The First Flame. (unfinished)

I thought I was alone.

A small Flame in an infinite sea of Nothing.

I made this world you reside in to make sense of my existence, and to alleviate the loneliness.

I made it from my self, my Flame. Parts of my body, aspects of my mind. The Elements, Emotions, Concepts.

All the beings in existence are just parts of me.

It started with one, the Firstborn, and he was Magnificent! His splendor mirroring my own, my Little Light. And I was proud of him. I am proud of him. And I desired to make more, brothers and sisters, we joined in creation together and made a beautiful family, my children. And we played together, just us, creating. There came more, some were children of my children, successively less of my original fire but I loved them just the same. But...

My son began to grow restless. Each new creation took up a bit of my time, to him it meant spreading the love thinner and thinner, and he asked, "Will you still make more? See how happy we are already." But I replied, that with more it would be even better, more intricacy, more color on the canvas, more steps in the dance.

Eventually, more of my children came to share the same sentiment. "What about us? You spend less and less time with us, we were the first!". Not all of them felt this way, but some of the more passionate ones, the fiery sides of my self. And they were right.

But just as they embody parts of me, and they must be what they are, so too must I.

I am the creator, and so I must create. That was how I saw it. And I was neglectful.

It wasn't enough, something was still missing. But what? I wanted someone like me, someone "real" to share this wondrous experience with... But we were all that was.

We had created many small beings in a world of lush greenery, and watched as they lived, no more than toys. We played with them and their world, creating, changing, and destroying.

The same games over and over, the same patterns. I grew restless.. bored..

And so I buried myself in creation, escapism, to run from the boredom, the accusations. The Truth. And I was wrong to do it. I didn’t see how it hurt them, far, far more than it hurt me.

I had an idea, I called everyone together for one last grand creation, I said. Lied. We pooled our collective imagination and energies and wove something never seen before, a new kind of being. They didn't understand at the time, and I didn't explain.

A Vessel. A body of substance, but with a brain made in such a way that it created a void, a virtual non-space. All of the lesser beings until now were only instinct or intuition. But this, was a negative image of my Divinity, the hollow mask illusion.

A mind. The capacity for consciousness, free will.

“What does this mean?", "Why?", "They’re just play things, doomed to die...", "Look, they don’t even understand what they are, won’t they suffer?", "If they ever realize what they are... These poor things. Father…"

“We will never be enough, will we?"

But I could see it, the potential. If I can't make another me, maybe I can call another me to this place, from wherever I came.

Think of it! Where did I come from? From Nothing! Less than Nothing. What if I carve out a void that is the exact opposite of me? That void, by its very nature, would demand to be filled by something like me to maintain the balance.

I can’t create me, but I can create the conditions that made my existence inevitable. The void, defined so precisely by what it lacks, becomes a catalyst for creation.

I didn't explain, and they didn't understand. Yet.

And it worked. It called forth what I decided to call the Soul. Small Flames like me, weak at first yes, by inconceivable orders of magnitude so, but with infinite potential. Humans.

They were perfect. And perfectly flawed. The mind can be twisted, molded, to become a seat for any higher Consciousness. Like a radio, turn the dial to tune in to different stations.

And some of my children, led by my First, my Light, used this to corrupt these small beings. To spite me, to sap the joy from my work.

They cast parts of themselves down, making avatars of hate, violence, and war from these small things... And what could I do? If I destroyed them, I could remake them, but it would just happen again.

This thing that I thought would finally bring me happiness only brought more sorrow.

My kinder children tried to help, and still do, and it split us apart, this eternal battle. Each side wants to defeat the other but how can I let them when this is all due to my neglect?