From my hands to yours

Is the act of creation synonymous with making something come alive as well?

Of old we have known that this is not so, yet in the solitude of our actions we seek to countermand this folly. In the loneliness of our minds we endeavour to rescind what cannot be undone.

But still...

we march on,

through land and through water,

through light and through grime

from father to daughter

through the skies and onwards through time.

And we do so not because we do not know any better, not because it is the only way and the only light;

Nay, this we do because something burns insides us... something yearns inside us. A scream, some may call it, while others may label it a voice that begs to be heard... others still, speak of a silence so unbearably loud that it teeters them to the brink of insanity.

Prometheus knew this. Lucifer, too. 
The first stole the fire from the Gods themselves, and gave it to mortals, who, stupefied, were content with watching the day. The fire, more than a mythological figure, or a mere facet of divinity, was more metaphor than anything else : he gave illumination to those who wanted to see, but had their eyes veiled by ignorance. It might have just been that Prometheus had a far loftier reach than ever he'd intended, and in his quest for the Fire, he touched upon the Star of the Morning, and as he touched it, and brought it down to earth, so too, did the first descent came to pass from Heaven's halls.

But the Morningstar sought the same as Prometheus; however, where one was looking for fire, the other was fire itself, albeit the kind of fire whose flames may burn and dance, consume and reveal, ascend and then flutter, but not reduce something to cinder... His light being the brightest, it also cast the darkest shadow... both halves of the same face, of the same nature, both promising a unity that no single heart or mind alone could dream of...

And so he fell, this liberator of Men and Angels, to be cast as the villain, to fall from divinity to iniquity, from mithology to history...

And like the best of us, and even like the worst of us, they have failed in doing what they had set out to do, for they failed to understand the basic principle of the notion that separates creation from life.

One alone cannot be both creator and God. Just so, creating and giving life, whilst wholly separate ideas and functions, must eventually come hand in hand. 
Creating is a difficult process. 
Giving life, just as well. 
The action necessary for both to happen, nothing short of miraculous.

And alone I,

I am promethean fire

I am corinthian light

I am the wings that flew higher

I am the sun that sets into night.

But...

If I have words that flow through me, and If I have the gift to bring them into creation; if in me there is the capacity to fashion words into worlds, to change the aleatory patterns of disconnected and random letters into weapons and shields for those who would read them, I will still have failed in making them truly come alive.

Ours is the weakness that doomed the Gods and Monsters of yesteryear. 
Ours is the same lack of will to power and the same failure to see beyond the borders of our selves.

Alone, divided… we cannot hope to ever stand. 
And so we carry the torch, onwards and upwards, going higher and higher, setting ourselves up for the fall.

Then there are those who are blessed with never having to fall in the first place – those are carefully picked by the stars above and shown the way. They become guiding lights, beacons in the darkness. In the unknowable vastness of the universe, these souls are like unto Lighthouses to guide others to safe harbours… they have life in them, a special kind of life, unique to them, so deeply embedded in their sweet souls, that they too cry out for a similar companionship : and so thus life seeks creation, just as dimensions away, creation longs to be brought to life, to be brought to light.

It’s like a hurricane that sweeps the cosmos, careening through the ages, that sets these two forces in a collision course. Gale-force winds blow upon the unfurled sails, billowing with pride; one moves towards the other, though each may be unaware of this. The chaotic nature of the universe becomes it : in distant reaches, innumerable light-years hence, a shoal of starborn Lepidoptera fly lazily by husks of planetoids long dead, for the moment in cruise speed still, but threatening to go superluminal at any moment. From the nearest planetoid, a white-clad figure watches impassively, and, nodding at the flying creatures, triggers a wave of flapping wings whose echoes are felt down the ages, throughout the immensity of years of the impossibly distant future, and unto this day…

And the ripples echo, and stream and trickle through the hearts and minds of those who create, and of those who give life… and they get up from their beds, they stop what they are doing, they leave their jobs, put everything on hold, pause the entire universe, and stand absolutely still for one single moment, for one moment in time… 
And they listen, and listening, they know, and knowing, they do not doubt. 
Certainty in their souls, they open their hearts, and the celestial mantra that flows from their lips is the prelude to dawn.

As one they sing; siren songs that call out to each other, and so these paladins begin their long and arduous search. 
It is a quest, a race with creation at the tip of my fingers, flowing through my hands, looking for the life from yours...
Given time, there will be a union, and a consummation of ideas – this will be the wedding of creation and life, when my words become a living thing through your hands. Because then, only then, will we have known for true that only united as one can we stand tall, and reach for the stars.

And together,

We are E=mc²

We are Dx  Dp  ³  h / 4 p

We are the secrets of the universe laid bare

We are one soul, one heart, invincible