The first stories had nothing to do with humanity. We weren’t there to see them, so in our blind arrogance and lack of humility we don’t tend to think that they’re important. I mean really, how many documentaries do people watch compared to human interest stories? I’ve watched the action, the adventure, and the weeping drama and romance tales that humans come up with, and even if I am one of them, kind of, I have yet to find enough stories that would create a stunning tableau that might equal that which the world around us can provide. You want my opinion? Meh, you’ll get it anyway.
Humans tend to turn inward when the world they live on reminds them of how small they are. With the stories they tell, humans get to be the ultimate, whether it’s a hero, a villain, or even a storyteller, like me. Personally, I enjoy a good story, and it’s been a while since I’ve seen one.
I know, I know. That sounds like arrogance, ego, and pride. I get it. But living this long, and remembering everything that’s come before, is as much of a burden as it is a benefit, or a curse, as I’ve known it before. And to be honest, I don’t live much longer than the average human, but unlike the average human, I come back, again and again. The memories of my past lives don’t usually kick in until the age of 6, but definitely no older than 8. What I am until then is an average child that could swing one way or another. I don’t become a different person, I’m not some vampiric or possessing spirit that eliminates another soul to take over. I’m simply reborn, and I don’t regain my memories until a certain age. Imagine the feeling of carrying around a lot of baggage that you can feel, but can’t see, or hear, or touch.
That’s kind of what it’s like.
I was there when the first story began, and let me tell you, it was as strange as you can imagine.
(to be continued)