Once upon a time there was this age when I had purity in thought and action, an unseen smile inside my heart which spreaded light trough shaded sleepy eyes and no worries. The age of pure happiness in thought and action, with no time and space around, just the inner sparking circle of my dreamy world that I found amassing. There were no words to describe feelings and yet I felt intensely this huge universe that I had no questions about.
Then came this weird time when the box which contained my soul started to grow, and feed, and consume and ask about all these exterior things it noticed. Things that otherwise had no importance for my world inside. But the exterior world is tricky and it plays unfair games absorbing all these existing bodies making them forget they have souls inside. So I grew up asking questions, playing exterior games that spined me in this vicious “knowledge” game that actually subordinated me, like all those others, to this fake exterior reality we all came to accept as “true”. The soul containers that had asked questions before you and had received some “answers” that made them form other questions were the “wise” ones that gave us then “answers”. That is good, that is not good, this is time, this is power, this is what you should do (meaning what you have to do) and so on explaining (imposing) the rules of this fake game called “life”.
We, the bodies, learnt then the art of making “robots” so that we, later on, knew what we were supposed to transform ourselves into. But THEY never give you complete answers, because THEY need the questions in our heads to keep the “game” alive so one keeps guessing. So … I guess … we are all different types of “robots” so manufactured to tend to pretend to search “perfection” and “absolute knowledge” keeping our “circuits” functional by questions and answers and most of all throwing in our faces all the reasons for pessimism, passive revolt and whatnot … Because “this is how life works, folks” or … is it? (Attention question mark) .
So mister alien … I guess you can take our souls as fuel for your ship because as you see, we don’t have what to use them for. Or do we? (Attention question mark again)…
Will I die if I stop asking questions and start feeling again, from zero? Don’t answer, I am living the answer … See you on the inside!
Anca Elena Petrache (or at least it's what THEY say)