It isn’t easy to do what we do. For we are gods when we write. Creators of all that we see. Universes, worlds, people, languages, and even life and death itself comes from us. The worlds we live in tremble at our footfall.
With such incredible incalculable power, why would one tempt the gods?
How many books would a person write in a lifetime?~ Unknown Indian woman
Because they are full of cowardice. They don’t walk along the star filled corridors that haunt our mind. They aren’t woken at night, their vision filled with the detritus of a thousand dreams that wear us threadbare. They miss the shadows that come from the corners of our vision, showing us things that we wish not to see. The sometimes claws, and there are claws.
Sometimes the feckless ones choose to tempt us, recognizing not, that we are indeed gods in the worlds we live in. They want what they cannot have, rather than rejoicing in the blessing that has been bequeathed upon them. Instead, we will give them ademption. They work not, nor are they deserving of the gifts they receive.
But even the gods are not but a grain of sand in an endless desert.~ Robert Day
So we create and write down our missives, content with the act of creation reigning above all else. The pleasure derived from a story well told, of a world far and away. Beyond the domestic drudgery that makes up much of our lives.
But gentle soul be aware of the power! The power the gods have. For they may choose you for their story. And if they do, your life is but forfeit in their hand. For they create your story, your destiny, or “most likely outcome.” They will choose your path at the cost of part of their living soul. Vindictive and capricious they are, forgiving they are not. Just as the edge of my long steel blade, sharp and dangerous.
Although I may evaluate, analyze, and perhaps even criticize in my mind, I will not criticize another. For they too live among the gods on Mount Olympus. Their herculean efforts produce for me, a place I have not been and could never go without their work.
Everything is derivative. God or gods don’t know you exist and never will.~ Collectiveness of I