You who sparks the sunset

This is the first post I wrote on my first blog 5 years ago …

You who sparks the sunset


Try to make a mountain. Create a sky the same as the one you see. Form a tree with your bare hands, scattering each flaming leaf at the appointed hour. Mold a globe, not just any but, this one, this emerald basking in blue, this feat never before seen, this astonishing entity winking at infinity. Roll up your sleeves, go on. The tree is too big, you say, the sky too far, the globe too perfectly round and the mountain? Too high?

Then try to make a man. Mold his soul with your hands, make it lighter than air, make it soar.

Make a woman. Form her drumming with destiny; strong like sunlight.

Then you can say it is only you who makes the waves return each time, lapping and whispering. You who sparks the sunset, washes the grass over with faultless ink, dyes the flowers that dark magenta.

Of course you know that you are one part weak to five parts strength, diluted by the fact you breathe, you see, you know. Fragile in your surest stride. With your body whose cells were designed to forget. Sometimes when you awake you remember snippets of another world and it is a world magnificent. A body which knows but cannot find the words, is mute before such glory.

Try to make a life instead, your life. Try to find your path. For you did not make the mountain. You didn’t paint the grass or raise the sun. You are not sky nor flower nor sun. You are of matter and bone and soul and heart, can soar can break, can choose and remember, can choose to forget. You are of many and you are absolutely one. Roll up your sleeves, go on, make a life.


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