Lost Pages, The Jupiter Archives, Recovered

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the hardest part about caring for humans is when you have to tell them things that are hard to say… and hard to hear. things you know will land heavy and likely hurt, because they are not polished or polite. things that speak life and truth, but often have sharp edges and are prone to nicking as they arrive, things that land in tender spaces where callous has not yet been built.

the curious thing about humans is how they so often believe they are alone. so very certain that no one else can really understand. so almost adamant that no one else has ever felt the same, ever looked at the same choices, ever faced the same lofty mountain and felt so very small and tired and unable.

it is so easy for humans to forget how the things that make them human are the things they have in common. their hopes. their fears. their insecurities. their prides and prejudices. they have in common the common, the mundane; they have in common the things that make their every day and only occasionally are these things punctuated by the unusual, the extreme, or the truly bizarre.

humans spend so much time telling themselves what they can’t do. then they wonder why so much is never done. or they tell themselves all the ways they are doomed to fail and then are surprised when that is precisely the end they find. or they tell themselves all the reasons why it cannot be, then are angry and hurt when it never is.

i have often wondered how it is that humans forget that the things they tell themselves are largely responsible for the outcomes they find. a diet of doubt and fear is no less lethal for the mind and spirit than a diet of poison would be for the body.

sometimes, humans are so distracted by the things they tell themselves that they cannot hear anything but doubt and fear. but even then, humans demonstrate a wonder that is breath-taking and beautiful as they persist — and they DO persist, even as they tell themselves every step of the way that they are fools to do so. fools to even try, fools to dream.

sometimes, the most beautiful thing about humans is that on occasion, for a moment, they actually realize that history is a ghost whose grasp is only as strong as they remember it, and that to remember is not the same as reliving, nor is remembrance in any way binding upon the future.

indeed, most times, in the midst of it all, one will observe a human remembering that remembrance is the only way to avoid repeating the past.

there is a profound difference between remembering and being imprisoned by memory, and the one shining marvel of humanity is its ability to surpass itself simply by being unwilling to permit memory to be a shackle upon body, mind, or spirit.

most times, these things are referred to as ‘indomitable’. but the word implies a forethought that is often lacking in humans. perhaps that sounds a condemnation, but it is not meant so. rather, in stunning and strange ways, despite all, humans most often succeed not because they thought they could, or even because someone said it was possible, but because, torn and twisted and tormented as they so often are — they simply do not know how to stop trying.

the reason it is hard to care for humans is because they are reluctant to admit to their own beauty.

the reason it is hard to care for humans is because they are forever willing to admit they are imperfect.

the reason it is hard to care for humans is because, despite their tenacity and stubbornness, they truly are fragile.

the reason it is hard to care for humans is because they so often show us how we have failed as gods.