Driving home today I remembered Robert Jordan died
eight years ago today. It hit me like a brick wall. What else can I say about
Jordan that I didn’t say last year? His books were my companion through my
socially awkward years. I stayed up way too late way too many times as a young
man reading the series. In 2013 I waited for two days in line to get my copy of
A Memory of Light. Later that year, after saying I could die happy now that I
finished the series, I actually died. I think I would have been OK with it
ending there. Just kidding.
Jordan is my hero. He was a mythological figure to me,
and still is. I never met him. He’s kind of like a god to me.
The Wheel of Time turns, and
Ages come and pass, leaving memories that become legend. Legend fades to myth,
and even myth is long forgotten when the Age that gave it birth comes again. In
one Age, called the Third Age by some, an Age yet to come, an Age long past, a
wind rose in the Mountains of Mist. The wind was not the beginning. There are
neither beginnings nor endings to the turning of the Wheel of Time. But it was a beginning.
