30 years into the mission

I was sent here roughly thirty years ago to investigate the human condition.

Officially, my post is to last as long as biologically possible, which actuary tables estimate to be somewhere around seventy-five years.  I was given to a family, a good family, who loves me (directs acts of gratuitous affection toward me) for no other reason than I am one of them. One, I call Mom.  Another, I call Dad.  They’re the leaders. For many years they fed and housed and educated myself and my two older genealogical classmates, known here as brothers.  In fact, as of a few weeks ago, Mom and Dad are once again housing me, and, occasionally, stilling feeding me.  This is good.  It reminds me of the early days of my mission, which featured less involuntary servitude, except this time around I have a earth-woman to share my room with.  My earth woman gives me sex, so this is a plus.

In earlier years I was on a strict masterbatory regime, which was not bad.  Human masturbation is good, much like coitus, leaving one relaxed and in good spirits. This is due to release of pleasure chemicals intended to encourage species perpetuation.  But self-pleasure leaves one feeling a bit empty.  A well executed coitus session, slowly built to a fierce climax, is much nicer, although demanding of more effort.  This is somewhat of a common human experience–that which demands more effort, results in higher satisfaction. If it comes too easy, it is cheap and disposable.

But there is a downside to all this love, and hard work, and pleasure: ephemerality. When I was a much younger investigator, I used to take lives without hesitation.  Of course, I only took the lives for which it is socially acceptable to take, such as ants, snails, and cockroaches. Slowly (perhaps in part influenced by the last two women with whom I’ve been sexually and emotionally involved, both of whom have been high on the spectrum of Love for Others, and also the fact that I feel the effects of not stretching) I am heavied by the weight of the realization of non-existence of the flesh.  I like the other flesh-bodies I spend time with down here.  I love them. Yet, as far as I can tell, what happens here on Earth, stays here on Earth, though billions of humans would disagree.

Anyways, nowadays I just let the ants crawl on me and politely encourage the roaches to let me taxi them outdoors, rather than ending their earthly existences.  I remember my last indiscretion well.  I had a large pit fire roaring, flames fueled by yard waste that I tended to with a long bamboo pole.  A good-sized frog hopped near the ring of fire, and without hesitation, I flippantly flipped that frog into the fire with my pole.  Instantly incinerated.  Why’d you just do that, bud?, I asked myself.  Well, the frog guy was right there by the fire and I had a pole in my hand and it’s not a crime, you know, it’s legal to destroy frogs by way of fire.  I wasn’t buying what I was selling.  Wise humans will tell you, in regard to the burning frog, there by the grace of God goes me.

Thankfully, though, steak looks nothing like cows.  If it did, I’d need to consider vegetarianism.