If we were Gods

I woke up and had an existential crisis this morning. It's always in the morning for me, just after I wake up, that at least one aspect of the strangeness of my existence will blindside me between the eyes. I guess my brain gets surprised that it's still here most mornings. Most of the time it passes before I have time to do any real thinking about it. I feel it and then it's gone. This morning I suddenly comprehended reproduction in the oddest way. That it all started because a vesical was smashed in two by a rock or something, and now replication of organisms has taken over the surface of the earth. All these squirming little balls of cells making more, and more, and more. Mutating, again, and again, and again, until you get a monkey shaped ball of brain that calls itself Julia, that didn't choose to be here, and is planning on making more squirming balls; growing slimy humans inside of her body. And then pushing them out onto the surface of the earth so that they can squirm all over it, and pass on a few mutations that get to play in this game called natural selection that nobody set up, and nobody is watching, it just is.

I felt all of that in just a moment. And then I began following this reproduction process further in my mind, following the path far into the future. What's going to happen to us?

Lets say all the best circumstances take place. Lets be true optimists right now, and say that all of this will be possible in the future. Our first step to insure that we can keep replicating is to get off planet. The Earth could become unsuitable in a thousand different scenarios, and if anything goes wrong, we're screwed. Our next step is to get out of this solar system before the sun dies, and kills us all. We need to populate the galaxy. But we probably need to get out of the Milky-way before it collides with Andromeda, and occupy the rest of the universe. And then, the hardest of all, we need to get into other universes before this one undergoes heat death, where every star is dead, and every bit of matter/energy disintegrates into heat, which finally cools and then nothing exists at all.

This is a big project. But lets say we pull it off in trillions and trillions of years. We're a species that has figured out how this universe works, well enough to leave it, and probably control the fabric of space somewhat. We're not human, but we resemble humans in the same way humans used to resemble chimpanzees. We're a new species probably called "Gods." Perhaps our binomial name is Homo deus. We've probably integrated computers into our brains, so that our consciousnesses can now complete tasks that were impossible for brain tissue. We've eliminated aging, and if you're careful, you can live forever. We continued to advance socially, and now the species at large is more benevolent, kind, gentle, loving, forgiving, and we've long since weeded out bigotry.

So what do you do with your time, now that you can travel from universe to universe? I think I would start a project. Maybe I'd start an evolutionary cycle on a planet very different from earth just to see what kind of life was generated. I'd probably try and see if there are other ways that intelligence can be evolved. Maybe I'd spend my time as a xenobiologist, studying alien life, or trying to communicate with it. But do you know what I think would be my big project? I think that I would search around the multiverse until I found a planet very, very much like earth. As close as possible to the conditions on earth when life began there. I would try to get there before there was any life, and I would start a system of competing vesicals, as close to how it began on earth as possible. And I'd watch. I would have so much knowledge about early earth and the events that led to my evolution, that I would know what events needed to happen for a similar creature to evolve. Perhaps I would have control enough to propel a large asteroid toward the planet to eliminate the far-too-successful lizard-like creatures that most likely would never evolve intelligence. But I would want to see, with all my heart, a creature that started to resemble an ape. I guess there would be no real reason for it, other than the excitement of it, the feeling like I wasn't alone in my ape-ness, the desire to recreate my origins. It wouldn't be my only project, but good God I would want to see if I could do it. I mean, why not try it? I literally have forever to play with. I would be thrilled beyond belief if the apes started to evolve to look like my predecessors, homo sapiens.

So lets say my big science project worked. An earth-like planet with intelligent beings on it that remind me of myself in the cutest way. What would be my relationship to them? Would they know about me? Would I talk to them? How much of my time would I spend in the observation room? Would I care about their behavior?

I don't think that I would make them aware of my existence. Such a thing would have too large an impact on their societies. I wouldn't want to mess with it. If I came to their planet and showed them how advanced I was, they would certainly start to worship me, factions would start, some would want me to rule, others would conspire to kill me, they'd probably start killing each other because of me. I'd probably end up dead in the end if I lived with them. If I set up the kind of government that actually works, in order to help them, I think it would be a disaster. You can't force knowledge or freedom on anyone. Besides, it's not like I could control them. There would be too many of them. The only way to set up a proper government for them would be to enlist my Homo Deus friends as enforcers, and then too easily it would become a slavery situation, God's ruling over great apes. No, the truth is, humanity was able to become great because they didn't have a supreme authority making decisions for them. If I ever wanted these creature to progress, I would need to leave them alone. I guess it would kind of be like they were my children. I would hope the best for them, but like a parent, I would need to let them go and let them make decisions for themselves, even when the answer to their problems is so obvious to me.

Would there behavior matter to me? I think yes. Not on a small scale, but in the great scheme of things, I would know how much they would need to progress in order to get off their planet in time. If they were behind, I would get worried. If they couldn't figure out how to end bigotry and prejudice in time, they probably wouldn't be able to pull together to figure out the big puzzles. Perhaps I'd even get interested in a specific person's life every once and a while. In fact, I'm sure of it. Because I'd know that really the only thing that matters is the individual. Only observing the species as a whole would get dull. I would want to see the art, the intimacy, the beauty, the real purpose of life that you can only find when you look closer. I wouldn't read their thoughts though, even if I had the technology to decipher their brain waves. Truth be told it would be a waste of time, an invasion of privacy, and what would I do with all that information anyway? How would that help either of us? And even though I'd be aware of their major mistakes, I wouldn't send punishment to steer their actions or anything creepy like that. I have no business doing that. Because I know that humanity learned well enough through natural consequences. No need to assign extra weight to their actions. There would, of course, be no reason to send a friend there to pay the price for their mistakes. There's no great cosmic justice here. Each action they take either leads them to survival or destruction, starflight or nuclear war, and it's their choice. Besides, if I did send someone to help, it would probably just end up polarizing them, and they'd kill whoever it was.

Would I ever try to communicate with them? Maybe. Maybe when they were intelligent enough to understand I'd feel comfortable giving them little tidbits about science or government or proper behavior, the type of behavior they would need to have if they ever joined the community of intelligent universe-hoppers. Why not, right? This is my project, I can do what I want. But how would I get the information to them? For Homo Deus, we have computers built right into our brains, and we all access the Cranialinternet instantaneously in our minds. I guess sending an "email" via Cranialinternet, a message that travels directly from mind to mind would seem a lot like telepathy, but it's not. I would need to invent some way for these creatures to perhaps access this trans-universal web of information with their brains, too. Program some feature to specialize in connecting to unaltered brain tissue. It wouldn't be impossible, would it? It's designed to be accessed with at least partial brain tissue, it seems like they could get some access to it. Their connection would be deathly slow, but that's better than nothing. Yes! This is genius! I've got the figure this out. Because this way, I don't have to try and communicate with them one by one (slow, impossible, and futile), their minds will be accessing small amounts information from the Cranialinternet when they need it. This could make all the difference in speeding up their progression.

How much time would I spend paying attention to them? I wouldn't consume myself in it. I'd keep myself updated, watch their news, keep up on world events probably. But I have my own life to keep me occupied. And watching everything too closely would drain me no doubt. I'm not perfect, and I'm not all-powerful. It would suck not to be able to do much about the things I saw.
Or maybe, I would pay a huge amount of attention. I do have so much time to kill.

And finally, what would be the fruition of my project? Introducing them to the rest of us, I think. When they finally began to resemble us, when they finally were more like peers, I would definitely want to meet them. Just thinking of it, I know my heart would explode. Being equals for the first time. Finally getting to teach them everything we've learned. It would be glorious. Perhaps we'd even have advanced enough biological science that we could reassemble old consciousnesses, and I could even meet some of the people I was more intimately interested in who died along the way.

Then I thought, maybe someone did something like that for us humans. Maybe someone did set up all these squirming replicating bags of slimy human brains.

But she wouldn't make herself known. She wouldn't read our minds. She wouldn't keep tallies on sins we committed. She wouldn't send punishment. She wouldn't set up organizations for us, or encourage factions. She wouldn't know our future. She wouldn't send a God to rule us, or to save us, or to be killed by us. She wouldn't speak to us personally; it would be up to us to download inspiration from the cosmos into our minds. And maybe, if we play our cards right, we'll join the community of universe-hoppers someday. Surely there must be things more intelligent and advanced than that one species, on that one planet, in that one Milky-way galaxy, out there already.

Or maybe we're the only life that has existed, anywhere, ever.

And that's why I laid in bed for hours this morning.

Found me in the wake

You found me in the wake.
Dried up on shore, I didn't move.
I can't say you rescued me, but I left

every letter downstairs.

Too lucky for breathing. I blink and feel you
closing in. Almost too soon.
Just as I laid down my lies you picked me up.
My truth held close for the first time.

As a child I walked too quickly
after school. I shuddered with my
feet in a ditch as dusty boy spoke to me,
now I won't fall from your running water voice.

Bled me out and drag me
through white wake. Follow and sway.
One delay and I live again.
Just in time. Just in time for you.

Stay home for me

Once, I shook next to you on a bus.

I folded my arms under your coat

so you couldn't see how you took over me.

Once I looked down with my head on your chest,

with your words in my hair, and I couldn't bring

myself to put my arm where I wanted it.

You drove an hour once, all the way back home,

when my scream hung in the air and you tasted

your loss, still you didn't stay home for me.

One time you appeared unannounced upstairs.

I wore an old hoodie and you proved I was pretty

after declining to touch me two days before.

This one time, I lifted my forehead from the carpet to your leg,

and your hand stroking my hair stilled my jagged breath

as you listed the reasons you knew who I was.

When it was dark and I broke at the thought of you leaving,

you never knew that I watched from the window
as you knelt on the sidewalk, and prayed to God for us.

Once, on the way to my sister's where I'd finally be alone,

you wouldn't stop turning and looking and crying.

Your eyes stayed off the road, but you couldn't stay home for me.

You found me next to you once in the middle of the night,

and made yourself very clear. You told me again in words, in time,

in promise, then lies, then left, because you wouldn't stay home for me.

Religious Suicide

My cousin committed suicide two weeks ago, on the ninth of August, because she thought Heavenly Father wanted her to. Her decent into mental illness was slow and subtle, like a frog in a boiling pot. No one understood how bad it really was, and therefore no one took drastic enough preventative measures to stop the tragedy. This is her story.

She grew up in the most beautiful Mormon family, the oldest of six. She was about ten years older than me, so we were never close, but I played with her younger siblings my entire childhood. I think we all looked up to her as some distant object of perfection. She was a living snow white--She had perfect white skin, and gorgeous, long dark hair. She sewed her own clothes, cooked for everyone, and knew how to can anything. She had no qualms about scolding or telling you how to behave--A born mother.

And that's exactly what she became. After her mission to the Philippines, (a difficult and disturbing mission. She was in the last group of sister missionaries ever allowed to serve there. I have wondered if the disturbing things she saw somehow contributed to her illness,) she married the first man she ever dated and became a mother. The man she married painted for a living, and didn't provide her with the bounteous, lovely lifestyle she was used to. He moved her to a dump of a place, far away from her family. The pressure of being a poor, new mother without support sent her into a post-partum depression that never seemed to lift. And every time she added another child the pressure built, the depression thickened, and people started noticing she was not acting normally.

"The men in my ward are all flirting with me." She said. That's how it started. She would tell elaborate stories of how this elder and that elder couldn't stand her beauty and were always implying that they wanted her. I remember laughing behind her back, thinking that she wanted male attention so desperately that she was just inventing flirtation that wasn't there. I told my family, "She should have dated more men before she got married. She never got to experience the fun of flirtation, and so she needs it now." But pretty soon the stories of flirtation turned into more unbelievable tales about the bishopric, how they wanted to have affairs with her, how they desperately wanted to put their seed in her, especially when she was pregnant. She started telling everyone that the bishop had set up surveillance in their home. Everyone told her that she was mistaken, that they were worried her grip on reality was failing. She responded with an ultimatum-- The bishopric was planning something awful, and it was going to happen in six weeks. If it didn't happen then she would admit she was crazy.

It didn't happen. She got up in sacrament meeting and began reciting her list of “The Top Ten Reasons Why I'm Crazy.” She started telling everyone the things she believed about the bishop, and other completely inappropriate things, but she didn't get very far because her husband walked up to the pulpit, took her out of the building, and immediately drove her to the mental hospital.

She didn't stay there very long. Her parents drove down to see her in the hospital and she seemed to be completely normal. “She's fine.” They assured everyone. “She just needs to take it easy.” They brought her to live with them so they could help with the kids and ease the pressure she was under. It helped. She seemed to be doing better. But when she moved back home the descent started again. She named all of the rooms in their home a room in the temple. Their bedroom was the celestial room. The closets were the temple dressing rooms, and they were only allowed to get undressed in the “dressing rooms.” She spent every night obsessively reading the Book of Mormon. Her sister found her scriptures once, flipped through them and saw the word “hotdog” written on every page. “Why did you write hotdog all over your scriptures?” She asked. My cousin replied, “Well, clearly I couldn't have written penis on them.” Like it was the most obvious thing in the world. Every time she read a verse that reminded her of a penis, she marked it with “hotdog.”

And then came the day that she stumbled across Matthew 5:30, “And if thy right hand offend thee, cut it off, and cast it from thee: for it is profitable for thee that one of thy members should perish, and not that thy whole body should be cast into hell.” It struck her to the core. It resounded within her, as if God were answering a prayer, as if God had shown her the way to atone for her guilt. She told her husband that God wanted her to atone for her sins. She knew it. She could feel it. My brother, who used to cut his wrists every time he masturbated in order to punish himself and knows well the amount of guilt even a sane member of the church can experience, suggested that perhaps it was masturbation that she thought she needed to atone for. She felt that her arm was evil, that it was causing her to sin, and that she needed to get rid of it.

Her husband found her in the kitchen late one night, rifling through the drawers.

“Honey,” He asked apprehensively, “What are you looking for?”

She sighed. “I know you're not going to understand this, but I need to cut off my arm.”

“No.” He said. “If you do that, you'll die, do you understand?”

But she didn't. If you ever tried to talk reason to her she would grin and nod her head, like she was on a higher plane than you, so you couldn't possibly understand as well as her. She believed that if she only accomplished this Abrahamic test, God would preserve her. Her husband found websites about successfully amputating a limb in her recent searches. He hid all the knives and arranged for her to stay once again with her parents, because he had to go to work and could not keep an eye on her all the time. He drove her up to Utah, and on the way they stopped by a temple. He got out of the car, and she got in the driver's seat and drove off with their three children, leaving him stranded at the temple. She drove so fast that she got in a car chase with the police, all the while holding the Book of Mormon in front of her, believing it would protect her. The cops couldn't catch her. They threw down spikes on the freeway, but she dodged them, and finally OnStar actually turned off her car, and the cops sent her to jail. She was charged with child endangerment, but the charges were dropped, her parents successfully brought her back to their home, and everyone was so grateful that they had dodged a bullet, and that it was all over. Things were looking up.

Before she entered the house, her sister hid all of the knives. The whole family spent the evening with her, and watched as she sprawled out her patriarchal blessing, church talks, and her scriptures all over the floor, and obsessively marked them. Her sister asked her, “What happened to you? What caused all of this? What is it that made you like this?” My cousin started weeping and said, “There's just so much pressure to be perfect.”

She slept in her little sister's upstairs room with her three children that night. But she didn't sleep. As soon as everyone was quiet, she slipped out of her room and found a garden saw in the garage, and a pair of sewing scissors in the sewing room. She laid out her temple dress, and pinned a note to it, telling her little sister that she would wear this dress when she became a bride of Christ. She went to the downstairs bathroom and cut off all of her long dark hair in front of the mirror. She sat in the sewing room in her garments and tried to cut off her arm, but didn't make it all the way through. She tried to make it up the stairs to, what, get help? To put on her temple dress because she had a vision of the way she wanted to be found? She didn't make it up the stairs. Her father found her in the morning, and now our entire family is plagued with nightmares. I can hardly stand to listen in church, because the religious phrases frighten me. My relationship to the church was already complicated, but now it's impossibly difficult because while it was religion that contributed to her path of destruction, it was religion that I needed for comfort in the aftermath. And yet I couldn't find comfort in the doctrine that led to her death, or even the sweet religious phrases that people say. They just sound frightening and demonic to me now.

Have any of you had any experience with mental illness? Has anyone else seen religion play a heavy part in it? I would like to discuss the possibility that religious ideas can be damaging to the mind. How do you sift through the good ones and the creepy ones? How can I feel comfortable teaching my children ideas that I fear will warp their minds?