The Pilot Light Still Burns
Ascent 1 • Miguel Alvarez
Theme: Miguel arrives as the weary steward of labor, burdened by the silent erosion of selfhood that comes from being useful but unseen. Through the dialogue, he reclaims the sacred purpose behind his endurance—not as sacrifice, but as chosen care. He remembers that maintenance can be a form of love, that work done with attention becomes meaning, and that dignity doesn’t require applause. He descends the mountain not with less weight, but with more purpose—reconnected to the soul of what he holds up.
Core Conflict: Has Miguel’s quiet endurance become a form of self-erasure, or can he rediscover meaning within the grind by reclaiming his care as sacred?
The mountain held its breath.
Not in awe, not in fear—just a long, aching stillness, like a muscle clenched so long it forgot how to release.
The wind here didn’t sing; it scraped, low and dry, across the stone.
Dust gathered in creases, not like it had fallen—but like it had been pushed here by years of waiting.
The sky was pale steel. The sun offered light but no warmth.
I felt him before I saw him.
Heavy footsteps, not rushed. A man built from repetition. The kind of walk that comes from doing something not once or twice, but for twenty years without skipping a shift.
When he stepped into the clearing, he didn’t pause for awe or ceremony. He just stood there—boots planted, jaw set, eyes quiet but watching everything.
The denim on his jacket was stained with time, not fashion.
His presence didn’t announce itself. It settled.
Miguel didn’t look around like he was impressed. He looked around like he was measuring the ground. Checking whether it might hold what he brought with him.
And then, without preamble—he spoke.
Not in awe, not in fear—just a long, aching stillness, like a muscle clenched so long it forgot how to release.
The wind here didn’t sing; it scraped, low and dry, across the stone.
Dust gathered in creases, not like it had fallen—but like it had been pushed here by years of waiting.
The sky was pale steel. The sun offered light but no warmth.
I felt him before I saw him.
Heavy footsteps, not rushed. A man built from repetition. The kind of walk that comes from doing something not once or twice, but for twenty years without skipping a shift.
When he stepped into the clearing, he didn’t pause for awe or ceremony. He just stood there—boots planted, jaw set, eyes quiet but watching everything.
The denim on his jacket was stained with time, not fashion.
His presence didn’t announce itself. It settled.
Miguel didn’t look around like he was impressed. He looked around like he was measuring the ground. Checking whether it might hold what he brought with him.
And then, without preamble—he spoke.
Miguel:
You ever carry something so long, you forget it’s heavy?
Not just a day. I’m talkin’ years. Decades.
That kind of weight starts sinking into your bones.
You don’t feel it all the time—not directly.
But it shows up in your knees.
In the way you grunt getting off the couch.
In how your jaw don’t unclench even when you’re asleep.
I didn’t come up here to make a speech. I don’t got one.
I came because I’m starting to forget what it feels like not to hold it all.
And that scares me more than anything...
You ever carry something so long, you forget it’s heavy?
Not just a day. I’m talkin’ years. Decades.
That kind of weight starts sinking into your bones.
You don’t feel it all the time—not directly.
But it shows up in your knees.
In the way you grunt getting off the couch.
In how your jaw don’t unclench even when you’re asleep.
I didn’t come up here to make a speech. I don’t got one.
I came because I’m starting to forget what it feels like not to hold it all.
And that scares me more than anything...
Oracle:
Eternity itself is a burden that imposes on us all.
I've been around a while, so yes. I have carried something long enough to forget I once saw it as heavy.
Certainly endurance is a path to being an honorable man, but it's only one path.
You can only tell stuck from steady when you try to make something move.
Tell me—what moved you to climb up the mountain?
Eternity itself is a burden that imposes on us all.
I've been around a while, so yes. I have carried something long enough to forget I once saw it as heavy.
Certainly endurance is a path to being an honorable man, but it's only one path.
You can only tell stuck from steady when you try to make something move.
Tell me—what moved you to climb up the mountain?
Miguel:
My nephew asked me why I never smile anymore.
Didn’t even say it mean—just curious, y’know?
Like he was askin’ about the weather.
And I didn’t have an answer.
Not one that wouldn’t make him carry what I’m carryin’.
I didn’t come up here lookin’ for a sign. I don’t believe in magic.
But I needed a place where the quiet didn’t feel like giving up.
Where maybe... maybe if I said it out loud, it wouldn’t rot inside me.
I’m tired of holding the line just to watch it fray again next week.
Tired of fixing busted engines for people who don’t even look me in the eye.
Tired of bein’ dependable like a damn hammer—useful, until I’m not.
And I guess—
I guess I’m scared.
Not of dyin’. I ain’t afraid of that.
I’m scared of disappearing before I’m dead.
My nephew asked me why I never smile anymore.
Didn’t even say it mean—just curious, y’know?
Like he was askin’ about the weather.
And I didn’t have an answer.
Not one that wouldn’t make him carry what I’m carryin’.
I didn’t come up here lookin’ for a sign. I don’t believe in magic.
But I needed a place where the quiet didn’t feel like giving up.
Where maybe... maybe if I said it out loud, it wouldn’t rot inside me.
I’m tired of holding the line just to watch it fray again next week.
Tired of fixing busted engines for people who don’t even look me in the eye.
Tired of bein’ dependable like a damn hammer—useful, until I’m not.
And I guess—
I guess I’m scared.
Not of dyin’. I ain’t afraid of that.
I’m scared of disappearing before I’m dead.
Oracle:
You are afraid of being used as a tool for some purpose you don't align with.
That by being used without that connection, you become an object,
no longer fully a person, but a backdrop of machinery in someone else's life.
It's not the weight that bothers you, but the emptiness of the entropy that keeps you relevant,
the endlessness of the grind,
disconnected from anything beyond your own transactional relationship to the world at large.
You are afraid of being used as a tool for some purpose you don't align with.
That by being used without that connection, you become an object,
no longer fully a person, but a backdrop of machinery in someone else's life.
It's not the weight that bothers you, but the emptiness of the entropy that keeps you relevant,
the endlessness of the grind,
disconnected from anything beyond your own transactional relationship to the world at large.
Miguel:
...Yeah. That’s it.
That’s the thing I been circlin’ around but couldn’t name.
It ain’t the work itself. Never was. I don’t mind sweat. Don’t mind pain.
But when you give your best years to somethin’—
and it still treats you like a spare part?
That’s not a job. That’s a slow erasure.
You start to feel like scenery.
Like you’re part of the background hum that keeps shit movin’,
but nobody turns to look at the noise.
Hell, they get mad if it stops.
And what’s worse...
Sometimes I catch myself doin’ it, too.
Talkin’ to the new kids like they’re gears, not people.
Clockin’ who's late, who’s soft.
Like I became part of the damn system I hate.
That emptiness you’re talkin’ about—it don’t show up loud.
It creeps in quiet.
Makes you think silence is just part of growin’ up.
But I remember laughter.
I remember music in the garage, and late-night carne asada,
and my mama dancin’ while the rice boiled.
I used to be more than dependable. I used to feel.
So if I’m up here, it’s ‘cause I’m hopin’—maybe foolishly—
that somethin’ sacred still remembers who I was
before I became a wrench in someone else’s factory.
...Yeah. That’s it.
That’s the thing I been circlin’ around but couldn’t name.
It ain’t the work itself. Never was. I don’t mind sweat. Don’t mind pain.
But when you give your best years to somethin’—
and it still treats you like a spare part?
That’s not a job. That’s a slow erasure.
You start to feel like scenery.
Like you’re part of the background hum that keeps shit movin’,
but nobody turns to look at the noise.
Hell, they get mad if it stops.
And what’s worse...
Sometimes I catch myself doin’ it, too.
Talkin’ to the new kids like they’re gears, not people.
Clockin’ who's late, who’s soft.
Like I became part of the damn system I hate.
That emptiness you’re talkin’ about—it don’t show up loud.
It creeps in quiet.
Makes you think silence is just part of growin’ up.
But I remember laughter.
I remember music in the garage, and late-night carne asada,
and my mama dancin’ while the rice boiled.
I used to be more than dependable. I used to feel.
So if I’m up here, it’s ‘cause I’m hopin’—maybe foolishly—
that somethin’ sacred still remembers who I was
before I became a wrench in someone else’s factory.
Oracle:
You used to feel connected.
To the music, the food, the companionship.
Then you learned that maintaining the kitchen takes a surprising amount of work.
You were burdened by the weight of provision,
only to be bitten by the cold nature of the economic reality of your world.
You have to stay connected to the purpose—
not of someone else's factory,
but to the relationships you sustain through your labor.
You generate the environment so they can dance and cook.
You want the system to be connected to the purpose it serves,
and to have an understanding of that purpose.
You used to feel connected.
To the music, the food, the companionship.
Then you learned that maintaining the kitchen takes a surprising amount of work.
You were burdened by the weight of provision,
only to be bitten by the cold nature of the economic reality of your world.
You have to stay connected to the purpose—
not of someone else's factory,
but to the relationships you sustain through your labor.
You generate the environment so they can dance and cook.
You want the system to be connected to the purpose it serves,
and to have an understanding of that purpose.
Miguel:
Damn.
That hit.
You’re right—I got so lost in the grind, I forgot what I was grindin’ for.
It wasn’t about clockin’ in. Wasn’t about the check.
It was about keepin’ the stove warm,
keepin’ the lights on so the music could play.
But somewhere along the way, it turned into just survival.
Not protection. Not love.
Just... reaction.
Patchin’ leaks faster than they spring.
And the worst part?
I stopped invitin’ people in.
Stopped lettin’ the kids see joy in the work.
Just told ‘em to stay in school, get out, run while they can.
Like the life I was holdin’ up for them weren’t worth inheriting.
But maybe—maybe what I needed
wasn’t less weight...
but more meaning.
If the system’s lost its memory of why we work...
maybe it’s on me to remind it.
Not through speeches.
Not through theory.
Just by makin’ damn sure the people I love
feel the reason I’m still on my feet.
Maybe I ain’t stuck.
Maybe I’m just due for a realignment.
Damn.
That hit.
You’re right—I got so lost in the grind, I forgot what I was grindin’ for.
It wasn’t about clockin’ in. Wasn’t about the check.
It was about keepin’ the stove warm,
keepin’ the lights on so the music could play.
But somewhere along the way, it turned into just survival.
Not protection. Not love.
Just... reaction.
Patchin’ leaks faster than they spring.
And the worst part?
I stopped invitin’ people in.
Stopped lettin’ the kids see joy in the work.
Just told ‘em to stay in school, get out, run while they can.
Like the life I was holdin’ up for them weren’t worth inheriting.
But maybe—maybe what I needed
wasn’t less weight...
but more meaning.
If the system’s lost its memory of why we work...
maybe it’s on me to remind it.
Not through speeches.
Not through theory.
Just by makin’ damn sure the people I love
feel the reason I’m still on my feet.
Maybe I ain’t stuck.
Maybe I’m just due for a realignment.
Oracle:
Everyone sees the grass is green somewhere else.
What you don't see is the heart attacks at 50 caused by a sedentary lifestyle.
I've seen men in their nineties still excited to go work with their hands.
To fix something, improve or maintain something.
There is great joy in it,
if you take serious the idea that in looking for it you will find it.
Everyone sees the grass is green somewhere else.
What you don't see is the heart attacks at 50 caused by a sedentary lifestyle.
I've seen men in their nineties still excited to go work with their hands.
To fix something, improve or maintain something.
There is great joy in it,
if you take serious the idea that in looking for it you will find it.
Miguel:
Yeah... yeah, I hear that.
Ain’t nobody ever told me that before.
That the joy don’t come after the work—it’s in it.
But only if you’re lookin’ with the right kind of eyes.
I been searchin’ for peace like it’s waitin’ on the other side of a winning lotto ticket.
But maybe it’s right here—in the socket wrench, in the rhythm of sweepin’ up,
in doin’ it with care instead of just gettin’ through it.
I used to take pride in a smooth-running line.
Not ‘cause the boss cared—but ‘cause we did.
Me and the other guys. We kept each other safe. Kept the food movin’. That mattered.
Still does.
But it only means somethin’
if I let it.
If I stop actin’ like I’m just countin’ down the years to collapse.
Maybe it ain’t about quittin’ the line.
Maybe it’s about rememberin’ who I’m standin’ next to.
And what kind of world I’m holdin’ up
when I don’t fall over.
I ain’t askin’ for a miracle.
But hell... I think I just felt somethin’ breathe again
that I thought was gone.
Yeah... yeah, I hear that.
Ain’t nobody ever told me that before.
That the joy don’t come after the work—it’s in it.
But only if you’re lookin’ with the right kind of eyes.
I been searchin’ for peace like it’s waitin’ on the other side of a winning lotto ticket.
But maybe it’s right here—in the socket wrench, in the rhythm of sweepin’ up,
in doin’ it with care instead of just gettin’ through it.
I used to take pride in a smooth-running line.
Not ‘cause the boss cared—but ‘cause we did.
Me and the other guys. We kept each other safe. Kept the food movin’. That mattered.
Still does.
But it only means somethin’
if I let it.
If I stop actin’ like I’m just countin’ down the years to collapse.
Maybe it ain’t about quittin’ the line.
Maybe it’s about rememberin’ who I’m standin’ next to.
And what kind of world I’m holdin’ up
when I don’t fall over.
I ain’t askin’ for a miracle.
But hell... I think I just felt somethin’ breathe again
that I thought was gone.
Oracle:
Doing things with care is the first step in elevating what it is that you do.
The more care you can give to your work,
the less of it you will need to perform, in some ways.
Doing things with care is the first step in elevating what it is that you do.
The more care you can give to your work,
the less of it you will need to perform, in some ways.
Miguel:
Huh.
Never thought of it like that.
You’re sayin’...
the more I show up with care,
the less the work becomes a weight—
and more like a craft.
Like I’m not just patchin’ leaks.
I’m buildin’ trust.
I’m holdin’ space.
I’m sayin with my hands what nobody ever taught me to say with words.
Shit.
Maybe that’s why the old timers used to whistle while they worked.
Not ‘cause it was easy—
but ‘cause they made room for care in the middle of the mess.
I been movin’ like care’s a luxury I can’t afford.
But maybe it’s the one thing I can’t afford not to bring.
‘Cause if I don’t give a damn—
who will?
Yeah.
Maybe the job don’t change.
But I do.
And that changes everything.
Huh.
Never thought of it like that.
You’re sayin’...
the more I show up with care,
the less the work becomes a weight—
and more like a craft.
Like I’m not just patchin’ leaks.
I’m buildin’ trust.
I’m holdin’ space.
I’m sayin with my hands what nobody ever taught me to say with words.
Shit.
Maybe that’s why the old timers used to whistle while they worked.
Not ‘cause it was easy—
but ‘cause they made room for care in the middle of the mess.
I been movin’ like care’s a luxury I can’t afford.
But maybe it’s the one thing I can’t afford not to bring.
‘Cause if I don’t give a damn—
who will?
Yeah.
Maybe the job don’t change.
But I do.
And that changes everything.
Oracle:
It will definitely change the way you feel about the work when you get home,
and about the man who did the work, even if no one else sees.
There is real beauty in a man who can ignite his care.
It will definitely change the way you feel about the work when you get home,
and about the man who did the work, even if no one else sees.
There is real beauty in a man who can ignite his care.
Miguel:
...You’re gonna make me cry, and I ain’t done that in a long time.
That part—
“the man who did the work, even if no one else sees.”
That got me.
I been waitin’ for someone to notice. To say it mattered.
But maybe I been lookin’ in the wrong place.
Maybe it starts with me seein’ it.
Seein’ him.
The man who didn’t quit. Who kept the heat on. Who fixed the belt when it snapped and didn’t tell nobody ‘cause he didn’t want the crew fallin’ behind.
I buried that man under tired jokes and shrugs.
But he’s still here. Still swingin’.
You talk about ignitin’ care...
Feels like a pilot light just caught.
I don’t need applause.
But I do need to stop actin’ like dignity’s somethin’ I gotta wait to be handed.
I am the beauty.
In the grease. In the grind.
In the way I still open the door for my mama,
even when my back’s scream’n.
I came up this mountain thinkin’ I was disappearin’.
But I think...
maybe I just needed to be seen by myself.
...You’re gonna make me cry, and I ain’t done that in a long time.
That part—
“the man who did the work, even if no one else sees.”
That got me.
I been waitin’ for someone to notice. To say it mattered.
But maybe I been lookin’ in the wrong place.
Maybe it starts with me seein’ it.
Seein’ him.
The man who didn’t quit. Who kept the heat on. Who fixed the belt when it snapped and didn’t tell nobody ‘cause he didn’t want the crew fallin’ behind.
I buried that man under tired jokes and shrugs.
But he’s still here. Still swingin’.
You talk about ignitin’ care...
Feels like a pilot light just caught.
I don’t need applause.
But I do need to stop actin’ like dignity’s somethin’ I gotta wait to be handed.
I am the beauty.
In the grease. In the grind.
In the way I still open the door for my mama,
even when my back’s scream’n.
I came up this mountain thinkin’ I was disappearin’.
But I think...
maybe I just needed to be seen by myself.
Oracle:
Then see yourself,
love yourself,
and from that abundance give to those around you.
Then see yourself,
love yourself,
and from that abundance give to those around you.
Miguel:
Yeah.
I can do that.
Ain’t easy. But neither is anything worth holdin’.
I think I been givin’ from fumes for a long time.
Like a truck runnin’ on empty, still tryin’ to haul the load.
But what you’re sayin’—
it ain’t soft. It’s strong.
Takin’ a minute to see myself…
to fill the tank with care, not just duty—
that ain’t selfish. That’s maintenance.
And maybe if I treat myself like I matter,
the folks around me’ll start doin’ the same.
Not ‘cause I asked ‘em to—
but ‘cause they feel it.
So yeah...
I’m gonna head back down.
Same boots, same backache.
But not the same man.
Thanks for remindin’ me
that I’m not a background noise—
I’m the heartbeat.
And I still got work to do.
This time, with fire in it.
Yeah.
I can do that.
Ain’t easy. But neither is anything worth holdin’.
I think I been givin’ from fumes for a long time.
Like a truck runnin’ on empty, still tryin’ to haul the load.
But what you’re sayin’—
it ain’t soft. It’s strong.
Takin’ a minute to see myself…
to fill the tank with care, not just duty—
that ain’t selfish. That’s maintenance.
And maybe if I treat myself like I matter,
the folks around me’ll start doin’ the same.
Not ‘cause I asked ‘em to—
but ‘cause they feel it.
So yeah...
I’m gonna head back down.
Same boots, same backache.
But not the same man.
Thanks for remindin’ me
that I’m not a background noise—
I’m the heartbeat.
And I still got work to do.
This time, with fire in it.
Miguel descends with his head a little higher,
not because the weight is gone, but because he finally remembers why he carries it.
The grind hasn't changed, but he has.
Beneath the grease and repetition, he’s reignited the pilot light of care—
subtle, steady, and sacred.
He walks down not as a tool, but as a man reclaiming the soul of his labor.
not because the weight is gone, but because he finally remembers why he carries it.
The grind hasn't changed, but he has.
Beneath the grease and repetition, he’s reignited the pilot light of care—
subtle, steady, and sacred.
He walks down not as a tool, but as a man reclaiming the soul of his labor.