After a lifetime of thorough contemplation, I’ve come to the realization that I’ve grown to detest the physical world. A lifetime of experiencing the physical sensations of the world around us has been such an arduous task that it has proven itself a chore rather than a source of enjoyment. An abnormality rather than a natural process. They say life is a gift, but I would only consider it so if there was no prior spiritual consciousness. In other words: I find the only gift of life to be the soul, if our soul is in fact created at conception.
In this lifetime: I intend to spend as much of my time as possible learning, studying, and developing my mind and spirit. My problem with this world, with this life, with this physical form; is the amount of effort it takes to keep this physical form in motion long enough to take these gifts into the next life or plane of existence. I yearn to spend my days searching the very depths of my soul, extracting any knowledge I harbor within and building off of it. I would love to read the works of the greats, meditate to the core of my soul, and write with the vigor of a thousand lives, jot the tales of a thousand journies, create works that will spark a thousand minds that will each spark a thousand more. I want to live divine. But if you know life or if you know the human form, and you know Earth.. You know the countless struggles with pointlessness that we face on a daily basis.
I gently wake up, slipping right into a meditation so profound that it blurs the lines of when my dream ends and my waking journey begins, but like every other day I am disrupted with the ridiculous urge to go spray liquid waste into a toilet bowl. From here I need to chew my sustenance, drink stuff, take vitamins, and clothe myself. Why? Because it’s a natural human need? No, because I have to go to work.. my absolute favorite of all human activities. I have to go and spend 1/3 of my day in a place I don’t want to be, doing something I don’t want to do, exhausting my body, and placing my mind on hold because I’m unable to use it to accomplish anything that will hold merit in my spiritual future. 1/3 of my day, plus the drive, plus the hours of my life I will lose even after my shift due to exhaustion. Oh well, time to shove these bristles in my face and scrub my head hole so I can rush off to acquire dollars!
The physical needs we are forced to reach in order to survive in human form demand money. Without money there is no food, drink, shelter, hygiene, comfort, or sex (debatable, but if you couldn’t afford to clean yourself then I doubt your potential sex partners will be anything short of horrific).
This shell, this bag of bones and organs that harnesses my soul is a tricky host. I fear that I will never quite get it right. As a child I constantly fell, constantly tripped over my own feet trying to walk. In my adulthood my balance has improved, but I still spend copious amounts of my time wagering that I can trust my own hands to carry out the simple functions I’ve designated for them to carry out. A bet I lose frequently. Ok hands; I will question the universe. I will use my mental energy contemplating time and space, I will focus my entire existence on attempting to understand the cosmos. All I need you to do is hold this bottle of water, and this wallet. There are two of you, this should be easy. UGHHHHHH! Why is my wallet on the floor? Why is there cash and coins scattered everywhere? Why did the gallon of water fall too? Ok Universe, cool, I dropped everything. Did the lid have to mysteriously unscrew off and flood my whole kitchen with water too? Does my money need to be warped with said water? Do I really need to be mopping right now? All I wanted was to understand the inner workings of a black hole, but instead I’m on my hands and knees picking up sopping wet money, dropping more coins than I’m even able to hold onto. I don’t even bother mopping.
I’ve become comfortable with the theory that I don’t understand this vessel, simply because I don’t belong in it. Whoever tricked me to take this form on was a swindler indeed.
“Hey, try a human life”, he said. “It won’t be so bad. Every moment is a gift and there’s beauty in everything”
..then he proceeded to break the gift and challenge me to see the beauty while I’m in pain every day, walking around so fatigued I can barely hold my head up over my shoulders. Yeah, that’s how I picture it. And then I was born. No wonder infants cry so much.
So I don’t belong here. Whatever I was before, it’s not a good fit with what I am now. If you believe in past lives, is it too far fetched to believe in them being on a different planet? A “starseed” or an “indigo child” as we’ve come to be called, is a soul that did not originate in this planet. These starseeds were sent from somewhere else, for a reason nobody quite knows for sure. And while I struggle, 30 years into life, with the process of tying my shoelaces, the most intricate workings of human behavior present themselves to me in ways that it would take days to explain and most would still not understand. But I don’t understand.. Not the universe that keeps this earth spinning, nor the Earth that harnesses my meat vehicle, or this meat bag that keeps my soul trapped so tightly inside. I’ll never learn to fully use this device I’ve been given, and I’ll never know why it was given to me. It will never function the way I want it too. And this body, it will never be my home. Every time I make an attempt toward something that will further my soul’s wisdom, I am shot abruptly back to bodily prison, reminded of how I am so reluctantly trapped inside.
I want to create my masterpiece, …wait. Sorry. I have a message from my meat vehicle informing me that this morning’s breakfast has transformed itself into my very own dark matter, and I must go eject it into space at once. So meaningful.
Anyway, if I might continue; there are so many things I believe that I was put on this Earth to accomplish. There are countless lessons to learn on this quest to obtain all that we can of the universe’s infinite wisdom. I believe that I was put here to become my own masterpiece, to pen my first novel, compile an anthology of classic literature, to leave my mark on the world in a positive and influential way so that I might one day look back and realize that I’ve achieved my purpose here, and I believe that one day I will.. I long for death, because I don’t see it as death. To me death is a romantic moment where your soul finally frees itself from its mortal trap and immerses itself with the omnipotent. One glorious day when I’m no longer weighed down by the need to eat, sleep, or procreate; I will have the freedom and capability to explore this infinite universe sans interruption…. but for now, for some silly biological urge is calling me. And it’s telling me I need sleep ZZZZZZZZZ….