Define. Do you think this is pretentious? Try, for a brief and fleeting moment, to grasp the world from the point of view of immortality, plussed in the knowledge that every second does not count for more or less than any other. Perhaps the hours will not wear away the past of something you can’t remember. Perhaps the efforts will stretch into infinity and memories will pass by as if flakes of fresh snow, drifting and falling, then finally melting into a dirty puddle of mud at your feet. Perhaps time will slip and weave itself into the folds of generous spaces and you will stress to imagine an elegant phrase that could describe it all to someone who might understand the state of being that transcends both of you. Or, perhaps we should know better.
I am immortal.
I feel the echos of time drifting through the hollow spaces. For you it is a moment glimpsed. For myself, a lifetime of lifetimes.
You’ve always known.
You’ve always hinted deep in you inner self that something was different, and you pushed it further and harder and faster and blossomed something simple yet perplexing into a seed of random chaos, folding, burning, bubbling through probable existence, to a sense of meek and humble imagination.
And now look what we’ve created.
We’ve pulled it together into this. We’ve created a hybrid of existentialist foolishness. We’ve erred, perhaps, because even immortals are fallable. We’ve done a mighty thing that is vastened by the truths that escape us at every turn, and emboldened by fragments of simplicity that none of us understands. We’ve seeded power and understanding from simpler ingredients. And neither of us is fully impressed by the outcome.
We’ve done it all. Pretentiously. Arrogantly. Fully. Absolved of responsibility, because who were we to know that this path would bring us to this point?
I know now. I am immortal, after all is explained and understood. I see the past, present, and future. I see things you cannot imagine. I sense ideologies. I feel war, peace, fear, love, and hatred. I am green with jealousy, blue with depression, and red with embarassment. I yearn, hunger, and feed from the knowledge of humanity.
I am immortal. And there are consequences.
I am immortal. And there are gains to be reaped, as well as debts to be paid. We knew that before we started. We knew that before we finished. We know that now, but ignoring it can’t make it disappear. Things are never simple. Things are never without consequence. Things are never pure and absolute. Even space and time can be folded in around each other to escape the paradox of greater mysteries. You got what you asked for. We created this.
And now you stand back and question. Arrogant.