Fire is the third of the five main elements in the science of the ancients. It is associated with the color red and the characters Samuel and Keme from the world of Svevi Avatar. Find out why and how as the multi-media universe of Svevi Avatar unfurls through books, movies, and television series. Visit this page often as the significance of the element of fire is gradually revealed.
Of Europan descent, Samuel staunchly believes in the superiority of the Kuni religion and has spent his long life imposing – often forcibly – the Kuni gospel on others. He is at the forefront of the war against the non-Kuni Guardians and their subjects. How will his dogmatism affect humanity’s fate?
“The children are malleable, yes. The adults, well … that is a more difficult challenge. We have tried repeatedly to teach them the truth of the Entola. But they continue to resist. They continue to be ravaged by their unwillingness to see. I suspect that being subjugated by the brutal Guardians for so long has robbed the savages of whatever little sense they possessed to begin with.”
Indigenous to Kanata, Keme has been raised in a society where women are more capable than men and so are chosen to lead their people. Instead of cultivating his own abilities, he harbors a great bitterness toward strong women. How will the venom in his heart affect his people?
“You women have done nothing to help us! You have stood by while my people continue to suffer. Even though there are so many of you women who have the ability to put an end to the Guardians’ oppression once and for all…. That is easy for you to say, [that we should have patience and tolerance]…, when it is not your people’s lives that are being disrupted. Tolerance can be cowardice. It is time for us to act.”
How peculiar it is to be able to perch oneself atop a lamp post. Had I not transformed into a little blue bird, this tall metal structure — no matter how sturdy — surely would have complained about being burdened by a fully grown woman’s weight! That lady from the crowd is standing very close to Bunim. What could she possibly want from him, I wonder. Does she not sense his discomfort? Is she trying to rattle him on purpose? There is something odd about the way she speaks. I can’t quite discern what it is.
Bunim’s attention has drifted to that woman standing a bit to the side of the crowd. This little man is getting too loud for my taste. Last time he thumped the handrail in his zeal I almost fell off. How amazing it is to be as agile a being as a little bird, for I can fly anywhere I wish. If I were Maya, if I were myself, I would not enjoy this freedom. I must relish it as long as I can. I unfold my spectacular blue wings and propel myself into the winds above the crowd of humans below. They are too busy doting on the little man in the balcony to notice me as I fly toward Bunim.
That balcony looks inviting. I’ll fly down and perch on the wooden handrail next to that little man. He seems to like attention; his face lights up whenever the crowd below cheers. Why are all these people assembled here? They hang on this man’s every word, yet he’s not really saying much of substance. There’s Bunim in the distance. I can see from here that he doesn’t want to be here. How burdensome it is to be human. But in this moment I am free, for I am a bird.
How trivial the cares of humanity when one is gliding on a soft breeze. I’ve been so engrossed in this experience of flight that I forgot to look for Bunim. There he is, walking past that large building with the garden of flowers. I’ll fly lower so I can hear what they are saying to each other. That’s one of the marvels of being a bird. No one suspects that I am actually a human woman transformed into a Blue Jay.
I am as blue as the sky, blending into it as though we were one. How freeing it is to soar above the river below. How light I feel. How carefree. My arms have transformed into delicate wings, my mouth into a beak. I am a Blue Jay riding the winds. Perhaps I can stay a bird and not have to be Maya again. I have lost sight of Bunim. Where is he? The last thing I remember is being a blade of grass at his feet.
How strange it is to observe Bunim from the ground on which he stands. I feel supple, yet rigid simultaneously. I am no longer Maya, but a blade of grass that touches the walking stick that he leans on. I feel the vibrations of his thoughts transmitted through his hand through the ancient wood he holds down to me. He is not like the others. He is not disconnected like they are. His senses are attuned to the winds, as mine are. He knows that change is coming.
I lower my snout to the tracks in the snow; a deer calf was here not long ago. I can tell by its steps that its right hind leg is injured. Ah, I won’t have to run far to catch up with it. The snow will pad my approach and I shall be successful in capturing the animal. The calf will feed my pack for a few days. And we will thank it for its life, for we wolves are the guardians of our habitats. We maintain the balance of prey and predator, so that all life can flourish.
As I roll down her cheek, I stop to listen to the pores in her skin. They speak to me of grief in her heart. A grief that sighs so mournfully that even I, a single tear, am burdened by its heaviness. Each time I journey down her face I trace the contours of what ails her. Today she remembers the man she had believed would be by her always, but who left one day without looking back.
So high above the earth, there are no boundaries, except those carved out by the waters. These are my hunting grounds, stretching below me in all directions. I am not deterred by the borders humans impose on each other. I concern myself only with my prey. My keen eagle eyes discern the tiniest of movements far below me, signaling that it is time for me to descend swiftly. How glorious this dive through the blueness of the sky that caresses my wings.
I am the sleeping place of dew drops. In my veins flows the breath of earth. When the sun warms the sky, I begin my work of making the food for the old tree of whom I am a part. I toil all day, but when the breeze blows, I stop to play for a while. I am a leaf, ever ready to absorb what humans breathe out, so that I can keep them alive. This is my duty, no matter how many of my brother and sister leaves they kill when they fell the trees of the forest for their own gain.
Who decides what is worthy of the title of being a living, animate being? Humans? What are the criteria for qualifying as a life form? Invading others? Check. Benefiting myself at the expense of someone else? Check. Depleting the resources of those off of whom I leech? Check. Not caring whether others live or die, as long as I thrive? Check. If these are the conditions to be met to be called alive, then I, the mighty virus, am as powerful a life form as humans.
How stupendously large the world seems when one is a mosquito. I can see crevices in the skin of this man I’ve landed on. I may seem insignificant and weak. And yet, my needle-like mouth is extracting precious blood from this human, while injecting him with chemicals that make his blood thinner. Who is the weaker one, really?