When the high density beings first made contact, we thought them angels and demons
Their stilted communication was credited to translations into our unfamiliar tongue
How curious a species in their irregular shape and size, one as unlike to another as an ape to a cockroach
Our religions and empires fell and grew around their emergence, but we ultimately adapted to their presence and learned from their technologies
Imagine how we shattered then, to discover after hundreds more years that these mighty beings of near-unimaginable power were little more than automaton husks, long unburdened of consciousness – that evolutionary dead end – devoid of it, but still able to parrot its effect with brute force mimicry
It wasnt just to realise we were alone once again, as we been before but more over, to see that our future too was truly empty, and our cognisance of the stars merely a rounding error
They ponder on death and God with their scripture and science That two pronged instrument That two forked serpent Iterating their thoughts over millennia
I too ponder them
Who is this absent God they worship? Is it me, as I am in my true glory? Or a figment of their old fears and new desires?
If I stir again to tip the scales do I do them, my most loyal, a disservice? Is their faith rewarded by being answered, or does the fruit lie in uncertainty?
I too ponder
They draw cycles of life now and speak of an infinite universe They peer into their machines and untangle my grand design See nature’s spirals, life’s twisting helix And then conclude that life abruptly severs?
Do they forget my old signs? That sphere of black seeping in white and white that seeps in black, That everturning wheel, marching on?
Are they in such a rush for heavenly conclusion or hellish judgement that they would skip over the glorious work to get there?
Yes I too grow to that end
What do they think happens in the afterlife – that beforelife – before they are brought back? How else to explain man’s growth and civilisations’ progress but that there is no abrupt end, That life goes on after death as death goes before life Consciousness iterating over millennia
Do they not ponder upon my Angels’ wombs Which they ageing backwards enter and return to the earth?
Once upon a time, they would tremble at my wrath Like fearful children huddled in a cave And for the smallest transgressions I would crumble them like salt between my fingers How else to teach a babe the dangers of fire than to hold their hand up to it?
As they grew, so too did my open love and forgiving nature A teenage child can be reasoned with, is expected to fail and rebel, must be trusted to return to the fold
Now I withdraw myself to give them room to grow towards that final step. And in my absence they profane “Our God is inconsistent! Why does He no longer show himself? If He was real he would not forsake us! I withhold my righteous destruction and bite my tongue That final step is the hardest to climb For myself as much as them
How long before they ponder the evolution of their consciousness as well as mine And realise that both are intertwined, evertwisting upwards? Do they see it in their microscopes, this other double helix? That Man shapes God as much as God shapes Man?
That all creation elevates the Creator? That paradise is something their God must also aspire to? When they understand the immensity of our undertaking, will they then be patient?
abdulj. 