“Raw tongues tell my story ; boiled silvered ashes pepper history with my words and Truths.
Mine is a tale woven of violent passions and dangerous embraces; scorching encounters between the inner Heart of Creation and the velvet darkness of the Void and the abject foolishness of Man.
My celebrations are destructive ; a relentless pounding of that great Heart, a pulse beating out the staccato; the bass boom that renders all that was solid to fractured nothingness, scattered on violet blue winds.
The Creator, required a Destroyer.
The perceived perfection in all things is nothing to me, my touch is oblivious to the gross or ugly, the gentle or the beautiful, the beggar or the King, I cannot differentiate. I am. . . . totally unbiased.
From the maelstrom of my celebrations, when the weeping is ended,
and the healing has begun, new life comes.
Ashes nurture new growth, stimulate germination of the seeds of Hope to send up tender shoots towards the Light. The air, thick with foul gases and noxious emissions of my excess, form rainclouds over mountain tops, where death is transmuted to pure Life to fall upon the faces of the newborn in joyful torrent. First rain on parched earth is the fragrance of Gods own gardens,
the freshness and the coolness reach deep into the soul of Earth and replenish Her.
Green joy dances once again upon the face of my Beloved,
my beautiful consort , my Gaia.
GAiA. . . GAiA. . . GAiA!
To prove my Love for Her, I gave myself to Man. I made myself small,
handed over a part which could be domesticated, tamed and managed, to do his bidding that he may enjoy my warmth, may cook his food, to temper metals and ores to serve him as vessels and tools, and keep him company in the darkness, to banish his fears.
These are my gifts to Man, in honour of my Gaia.
And yet . . . in his ignorance and greed, man turns me against my Beloved, I am forced to consume Her, for mans own gain, for his own power and for his own want.
What am I to do?
I cannot honour this arrangement, it has turned against all She is.
My rage boils again, my power thunders to the surface and rents worlds asunder,
I must destroy what has been created. . . again and again.

And still yet, man stands agape and asks

“Why???”