Today, in my Biology class, we started a unit on the base criteria that defines things as 'alive'. We were instructed, first, to make our own lists, with the assistance of our partners, and then we were to inspect the objects she had for us, and to define them the way we saw fit, what with our initial reactions and then with how it fit the criteria we had previously written. It was, in part, deathly boring, and I don't wish to go anywhere near another bush bean for a while, thanks. However, I learned enough. Really! I'm not so blase as all that. It was educational, but that doesn't mean it was interesting. However, even if the experience wasn't so scintillating, the course-material was mildly interesting. Interesting enough that I sat and thought about it for a while after. We, organisms of the highest order, continue in our cycle until the organs and molecules inside us tire, and we wither away at the precipice of death until we finally tip over, pushed by the tip of a finger, the lightest breeze. But there is always a reason for the things that we do and experience, and our deaths are not in vain. Rather, we are the essence of our very middle Earth, the deepest region of creation.
We, the beginning, middle, and end of the most advanced beings to ever set foot on this planet, so far as we know.
According to this essay, we should be unstoppable, up until death and the things it has in store for us. I know better. I know that the world does not stop for the end of a life, the creation of a soul. It does not slow in its turning, calls itself calm, braces itself against the corners of our universe and waits for the storm of thousands of emotions — all the souls, hearts, and minds that this organism has touched — to quell. No, Earth is a single-minded being — it moves not for us, stops not for us. It knows we are unkind, and, in turn, it has reciprocated. We are not so important as the molecules that make us up, we fickle beings.
Earth's finest creations must have some sort of upside, you may recall, and you would be right. We are insignificant, a tiny little blip on the horizon for the rest of humanity. Regardless, you still do not have to remain so. You could create a name for yourself, tell the world about your existence, imprint upon those who come in contact with you, who have the permission to speak your first name. That's an upside. But do we really need to be famous, to have other people know us? Must we become a pariah, held above the flames with fickle fingers, handed a velvet throne atop a pedestal for a talent we had no part in cultivating?
The answer, my friends, is up to you.
Yes, we are insignificant, and yes, we are mortal. But we are so very important. Made up of all of these little tiny pieces, so intricately pieced together that the cracks in our skin are seen only by microscopes and the fiercest contenders. We grow with every little setback, and once we grow, we change. Ourselves, the people around us, and the world. Yeah, the world.
Grow. Change. Contend.
We, the beginning, middle, and end of the most advanced beings to ever set foot on this planet, so far as we know.
According to this essay, we should be unstoppable, up until death and the things it has in store for us. I know better. I know that the world does not stop for the end of a life, the creation of a soul. It does not slow in its turning, calls itself calm, braces itself against the corners of our universe and waits for the storm of thousands of emotions — all the souls, hearts, and minds that this organism has touched — to quell. No, Earth is a single-minded being — it moves not for us, stops not for us. It knows we are unkind, and, in turn, it has reciprocated. We are not so important as the molecules that make us up, we fickle beings.
Earth's finest creations must have some sort of upside, you may recall, and you would be right. We are insignificant, a tiny little blip on the horizon for the rest of humanity. Regardless, you still do not have to remain so. You could create a name for yourself, tell the world about your existence, imprint upon those who come in contact with you, who have the permission to speak your first name. That's an upside. But do we really need to be famous, to have other people know us? Must we become a pariah, held above the flames with fickle fingers, handed a velvet throne atop a pedestal for a talent we had no part in cultivating?
The answer, my friends, is up to you.
Yes, we are insignificant, and yes, we are mortal. But we are so very important. Made up of all of these little tiny pieces, so intricately pieced together that the cracks in our skin are seen only by microscopes and the fiercest contenders. We grow with every little setback, and once we grow, we change. Ourselves, the people around us, and the world. Yeah, the world.
Grow. Change. Contend.
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