How to Steal Fire from the Gods

Realize your full creative power by channeling the Trickster.

The act of doing creative work seems so profoundly indulgent, doesn’t it? Creative work rarely earns money, so society considers it to be of low value and best relegated to “spare time.” It also uses a lot of emotional energy, and women especially have been socialized to spend theirs on other people rather than personal projects. Many of us grapple with a subconscious fear that we don’t have a right to take the time and space for our art. If we do manage to have a regular creative practice, it can feel like it’s Not Allowed. That’s because it’s not! Instead of trying to convince ourselves that something we intuitively understand to be true isn’t true, let’s embrace it. If we want to realize our full creative power, we must recognize taking time and space for our creative work as the glorious rebellion it is. We must learn how to steal fire from the gods and laugh as we abscond with our prize.

Okay, you’re thinking, that sounds cool and all, but, um, how? Fair question. Let’s take a look at some source material. Prometheus is the most well-known fire stealer, but it’s a motif found in mythological traditions around the world. If we broaden our view, we can see that there are many other examples of cosmic rebellion in our cultural legacies: the story of the snake who gives the apple to Eve, for example. The key elements of such narratives are these: there is something that belongs to a powerful being, something that confers power to its owner, and there is someone who steals that object, and thus the power it confers. Here’s what’s important to understand about these stories: they’re about righting an imbalance of power.

Whether it’s fire or the apple of knowledge, doing your creative work is about claiming sovereignty over your own life and choices. It’s about self-actualization.

So now we know what the stakes are. But how do we get from here to there? Let’s ask Prometheus and the snake. Who are these characters, anyway, and why are they stealing things from gods? They’re representatives of an archetype found across world mythologies: the Trickster. Growing up in the US, I read the Native American Trickster tales featuring Coyote and Raven. As the name suggests, Trickster is a figure who can be capricious, nonsensical, and mocking. As a child I was a rule-follower, and found Trickster’s chaotic energy anxiety-producing and confusing. His uses of trickery seemed to me uncomfortably close to bullying, something I was often the brunt of (Trickster is usually a he). Basically, Trickster scared me. But that’s the point of Trickster. He makes you uncomfortable. You question his true motives. He does not operate according to any clear logic and seems to actively enjoy confounding everyone. Let’s be honest, he can come off as an asshole.

But Trickster serves a crucial purpose: he challenges the status quo, disrupts the normal functioning of society, and in so doing, brings about a new order. Trickster is the embodiment of creative energy. Because here’s the thing: creative work isn’t actually about making something new. It’s about reworking the elements of what is already there. It’s about tearing things apart, mixing them up, and putting them back together in new ways. Deconstructing realities in order to discover deeper truths. Claiming your right to your creative power and in so doing destroying the bonds of cultural conditioning.

To steal fire from the gods, you must become the Trickster.

Creative practice is not simply about the time and space to be creative. Your creative output is actually a side effect of something so much bigger. Creative practice is an act of personal empowerment. It is a cosmic rebellion in your own personal universe. You steal fire from the gods by doing your creative work. Doing your work is itself the bold and brave act of rebellion. And it is important work. Regardless of your output, how other people see your work, or whether taking time and space for it makes others uncomfortable, you must do your work. It is your work, you must do it. Full stop. And here is the essential thing to remember: Trickster does not pause to wonder if she has a right steal the fire. She does not justify her actions, nor does she care if anyone else understands her motivations. She does it because she wants to. If you need a reason, that is reason enough. Because you want to. Because you must.

Photo notes: I took this post’s photo from the top of a Mayan temple in Guatemala. As the sun fell toward the horizon our small group of strangers-until-that-moment was asked to watch in silence. In the jungle below the howler monkeys crescendoed as the light flared and burned across the water that had been the ancient Mayan community’s lifeblood. The primeval-sounding roar of the howlers is something I will never forget. It was a transcendent moment, and it seemed an appropriate image for this post.