​And so I write

Preservation is a topic I’ve always taken a mild interest in. There’s so many forms it can take, directions in which the symbolism can go.

In many cases it’s our eternal punishment for wandering too far outside of the limits of where we’re intended to be. You don’t find mummies in places where crops can grow- they’ll be in swamps, on the open sea, mountaintops, deserts.

“This is the price you pay for leaving the flock”, their withered bodies cry. They tell a story of a solitary one-way trip to the unknown and serve as a warning to those who dare transcend the bounds of human existence.

In other cases it’s an act of love. When humanity is gone, what will remain of us is our capacity for it. Only our species will defy the natural order so that our devotion can be immortalized.

Many cultures have ritualistically partaken in embalming, some as a way to give their closest’s passage into the afterlife. But what will we find there? Will it be worth sticking around for, especially for that long?

Our condition is one of never stopping. We get up at the crack of dawn, brush our teeth, drive to our day job, come home, unwind just enough to keep the cycle going. A version of peace exists, but only for the few who have found a way out of the system that we have created.

We all strive for “heaven”, a return to nature. So when I look at myself, my appearance modified to properly house the soul I was given, my frame pumped full of chemicals just to remain upright, I understand why I’m an intruder among my own kind.

Yet I can’t help but to crave the safety of the herd, as much as it seeks to stomp me out or run as I advance. My solitude causes me to grapple with my fate- what if I, in my own efforts to maintain complete autonomy, stray too far? What if I already have?

There’s a reality out there where death won’t be peering in at me through the cracks in every door frame I pass through.