Gifts Of Prometheus

Give the gift of fire to mankind.

In tonight's bedtime story inspired by Greek mythology,

Sleep and Sorcery is a folklore and fantasy inspired sleep series.

My name is Laurel and I'll be your guide on tonight's fantastical journey.

Sleep and Sorcery is one part bedtime story,

One part guided meditation,

And one part dreamy adventure.

I'm here to help you fall asleep.

So at any time during the story,

Feel free to let go of my voice and drift off.

You can always come back to finish it later.

If you're still awake as the story ends,

I'll guide you through a soothing body scan.

In tonight's story,

You are a Titan and ally to the gods of Olympus.

Your love of the race of man spurs you to advocate for them,

To the gods,

Even stealing fire to give to them.

Even as Zeus,

The king of the gods,

Prepares to dole out your punishment,

You achieve peace and contentment with your gift to your beloved humanity.

To suffer woes which hope thinks infinite,

To forgive wrongs darker than death or night,

To defy power which seems omnipotent,

To love and bear,

To hope till hope creates from its own wreck the thing it contemplates.

Life may change,

But it may fly not.

Hope may vanish,

But it can die not.

Truth be veiled,

But still it burneth.

Love repulsed,

But it returneth.

Persebischelli.

Prometheus.

Unbound.

Dawn arrives.

Her fingertips like petals and blossoms across the sky.

You have always cherished the thin golden veil that rides behind her and floods the land till it sparkles.

You clutch a fennel stalk,

Guarding it close to your body as you descend the rocky side of the mountain.

Your strides are long,

And the rocks tremble beneath you,

Titan.

The anise-tinged perfume of the fennel climbs the air to reach your nose,

Spiced and sweet in the tender hours of morning.

All of creation,

From the peak of Olympus to the deepest wells and caves,

Stretch,

Yawn,

And drink of the gauzy golden dawn like sweet nectar.

The sun and his heralds reach longer and deeper than most realize.

You have yet to find a corner of the fine earth where not even a shard of his light penetrates.

It's a gift,

Some say,

To see more than most,

To observe so keenly the oft-unobserved,

Even to receive the deliverance of prophecy on the wings of the wind.

But you are hardly a prophet,

Or one gifted with extraordinary perception.

You simply see and seek that which others of your kind ignore.

You walk among mankind,

Guiding their progress,

Helping to till their fields and tend to their livestock,

Breaking bread with them,

Teaching them new skills.

With curiosity and compassionate attention,

You've heard their stories,

Consoled them through their sorrows,

Celebrated their joy.

You remember every human face you've ever seen,

And in the lines of each you can trace an unbroken line to their ancestors,

All the way to the misshapen earth from which you once molded features.

Once the goddess Athena bestowed breath upon those clay figures and made them to stand on two legs like the gods themselves.

They leapt from your hands,

Tiny and determined.

They were your playthings no longer but flesh and feeling,

Driven by fierce desire and instinct.

The more they drifted from you,

The more tethered you felt to them,

As if they were your own children.

And as they made their families and multiplied,

You watched their most extraordinary and most intolerable traits mix and dilute into wholly new souls,

Till they hit spread across the land,

Building temples and cultivating crop,

Each one of them unique and irreplaceable,

Each one a mystery and each one a gift.

It was this fascination,

This unbroken tether to humanity,

That decided your place in the great war between the Titans and the Olympians.

In those conflicts,

You broke against your own family to side with this new generation of gods.

You sought to preserve the earth from which men raised their food and earned their livelihood,

Yes.

But you also saw,

With some unexplained prescience,

The awesome power these Olympians could summon with no balance to their authority.

You allied with them,

But you watched them closely,

Swearing your only allegiance to humanity,

Those who truly needed your protection.

You tarried among mankind for many seasons,

Here and there imparting a crumb of knowledge.

Once held captive by the gods,

You brought them a spark of philosophy,

Music,

And art.

You engaged them in inquisition,

Encouraged them to investigate the higher mysteries of the cosmos,

Unravel the hidden secret of the stars,

And unearth the riches beneath the soil.

Everything you do is in their service,

To help them reach the full potential of their limitless yearnings.

You love them,

And it's this love of humans.

With all their flaws and fallibility,

That brings you now down the side of Mount Olympus,

Just as dawn's rosy fingers sprinkle the sky.

For though the gods have called you cousin,

Even welcomed you at their feasts,

They've never been your family.

The only covenant you keep is with the mortals,

Who toil on the earth's surface,

Not those who dwell in a paradise.

Above her clouds,

They,

The Olympians,

Kneel to Zeus,

Their king,

And champion of their crusade against the titans.

He never saw the potential in man,

Never understood what makes them such a wonder.

They're like us,

You recall saying to Zeus once,

But at the same time wholly unlike us.

They look and speak and act with our ways,

But they must subsist on their environment.

They must create and extrude to survive.

But in the quest for survival,

They've approached the divine.

You pointed then to the music,

Art,

And philosophy that blossomed from their daily struggles.

The new,

Refreshing life they brought to the world each day,

The beauty and sublime complexity of their nature,

Writ in the world around,

Is a reflection not of the efforts of gods or titans,

Nor primordial forces.

This world of man,

You argue,

Is their explosive canvas to shape according to their will,

Not those of the Olympians.

And still Zeus sneered upon them,

These creatures who milled across the world he wanted for himself.

He demanded sacrifices,

Devotion from them.

He saw not their astonishing ability to create meaning from its absence,

Their resilience and determination to transcend the mundane.

Only you,

The keenest of observers,

Saw.

Instead,

Zeus insisted that only the gods could make the world livable for humanity,

And only if rightly appeased.

There were scores to be settled,

He said,

And favor to be won.

So you cooked up a trick,

A plan to preserve mankind's well-being,

While satisfying the king of the gods.

Two sacrifices you fabricated,

From which Zeus could select the Olympian tribute.

On one side,

You enclosed the nourishing meat of an ox within an unattractive package.

On the other,

You wrapped the bare bones of the animal in an enticing enclosure.

Zeus fell for the trickery and selected the bones,

Leaving humanity the food to sustain them,

Rather than give up in sacrifice.

Zeus,

The triumphant slayer of titans,

Grew angry then.

He turned his vengeance where it would hurt most,

Not upon you,

But upon the humans.

Above him gathered great,

Black storm clouds,

Full and heavy with rain and wrath.

When the clouds released their rain all around the world,

Every fire was extinguished,

One by one.

The fires that warmed cold hands,

The fires that transformed dough into bread,

The fires that lit beacons of safety and hope,

Each.

Snuffed out,

In turn,

By the gods' enchanted rain,

And oh,

The chill that fell over the damp earth,

For the rain soon evaporated,

And in its wake was only dark and cold.

Mankind shivered and groped in the obscurity.

They tried in vain to strike flint against flint,

Yielding no spark.

Zeus had stolen back the gift of fire,

From which humanity had forged already a thousand innovations.

Now your heart wept for them,

Their fingers freezing in the night.

Their progress halted in an instant,

With the diminishing flame.

If the gods could only see them,

In the way you do,

Not as competition or threat,

A species fighting for dominion of the world,

But as fellow passengers,

On the journey through the ages,

As members of the same family,

Not a focus for jealousy and revenge,

The way you,

Last of the titans,

Once viewed the Olympians themselves,

Even Athena,

Your partner in the creation,

Whose breath invigorated man,

Now stood with her father in guarding the flame for the gods alone,

You protested,

Noting the cities man could build,

The temples they could erect,

The deeds they could accomplish with fire on their side.

But Zeus's vengeance burned bold as his thunderbolt.

They fled with the last dying ember in hand,

And kept it high atop Mount Olympus,

Fanning the flame and hoarding it for themselves,

You remember the solemn image of that last torch of amber flickering,

As it traveled up the mountain and out of sight into the dark forge of Hephaestus,

Blacksmith to the gods.

From that day,

Your brightest desire has been to restore that which the gods stole from humanity,

Fire you know is not only warmth and light,

But energy,

Industry,

Potential.

With your far-reaching gaze,

You can almost see,

Vague as the forms may be,

The future of such a tool in the hands of industrious men,

The spark that moves humanity forward,

Allows them to lay down their instruments and embrace leisure and creativity,

Freedom from difficult labor,

Transformation.

The Olympians care little for progress,

Near unlimited power resides in their fingertips and their divine tools,

They have no desire to grow,

To transcend themselves,

Living on the summit there is nowhere to climb,

Humanity though,

Without winged sandals,

Enchanted bow or aegis,

To aid their development,

Are remarkable for their striving,

They make magic with what resources they have,

And each day they awake hungry for greater challenges,

It's their motion that inspires the sun to rise and march across the sky each day you think,

Their constant search for meaning that inspires the nymphs to dance and sing,

Their capacity for genuine love and compassion that makes wild beasts lie down,

Fawning at their feet,

Morning blooms over the mountains,

Shimmering golden and fragrant with heliotrope,

You shield the fennel stalk in your hands from a gust of mild wind,

For it conceals something sensitive to the elements,

Concealed within the hollow stalk,

You've spirited away a spark of the flame that burns only at the peak of Mount Olympus,

It's not theft,

You remind yourself,

It's justice,

Kindness,

Down,

Down you tread,

Never stumbling,

Confident in your step and in your task,

You shield the tiny flame like an innocent creature in your hands,

Fire is a mystery,

You think,

It wields such extraordinary power and yet it's so delicate,

It generates and regenerates,

Giving birth to new flames,

Yet it can be snuffed out by breath,

Wind or water,

You vow to protect the spark in your hands till it lights torches the world over,

Beneath Olympus mortals are only now waking to the sweetness of early morning,

Through the night they shivered,

Huddled together for warmth,

Unaware of your covert undertaking,

Now they rise,

Grateful for the sun's return,

The gentle heat that falls in golden curtains from his chariot,

They're taking to the forests and fields to gather grain,

Forage berries and roots for their tables,

There's no fire to cook their meat or bake their bread,

But as they come,

Turning thankful gazes to the sun's rays,

Their eyes fall on you,

Taller than the trees,

Towering over their homes and fields,

They hear your thundering footsteps and gather at your feet,

These desperate mortals look to you,

Their advocate,

Inquisitive,

You produce the fennel stock and from its hollow shaft you unearth the living fire,

Which seems to gasp before you,

Drawing in the air it craves,

It flickers,

Jumps and transforms,

Dancing like a maynad in your hand,

The flames in constant glow reflects in the shining dark eyes of mankind,

And there,

Behind the flickering light in those eyes,

Is that which you have so longed for,

The sublime gratitude and devotion for a moment,

Warmed by the small yet radiant fire,

They love you as fiercely as you love them,

They come forward,

One by one,

Each clutching a torch or twig or stalk of wheat,

From your minuscule flame you light their fires,

As the torches ignite and burn bright,

The flame in your hand persists,

This is what Zeus fails to understand,

Even when you give away your fire,

You don't have any less,

And from that spark they light more fires,

All over the green earth fires are springing up,

Beacons are lit,

Calling to each other across great chasms,

How your spirit sings to see it,

How the humans look to you with heartfelt thanks and admiration,

It almost brings you to your knees,

Titan,

It's with a full heart and unclouded eyes,

That you now make the long march to the throne of Zeus,

The gods will wake,

To see the land once more lit with sacred fire,

Smoke rising from beneath the mountains,

Temple torches burning,

You want to be there to explain yourself,

Though you hope for mercy,

You expect to wake Zeus's wrath once more,

Upward you climb,

Through the mighty oak forests that ring the slopes of mount Olympus,

To the beech wood and black pine woods of the higher elevation,

The tops of the trees brush your sides,

Swaying in your wake,

Birds burst like puffs of smoke rustling off to find new hiding places,

As you pass,

The air is fragrant with fresh fur,

Diffused through a layer of mist and cloud,

That settles round the mountain,

Obscuring the summit,

But break through the clouds,

Titan,

Firebringer,

And you reveal the wonders of the Olympian abode,

Obscured from the eyes of surface dwellers,

The air seems to hum as you approach,

The towering fortress of the gods,

The golden gauze brought by the sun's chariot,

To sparkle upon the land for only moments,

Is here a perpetual glow,

A network of golden stairs cascade to marble palaces,

All on bronze foundations,

That gleam like the morning,

Cloisters and courtyards teem with exuberant poppies,

And peonies,

Purple anemone and larkspur,

Behind these pretty walls the Olympians dine and revel,

Unbothered by human affairs,

Here they hide their great gifts,

Their mysteries from mankind,

Jealously guarding their divine knowledge,

If only they knew the joy,

The satisfaction to be gained by sharing that knowledge,

Were Apollo to teach mankind the art of archery,

For instance,

How they'd flourish,

Should Athena,

Breath-giver,

Instruct them to cultivate the olive tree she so prizes,

Imagine the wealth and bounty they could generate,

The guardian at the gate is Carpo,

Goddess of harvest,

Ripening in autumn,

On seeing you her face grows dark,

And even her shining auburn hair seems to turn dull like the withering of golden autumn leaves,

At the approach of the first frost,

She'll open the gate for you,

She says,

But she wishes you wouldn't go to the palace,

Zeus,

She explains,

Already knows of your betrayal,

And he isn't happy,

You thank the goddess for her sympathy,

But insist that you must pass through the gate and face the king,

Before you leave her sight Carpo grasps your hand,

Hers is so small in yours,

There's nothing to be done,

She says,

But you might like to know,

That most of the Olympians are with you,

Hermes,

Athena,

Apollo,

But they won't move against Zeus,

You feel a warm tingling sensation in your chest,

And feel your cheeks flush at this,

Thank you,

You say,

And leave the autumn goddess at her post,

Olympus is quiet,

Your footsteps fall with heavy thuds upon the golden stair,

Your heartbeat a constant drum,

Thrumming in your chest,

Zeus will be waiting for you,

You suppose,

Whatever the punishment for your theft,

It will be worth it,

When you enter the marble throne room,

With its golden floor,

This too gleaming as though bathed in Helios' auric rays,

It seems to widen,

Expand,

To accommodate your stature,

Zeus,

On his dais is pale,

And still as carved marble,

His expression grim and calculating,

You kneel and note that the height of his throne,

Only just surpasses you,

On your knees,

This thought,

Stills your racing mind,

Whatever vengeance he deals upon you,

He's only a child,

Offspring of titans like you,

Terribly fearful of losing his power,

Longing for control,

Over forces beyond him,

You meet his gaze,

Seeing that fear tremble behind his eyes,

For a moment you even pity him,

He's flanked by the other Olympians,

Also still and silent in the heart of the palace,

Their faces betray admiration for your actions,

And sorrow for your situation,

Even Hera,

The wife of Zeus,

Looks on you with welling emotion,

Hephaestus nods,

Almost imperceptibly when your eyes meet,

It was from his forge that you stole back the living flame,

And yet he holds you in no contempt,

Your heart swells with compassion for them,

The Olympians,

Even Zeus,

They chose to build walls around their world,

To hide themselves behind a veil of clouds,

They knew no better,

And they feared mankind,

Perhaps they will never see humanity the way you do,

And for that,

You are sorry,

So with grace you accept your punishment,

And you allow yourself to be bound at the wrists before you leave the hall,

They may bind your body,

But the spark of change has already been struck,

To the Caucasus mountains you're sent,

With Zeus's emissaries,

And tied to the peak under a darkening sky,

The moon drives her chariot across the heavens,

Following the path of her brother the sun,

She reveals the stars,

Those patient wanderers,

In their nightly assemblage,

Reclining to take in the panorama,

You observe an unfamiliar grouping of stars,

This is Carpo's doing,

You assume,

For while she guards the gates of Olympus,

She passes the time by rearranging the constellations,

This cluster of stars,

Reminds you of the arc of an arrow,

Through the sky,

Like those of Apollo or his sister Artemis,

You watch it travel across the night's stage,

As the hours creep by,

You turn your eyes downward now,

To the hills and valleys of the earth,

And you smile,

Eyes filling with tears,

To see small fires spring up from nothing,

In the distance,

You think of the people warming themselves,

Beside the flickering flame,

And you think of the human blacksmiths,

Who will forge their own tools,

In the shadow of Hephaestus,

Using fire to melt the ore from the ground,

And you think of the families,

Who will eat well and safely tonight,

From here,

Bound high atop the mountain,

You can see how the world curves,

Over the horizon,

A blue-white aura trails over its arc,

Hovering and hazy,

It's a gift,

Some say,

To see more than most,

But you are no prophet,

Only a keen observer,

With unclouded eyes,

Through the chilly night,

You can see across the arc of history,

As though gazing down a long tunnel,

All the way down to many possible futures,

Your mind,

Connects the faces of humans,

Familiar,

Yet new,

As though assembled from the features of those first clay figures,

You molded,

You can see the spark of creativity,

Leap from tree to tree,

In a forest of change,

Spreading boundlessly,

And wild,

The unpredictable patterns,

Of fire,

Nature,

And human thought,

Branch off,

Into thousands of tributaries,

Each glowing and transformative,

Somewhere in the sea of possibility,

There's a new face,

The face of a great and flawed hero,

Shining in the sun's golden kiss,

The one who will set you free,

Someday,

You'll climb this mountain,

Just as you climbed mount Olympus,

To steal away the gods fire,

And with his mighty arrow,

He'll cut your bindings,

All the kindness,

You tried to do for humanity,

Will,

In turn,

Be repaid,

By one of them,

One day,

Unbound,

This thought gives you comfort,

Thy godlike crime,

Was to be kind,

To render with thy precepts,

Less the sum of human wretchedness,

And strengthen man,

With his own mind,

The night swells,

And softens,

Cicadas hum in the mountain trees,

The stars trace their wanderings across the sky,

Your mind slips into meditation,

Then into mellow dreaming,

In the morning,

Dawn will touch the sky with tulips,

Heralding her brother's chariot,

Eagle's wings will beat over the horizon,

Sleep now,

Titan,

Fire kindler,

Be at peace,

And await your hour of apotheosis,

Be still,

And quiet your mind,

By bringing soft awareness to your body,

Lying on your sleep surface,

Breathe,

Let your breath deepen,

Filling up the belly and nourishing every part of you,

Then rinsing out with your exhale,

Let your awareness remain soft,

As though you are allowing your eyes to slip gently out of focus,

And feel free to let go at any time,

Allowing my voice to be an echo or a whisper on your journey to sleep,

Let your soft focus travel throughout your body,

As though you're carrying a small torch,

Or a handful of living flame,

And shining its warm,

Diffuse light on each body part as I name it,

At the same time,

Letting that body part soften,

Releasing any tension there,

In the radiant warmth of the torch,

Left sole of the foot,

Left toes,

Left heel,

Top of the foot,

Left ankle,

Left shin,

Left calf,

Left knee,

Left thigh,

Left hip,

Left buttocks,

Left side of the waist,

Left side of the chest,

And back,

Left shoulder,

Left upper arm,

Left elbow,

Left forearm,

Left wrist,

Palm of the left hand,

Back of the hand,

Left fingers,

Right sole of the foot,

Right toes,

Right heel,

Top of the foot,

Right ankle,

Right shin,

And calf,

Right knee,

Right thigh,

Right hip,

Right buttocks,

Right side of the waist,

Right side of the chest,

And back,

Right shoulder,

Right upper arm,

Right elbow,

Right forearm,

Right wrist,

Palm of the right hand,

Back of the hand,

Right fingers,

Now shine the gentle warmth and light on the neck and shoulders,

Softening there,

Releasing tension,

The jaw,

The left ear,

The right ear,

Sides of the face,

The mouth,

The nose,

The cheekbones,

The eyes,

The eyebrows,

The temples,

The forehead,

Scalp.

Now let the whole body be bathed in warmth and soft light,

Letting go of any areas of stress or tension,

Allowing the warmth to massage them away,

Melting into the earth,

Into whatever surface is supporting you.

You are more than your gifts,

You are worthy,

You are loved,

And you are limitless.

Sleep well.