By Oluchi Omai
It was not a grand exit. There were no crashing
lightning bolts or parting seas when the silence began. It felt more like a
painter stepping back from a finished canvas, putting down the brush, and
quietly slipping out the back door.
He left us brilliantly equipped. He packed our
minds with the spark of creation, the ability to build cities out of mud, and
the power to turn raw emotion into music. But when He pulled back, He left a
massive, echoing space behind.
We tried to fill that quiet gap with everything
we could find. We built skyscrapers that punched through the clouds, mapped out
the stars, and created algorithms to answer our smallest questions. But under
all that noise, a strange kind of loneliness settled in.
It turns out that having absolute freedom without
a compass just gives you vertigo. We became like kids left alone in a massive
mansion; at first, it is a thrill to jump on the furniture, but eventually, the
empty hallways start to feel a little heavy. The silence from above began to
feel like an unblinking eye, watching us figure out how to carry the weight of
our own potential.
But the wildest part of this setup is that He
left His fingerprints inside our DNA.
Right in the middle of that empty ache is where
the urge to make things comes from. When someone sits down at a piano in the
dead of night, or stares at a blank screen trying to find the right words, they
aren't just practicing a hobby. They are reaching into the dark.
Our creativity is basically the phantom limb of
the soul.
Whenever we create something from scratch, we are
doing exactly what He did in the beginning. We take a messy, chaotic void, a
blank page, a block of stone, a quiet room and we force it to mean something.
We give it structure. We give it light.
Maybe the Divine is not showing up in burning
bushes anymore because He does not need to. His presence is smuggled inside our
own hands. Every time we build, write, paint, or heal, we are breaking the
silence. We turn our isolation into a conversation, proving that even when we
feel entirely on our own, we can't help but speak the language we were taught.
I can.
And be what he calls us; “Ye are
gods”. God lives and work through me.
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