. From the branches of your tree they gracefully fell in my hands. You are an amazing writer.

P.S.S. I am well aware that things are turning a bit sour around here; so I trust that it will all be all right.

“Now I beseech you that ye all speak the same thing and that there shall be no divisions among you; but that ye be perfectly joined together in the same mind.” Corinthians1