Our Kind

Before you start reading this, make sure you are seated comfortably and have some time to make believe. Okay, great. I want you to imagine yourself as an outsider, a stranger to this world of humans, looking in. Say, you are a little, harmless alien from the planet Pop in the galaxy Bop, who just happened to land on Earth when spat out on the other end of a black hole. You understand their language-- any and all, but you have no knowledge of this race. You've never seen it before, know nothing about it and its history. The point is, would human beings make sense to you? This is not a rhetorical question.

My answer is no. Human beings are, by far, the strangest creatures that have existed. We are the walking, talking paradoxes of this civilization. We took the soil of this planet and created our own majestic and glorious landscapes. We created information, then found ways to spread it everywhere, at once. We tamed our environment to our advantage, bent and broke Nature's rules and lived to bear the consequences. Without regret, without shame. As if it was our birthright. Homo sapiens is our name, entitlement is our fame.
We are creators of writing, weapons, science, literature, satire, punishment, humor, ranks, empires, societies, religions, laws, morals, houses, the perception of loneliness, conquests, philosophy, government, transgenic nature, modified babies, artificial intelligence, purchasable wives. Heck, we are almost God. Perhaps that is why we have left God. Or God has left us. Faith is increasingly leaving us too, resulting in empty existences without purpose, or even an apparent illusion of it.

As our technological progress disproves the existence of God, Magic, Santa Claus, Tooth Fairy, Miracles, Heaven, Hell, Love At First Sight, Wisdom of Old Age, and Shooting Stars, where do you go for comfort? When you know that it is Acid Rain that falls from the sky, would you still want to dance in it with your dearest?

Information is the new morality. You do, or don't, because you know.

We are growing in our ability to label a child's energy and enthusiasm as ADD, an old person's forgetfulness as dementia, a lover's broken heart as a depressive disorder, a mother's concern as an anxiety disorder, referring them to physicians and counselors. Now, more than ever.

In a world where all are diseased, a prescription has more value than a warm hug. We are increasingly substituting our time for our money. It is our emotions that make us unique (I mean, even dolphins and chimps are intelligent), and yet we're trying to get rid of them faster than we got rid of small pox. And we're succeeding. In this overcrowded world, there is no space for people to breathe, and there is certainly no room for emotions. The miracle of the pain of child birth being the same for every mother, whether human or any other mammal, is lost. The beauty of a newly sprouting leaf on a dying plant is inconsequential. You don't need a friend, you need a psychiatrist for emotional well-being. You don't need passion, you need porn for good sex. You don't need to be comfortable in your skin, you need a nose job to fit in.

Thus, we are discounting the existence of emotions, constantly striving to be more efficient, disease-free, in-control and "perfect" to fit in this ever "progressing" world. De-humanization is the way to go. The only way you survive. Then, we suddenly realize we are lonely and isolated, and wonder how we got that way. Now, lamenting humanity and the current state of affairs is almost as effective as reflecting on the meaning of Life. The damage is, and has been, beyond repair. We are the moths that rush towards the candle, lured by the light, only to be singed by the flame. Maybe a looming apocalypse is much needed to bring us back to being human. Maybe everything needs to be eroded and washed away with the wind so that we can finally see our roots again. Maybe in the face of an Armageddon, we will see our true priorities.

Would you want to bury your memories in a capsule for someone to find? Invest all your savings in real estate on the Moon? Watch one last sunset with those you love, before its all over?

A future where even memory will not survive is quite dreadful and beyond imagination. Many have seen wars, but we are yet to see an end of the World. Yet, I wonder what kind of legacy we will leave behind for the survivors of this apocalypse.

Will they still see the Sun in a blue sky? Will they even know the different colors? Will they know what Love was? Will they find our footprints in the soil? Will they look upon the remains of our civilization with wonder? Will they learn of our misdeeds and condemn us? Or will they dismiss us like a stain on the extensive fabric of time? Will we forever be forgotten?

In the light of our inevitable end, what matters?

This is not a rhetorical question.

Raptored

Hey, a short life of glory is worth more than a long one of misery, right?

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I forget how many tough loves this poem has helped me endure. Here it is, for your calm and comfort.

After a While
by Veronica A. Shoffstall

After a while you learn
The subtle difference between
Holding a hand and chaining a soul
And you learn that love doesn't mean leaning
And company doesn't always mean security.

And you begin to learn
That kisses aren't contracts
And presents aren't promises
And you begin to accept your defeats
With your head up and your eyes ahead
With the grace of a woman
Not the grief of a child

And you learn
To build all your roads on today
Because tomorrow's ground is
Too uncertain for plans
And futures have a way
Of falling down in mid flight

After a while you learn
That even sunshine burns if you get too much
So you plant your own garden
And decorate your own soul
Instead of waiting
For someone to bring you flowers

And you learn
That you really can endure
That you are really strong
And you really do have worth
And you learn and you learn
With every good bye you learn.