Who Would Want Such an Ending to the Human Story? I’d rather see people becoming the best humans that have ever lived on this planet….

But is it God’s, yours, mine, anyone’s plan that this multi-billion year sweet symphony of consciousness expressing itself as beauteous Nature is suddenly, in eternal time, within the last second or two, to be stomped, crackled, and crashed by the Caterpillar boots of newbie humans? The skin-bound ones. I mean, reaaalyy skin bound.

As for me such horrible catastrophic cacophony of destruction is about as creative and delight inducing as a slow wonderfully silent drive through a countryside in late spring. Fragrant, aromatic…feelings of gratitude to the All That Is. And hearts overflowing in appreciation of the company of such remarkable, loving, and brilliant of friends.

So slowly meandering in fragrant meadows and moisty tart forests, one just regrets that the vehicle will have to stop to be charged in a little bit. That’s pleasant to me, maybe it is or isn’t to you.

But who among us would wish for the ride, the symphony, the song, the journey, the adventure, the whatever’s finale to be a split second of angry irritation and then an all too easy wander off of the freeway home? Such that before one is even aware, oneself and one’s friends and God’s delightful chorus is composed…. the ending, sixty miles per hour, six friends, the unmovable concrete of an overpass’s supports kissing all six’s bloody bags of waters, water-balloon style erased on the slab. And the percussive sounding to mark the end, over before you even realize it’s begun.

But when you in your awestruck wonder slow it to single frames, that sound…that sound so hideous, containing so many others within its one-second elapse. But you hear there are billions. You hear, trillions, more, infinite. Crashing, metal, but within it mixed…why, that is that hell that some speak about.

All those voices crying out in loss, in anger: How have you the right? Why have you robbed….? And all creatures that have ever lived here crying out in pain at the same time. Such things well… not fun… not, well… anything.

It seems we were even given the warning so that we could come up with a much better drama, more fun for all for every place in consciousness throughout the Universe. For the Universe has already experienced such a bummer of a symphony, which is now just a red planet…. It was much more fun, filled with life, creative divine noises, and manic whacky Chaplinesque movements, sounds, color, laughter, laughter, laughter. Not fun that one. [Footnote 1]

Why not a hero’s tale; no solitary hero, but billions and billions of heroes. Showing the Universe the story of the impossibly death-defying grasping at life, even as being thrown over the cliff. The solidarity in flesh, as united as in divine state, grasping single-handedly a bit of root protruding from the very edge above the abyss. And with mighty, united, happy, joyous, then singing, mighty and strong, pulling up, scraping knees, chins, shins, no matter, such incredible unity of peoples around the Globe as hasn’t been seen since the time before that Tower, that time called Babel.

That was a time when flesh decided to really stray from remembering and to really become solitary and alone, creating the darkness, which the light is so much sweeter by. Creating the horrible endless times of struggling, of violence, of ego over ego, with no one hearing, no one listening. But every one simply babbeling out THEIR world, their sounds, “The song must be like this!” “It is my song.” “I am divine, who the hell are you to sing while I’m composing my next chorus!?”

And so it began, with the blissful knowledge of Unity with All That Is turning psychotically into

I AM the Unity, I am all that is. I am hardly experiencing the flows of consciousness that you are. For I AM the only consciousness.

How could you be? You don’t look like me; yet I am conscious and I am the Decider.

So since I look like this and I act, and you look different, as different as I look compared to a pile of rubble, so you must not feel. You must be props for me to use.

And yet you jabber on, even as I am thinking, ever more, always thinking. I can’t stop this thinking; I don’t remember the world too well. That must be the price of being the only real living feeling existing thing here.

So it went. I don’t know why. But then there is that thing about it all being about greater wisdom.

And perhaps, I think this a better story than a one-second sounding of the Universe in Pain…. For nowhere in that Universe would there be a being saying,

Now that was one great species! Really so godlike. Incredible. They lasted for one nanosecond and then simply slammed their entire species—even taking with them every other of the millions of different kinds of beings that Consciousness was tripping around with, in checking out.

No. I don’t see our ending that way as being any more entertaining or enlightening than the shortest of all short stories about a man who walked across a busy freeway. Cleverly he avoided every car. He got increasingly adept and nimble. In his happiness he jumped to safety and stabbed himself to death with a knife. I told you, pretty dumb story.

I’d rather see people becoming the best humans that have ever lived on this planet at one time.

And working together, not knowing even if they would make it, but knowing that the laughter of children depended on it. That laughter of children would be never again. And, in fact, who can say that it ever existed really?

Continue on this site with
Apocalyptic Wake-Up Call:
America Earth Criminal and an Auspicious Worldwide Craving for Truth

Footnotes

1. To glimpse the unimaginable future past the time that we kill off ourselves and all life on this planet and become like Mars, I offer this fantasy around a musical scrap:

About our extinction. We’re gonna eliminate 50% of 500 million earth species in 50 yrs & we’ll be alive. Ha!

This is an original song-chant—written and composed by SillyMickel Adzema. All rights reserved. Copyright © 1993 by Michael Derzak Adzema:
It is a Requiem for Earth, a metaphysical view, an eerie emotional raw sound. It is sung by two of the last survivors of Earth—from all appearance it would have been the composer SM Adzema and his beloved wife, Mary Lynn Adzema—obviously not professional singers—but heartfelt nonetheless, giving us a glimpse into the profound sadness that must have hung over those last survivors after it became clear that Earth’s ecological balance so shattered, there would be no life at all to survive the strange behaviors of what Earthologists have begun calling “the suicidal ape”—referring to the species that alone brought down the entire planet.

Indeed this song, as an electronic scrap mixed in with an island of Earth debris discovered by spacepreuners hurtling swiftly through the Verse not far from the star system’s outer reach—the one that had once contained the fabled Earth—is one of the few very rare looks into the hearts and minds of those people as they watched, helplessly, as their planet’s delicate life sheath imploded with a gathering rapidity. Some who have heard this musical scrap claim that it supports the more radical theory of this event of a planet murder-suicide—the theory that the suicidal ape was divided on this global murder-suicide, with a goodly number of this species working furiously to save the planet even as stronger, more powerful forces, for reasons still not understood, continued their secretive sabotage of the other side’s efforts, ensuring the downfall of all, including the saboteurs themselves. At first hearing, this song seems to be expressing an awareness of the sadness that would accompany such a horrific event, at odds with the stories of “suicide ape’s” gleeful festive behavior in the midst of the massive killing and suicide.