The force of life refuses to give up even in the face of stiff resistance by matter.
Imprisoned and confined
In realms confined to a prone circle of death,
To a dark eternity of Ignorance,
A quiver in an inert inconscient mass,
Or imprisoned in immobilised whorls of Force,
By Matter’s blind compulsion deaf and mute
She refuses motionless in the dust to sleep.
Even in thee most material domains or even below it, the labour of life goes on. She knows no sleep nor tires. She refuses to give up even though the means are poor and limited and subject to the forces of disintegration.
Fashions godlike marvels
Then, for her rebel waking’s punishment
Given only hard mechanic Circumstance
As the enginery of her magic craft,
She fashions godlike marvels out of mud;
In the plasm she sets her dumb immortal urge,
Helps the live tissue to think, the closed sense to feel,
Flashes through the frail nerves poignant messages,
In a heart of flesh miraculously loves,
To brute bodies gives a soul, a will, a voice.
Rebelling against the brute inertia of matter she seeks for freedom and release. Out of the stuff of inconscient matter, she builds aspiration to live and grow, drives thought and feelings by her force through blind passages in the brain, awakens the heart to love and the immortal soul to grow in bodies that must die, She gives to man the will to live and find joy and the power of speech to climb high and wide.
Ever she summons as by a sorcerer’s wand
Beings and shapes and scenes innumerable,
Torch-bearers of her pomps through Time and Space.
This world is her long journey through the night,
The suns and planets lamps to light her road,
Our reason is the confidante of her thoughts,
Our senses are her vibrant witnesses.
She has conjured as if by a sorcerer’s wand the many-hued drama of our life moving through various scenes and acts, strange meetings and encounters, pomps of glory and dangers of the night. All she fills with her breath, – the sun and the stars in the material universe, the senses and reason within our inner space.
There drawing her signs from things half true, half false,
She labours to replace by realised dreams
The memory of her lost eternity.
Essentially she is busy and ever engaged in discovering and creating what hides deep within her as her source, the eternity from which she has emerged and towards which she labours through all her dreams pushing them towards reality. In this process she uses everything that she can gather for her purposes; all things, half true, half false (since she has not yet arrived at the total Truth of things become her feeders on the way.
This is the great epic of Life moving and filling each form with the will to grow and create and evolve towards a yet unseen end.