JANUARY 22, 2022 – Periodically, I play a mind-game in which an alien lands next to me to inquire telepathically about life on earth. Always within two minutes I’m in royal trouble trying to explain matters—as I understand them. Invariably, the alien stands in silent confusion.
In the middle of yesterday’s extensive treatment sessions, the alien visited again and posed the same old question—“What gives?”
This time, however, I considered the probability that I’ve been misreading the alien; that the creature isn’t the least bit interested in our cultural, historical, philosophical, or psychological complications. What the alien wants to know is our scientific make-up; our own physical, chemical, and biological componentry.
All previous encounters had been in my favorite venues—the great planetary “outdoors” replete with “nature’s splendor.” This time ’round, the alien followed me eagerly into the lab, the CT imaging facility, and the “infusion center.” Like a Star Wars droid, the ET moved with inquisitive urgency, capturing outer images as it proceeded. After slicing through security barriers like laser through cheese, “my visitor” downloaded untold volumes of data. My initial reserve grew to outward pride as I observed (telepathically) the alien’s increasing respect for human accomplishment. (I noticed, however, that the alien ignored the artfully reproduced photo of apple blossoms against a fresh spring sky embedded in the ceiling directly above the CT scanner.)
From my tote bag, I pulled Tyson’s book on astrophysics—currently my “fallback” read during wait times. The alien extended a mechanical arm and touched the cover—producing a bright flash. After an apparent download of the contents, the creature swung sprightly all the way around. I delighted in the “foreigner’s” knowledge that humans too have discovered universal laws of physics.
I dozed as a pump transferred contents of an IV bag into my bloodstream. The alien had vanished by the time nurse Judy—a tour de force (more about her tomorrow)—returned to the room to administer another chemical blast targeting my disease. I couldn’t be certain that the alien had existed at all. Perhaps no distinction exists between “reality” and the alien of my imagination.
As Judy next managed the “sub-cutaneous” injection, the handsome prairie scene on the wall opposite my chair transported my nerves to a quieter place. In the moment, I took pride in my time and place among the human race. If we’re all the terrible things we know about ourselves, we’ve also achieved laudable distinction among all infinite matter and anti-matter from which we’ve evolved. Not only have we figured out what we are physiologically, but we’ve encapsulated our knowledge with heart and soul. From what source did such attributes originate? The same spring that produced “the alien.”
For extra credit, our human curiosity has driven us to discover the laws that bind the universe.
Our flaws and foibles might lead to self-extinction before a random, stellar collision accelerates our doom, but either way, perhaps our record will be preserved by . . . the alien’s download.
Stay tune for tomorrow’s “shot in the arm”—an antidote to all that ails our sagging souls.
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© 2022 by Eric Nilsson
