He stared into the fire wondering at its dichotomy. Here it warmed him, while somewhere to the north it spread death and destruction, fueled by the very air he was breathing. It provided light and warmth, but inside it shadows shifted. Light and dark dancing to the song of life and death, the music of the universe written at the dawn of time when the first brilliant rays exploded into blackness like a tolling bell, which has never stopped ringing. Light and dark ever competing for center stage, like dueling violins, struggling for ways to express themselves.
We are the instruments in the final manifestation. We are the ones capable of hearing and feeling the music. This is what it is to be human. It touches us with intuition and inspires us and drives us mad. We wonder why. We wonder if it will always be this way. Is there some path to freedom, or are we doomed to struggle? The fire tells the truth. There is nothing we can do. We are the violins, both at once. We are slaves to the music. Beneath it all there is a steady beat. We know not what pounds the drum, but we dance, and we hope, and we despair.