The stars swelled and
bled, contracting and releasing in their nocturnal labour. Flashes of
virulent energy swept through the halls of the gods, as their tempers
shook the universe. We must go back. They heard themselves say. We
must return to the earth. For they realised in the deafening silence
of their discord that balance cannot exist without their organic
form. How can we judge so easily without knowing what it means to be
human. How can we cast the stones of their fate if we have forgotten
everything it meant to live. There was an imperfect beauty in the
lives of their progeny; a destructive and productive chaos that
reflected echoes of their very own cosmos. As the stars began to
burst, and the swirling plateau of their worlds quaked, they were
reminded that all life, from the celestial to the flesh, needed to
die, and to be reborn. Was it them who brought about their own end,
or the impatient flaws of the gods themselves, who grew tired of the
mirror they looked upon.
Yameya, who watched the
eruption in silence, cast her mind back to the raging seas. “Much
like the tides, tied to the moon and bound to the earth, we need not
forget the intrinsic connection that all life holds to one another.”
She spoke; in the moment of realisation, the pantheon thought about
how their domains relied on the function of another. “Humans may
have poisoned our earth, but humans are a part of our earth. They
create as much as they sully.” “Like little, flimsy gods. Our
arguments here and now are fuelled with the same anger and arrogance
that we put them on trial for.” In the beginning, perhaps, it was a
simple as art. All that they had intended was to create; a picture, a
palace, refuge and feeling. For the love and hatred, the entire
spectrum of emotion, reverberated in every breath and touch of
humanity. Other creatures were capable of feeling, but none like
them. They were the shepherds, gardeners, caretakers, undertakers and
warmongers that worked in one heaving motion to retain some sense of
balance. “We have ended and we have begun again, before, but to end
without any sight of a beginning is to spit on everything we built.”
but how to right their
wrongs? Humans only existed in the balance through millennia of
evolution. To create a new species in their place would create a rift
in the painfully delicate ecosystem. Morrigan looked to herself; from
young to old, I am born and I die with every harvest, every planting,
with each phase of the moon. From the universe I erupt, and to the
universe I return. In the poetry of the divine, human creation has
been described in every form, but one factor remains consistent. “We
all know that humans are our very own children, built in our image.
The only creatures to reflect almost every aspect of us. The reason
for that stems further than narcissism.” Before she could finish,
she looked to HueHue, who already knew her plan; “We must take
their place on the earth. We have weaved tales of how mankind came
about, from the moulding of clay, to the astral tears of the goddess,
even to miraculous existence in the perfect garden.” He looked
about at their exhausted faces “We must play the part. I decree, we
all must descend unto earth, gather their tools, take up residence in
their halls, and live for one hundred years in mortal form.” “We
cannot judge what we have not lived...” They all chimed in, as a
moment of hamartia struck them.
The heavens broke, an
icy eclipse that lay like a deathly grip upon the land had lifted.
For the first time in millenia the golden trickle of summer bleed
across the hills and speared through the trees. A soft murmer echoed
about the island, a rustle of new life arose, and as nights turned to
day, months passing, blotches of colour began to shine. From a snowy
dark slumber, emerald leaves and cornflower blue skies painted the
world. The gods had arrived. The first steps upon the frozen sea
brought about a new dawn, the settlers purveyed their new home; a
spectacle of untouched life lay before them. Amaterasu held her
breath as she, for the first time, felt the warming air of her
creation, she basked in her own light shining from the heavens, as
she approached the feathered lake, the dance of the herons entranced
her. “in all the flurry of chaos, the burden of humanity, I had
long since forgotten the beauty we sculpted.” He looked at her
glistening expression, and never before had he noticed the imperfect
perfection of human life. “We often need to be reminded that, like
these ghostly and effervescent herons, like the great and grandiose
trees, the deep scourge of winter, humans were a part of the natural
world, they were animals of grace and wonder, before their rage laid
waste to their home.” and now that it had begun again, they'll
never forgo the duty they had to all life. “Now that I can feel the
changing winds and the glistening grass between my toes, I wonder to
myself, were we ever really alive?” gods existed beyond the
confines of mortality, in an existential endless sea, with their
great power they could feel the course of cosmic divinity, immortal
power, the duty to give and take, creation and destruction, but they
could never feel the bitter sweet breath of life. Until now they had
believed they existed as more than alive, like their existence was a
higher concentration of life, they never knew contrast. “It comes
as no surprise to me that humanity was so depraved, how could we
create a life form with the highest level of consciousness without
first knowing what it meant to be alive, how could we create
something that understood what it meant to be alive, if we never
did?” Perhaps it was that first breath of spring, those early days,
that sufficed in providing context for their mistake, but their were
earthbound for a century and no less. Like a child experiencing the
world for the first time, perhaps a lifetime was needed to fully
comprehend mortality.
Gods exist on the
earth, experience life from the beginning again, give life to the
first new species of human kind, create their own cultures, remnants
of them are left behind after 100 years and this stands throughout
history as the ways of the old religions we know today,
ultimately we reach the
same point, 10s of thousands of years later, and the gods forget,
repeat, reintroduce themselves to the world, huehue and morrigan know
this, for they know that a consistent cycle is imperative to the keep
balance in the world.
This is where my
concept of progress being an illusion will come in.
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