Mortal existence revolves around two cruxes: life and power.
People eternally yearn to preserve the former, and spend that same time that they find so precious chasing the latter. From these dual pillars sprung alchemy.
Alchemy, which pursued a universal elixir of youth and the indestructible wealth of shining metal; alchemy, which tried to bottle souls and lock sunlight in coins; alchemy, which glimpsed eternity and misconstrued it as something humanly attainable, rather than a divine state of existence strung through every little thing with the universe’s will.
Those who practised alchemy believed they could make that thread tremble, could guide and knot it as they desired.
But why?
Why spin straw into gold when it is already the shade of the sun? Why take something so warm and make it so deeply cold? Why wish for more time on this earth when all you do is waste the time you already possess running after fantastical impossibilities? Why try to understand when all that you need is to be?
Nature can be gold, echoing in the radiance of the soul and into eternity. Compared with the celestial gleam of the heavens, an alchemist’s gold will appear grey and glacial- the product of a blind half-life’s eyes trying to draw the world they see.
Gold is from nature, and so is the sun. If they were intended to be one and the same, then only one would exist. Using artificial means to transform something natural into something natural, but not the something natural that thing was intended to be, is a fruitless endeavour.Nature is too faceted for that.
In that way, alchemists, in their bid for the unattainable, have only sealed their eyes shut with icy gold. The metal coats their cheeks until they cannot see the light of the world anymore, cannot feel the warmth of the sun through the metal shell they thought was glorious protection.
Rather, it is when every sense of nature converges in a single, sprightly exaltation that you are most awake. In those moments, it is as though there is a feeling shared amongst each and every aspect of the world, a mass of intermingling, tangible bonds blending together into a blanket more expansive than the sky.
There plays an ambiguous melody, incomprehensible to the range of humanity’s ears, preferring to bypass the sense to strike deep into the hearts of all who truly listen. There is an all-encompassing feeling of togetherness, strewn between all that is separate like an intricate web of transcendent lace.
The earthen drum beneath your feet is steady and solid, but there is a pulse of life bounding through the stone and remnants of vitality give way to new sprouts within the soil. Its rhythm is less a physical throbbing and more the sensation of an undulating beat, confident in the way that it crafts a careful foundation for all the life that grows out of and on top of it. The ground does not tremble, does not waver in its conviction. Earth is the stubbornness of the universe; it is the defensive wall and fundamental support each person needs to weather the storms of existence; it is the force which shakes your core now and again by turning away from you only so that you may have the chance to rise up and stand upon it once more.
The earth works alongside the intractable and headstrong, as the earth itself is such things. It does not fight, but requires those who wish to use it to move the rock with their own strength. If you wake up in the morning and your limbs do not want to work, remaining as immovable as concrete, you do not abide and succumb; instead, you will force your arm to lift, your leg to bend, your body to awaken with you. Earth will protect you with as much resolution as you use to command it, a constant push that is then traced by the thrumming energy of the universe.
Flowing beneath and washing over the earth to smooth sharp stone into polished pebbles is water. A playful trickle or a raging hurricane; a tender stream’s embrace or a ravenous whirlpool; a series of fluttering waves imitating a dragon heart tessellation or a stretching plane of peaceful stillness wearing adornments only of fog or seafoam. Water will make itself heard, whether as a waterfall’s roar or the subtle pitter-patter of rain against a windowpane. It pulls itself in before pushing itself away in an ethereal eddy.
Water perpetuates its own cycle, content to be guided where you desire as it runs. Ocean tides rise and fall with the allure of celestials, a sustained legato to envelop the rough rhythm of earth. A sea, a lake, a river, a puddle- a person’s reflection on the water’s surface acts as a mirror for your own clarity of mind and adaptability. The magnetising attraction to mirror the smooth movements of the liquid is what allows that perspicuity to manifest itself into the gentle discipline necessary to nurture the seed planted in the earth.
The third level of movement is derived from the air. The winds are flighty and unreliable, however that allows for a degree of freedom that even doves could only dream of. It is swift and impulsive, a flurry of zephyrs scattering themselves even as they swirl around each other. Air may exist as a faint breeze or light gust; it may exist as a blustering cloud or oppressive gust. Air does not fly itself, but rather uplifts the wings of others. It is omnipresent, but lacking a destination; eternally travelling everywhere and nowhere all at once.
In order to harness the winds, you must keep up with it. Imagine the air breathing through you, a sprightly, humorous composition moving in triple time or the bustling chatter of rustling leaves and reeds that ensues. The wind accompanies the other elements, lifting the high notes higher and pressing the low notes lower. Sometimes, it strays from its loose pattern to whistle a countermelody. Sometimes, it chooses instead to rush ahead and taste the limelight created as cooling water diverts pure light through warm stone. Always, it continues on without lingering for more than a moment.
Finally, there lies the passionate heat of fire. Flames dance with a vicious beauty, bringing warmth for healing and warmth for burning, exuding light of blindness and light of enlightenment- serving as both a heart of wrath and a core of purification. Within any living thing, fire is the esse driving them to live. It stretches its million tongues to the sky, licking at the darkness of its own smoke and shedding sparks into the winds. It razes the ground and continues to burn, searching for something beneath the earth that can sate its hunger. Its endless devouring is kept in check by the presence of water, dousing the flames' extremes so that it is more beautiful than terrifying.
Fire is life itself. Those with too many unstable emotions are seen as dangerous, possessing so much vitality it tears them apart at the seams; those lacking any desire or ambition are seen as weak, what little they have leaking out from their shelter. A warm medium is needed to balance intensity against insipidity. Fire is life, but it is also the very thing that burns and burns and burns away at the strings of that life until it eats itself alive. Without the other elements, it would be pure destruction, spending time without enough sentience to collect any more.
Earth is the foundation, the sturdy shell. Water is the movement, the graceful compulsion. Air is freedom, the unfettered rush. Fire is the spirit, the smouldering will that fuels all else.
As these aspects exist, you are made up of them; as you are made up of them, these aspects exist. Light paints cool, stone skin with warmth, while the wind and water choreograph a routine in perfect synchronisation with the environment and fire drinks in the pure vitality of harmonious existence.
Fingers spread to the sky, nature begins its dance.
Life’s symphony serves as the song.