A Soul's Space

Nobody can hear a scream in the vacuum of space, or so they say. Souls can. Well, at least mine could, and it will anew when I get the chance to travel through space again. We were handed a sabbatical away from space, except that it means nine years here. Most call it, Heaven, but I deem it a dull Hell, where fires have been replaced by waterfalls. I have nothing against water falling à la Niagara and other such monumental cascades, but all the time, everywhere, forever become deadening, even to a soul, at least mine. I often wonder about Milton's words in Paradise Lost: Better to reign in Hell than serve in Heaven. 'Tis better to be dead, I think, most of the time.

We have seen the stars and many more planets, my soul and I, yet Earth will always remain the best example of Heaven, although it could never be as it used to be before World War 3, which started almost suddenly in 2022. It always takes a demented dictator to start a world war, but then all dictators are disturbed one way or many others. Humanity never recovered from that war, but Earth will heal in the future, the far future when it comes to human and other mammalian life. Luckily, although luck had nothing to do with it, a few hundred humans survived after being saved, resignedly, by some Aliens who did not remain long enough to be identified or thanked.

Some of us hated them for saving us. Humanity had reached its conclusion. Oblivion is a universal outcome, after all. I miss trees and many other plants. Most of us miss other animals too. We carry with us most of humanity's known achievements but also its dreadful failures. All data was copied by the Aliens, perhaps as another example of destructive behaviour by an alpha species. Shakespeare and Nietzsche will surely be appreciated elsewhere as well. Charlie Chaplin and Woody Allen too. And many other brights. I have no doubt in my mind. The heart is a blood pump. But the soul was and remains a surprise. Mine likes to scream in space, but only I can hear it.

"Why do you scream?" I asked it after the first time. "Space is the only place where I can hear myself, and I have to shout to make a sound," my soul screamed back. "Is it the case for every soul?" I pursued. "I do not know," I heard it scream. Perhaps souls can lie. It refused to reply to my other questions, feigning uncharted territories, screaming, of course. I grew tired of its screams after the third or fourth time in space, asking it for some silence. It reluctantly acquiesced but kept screaming once or twice on each subsequent flight. It seems that even a soul can find it difficult to remain silent. Silence is not golden in space either. I screamed too on one occasion.

What is there to scream about? I deliberated at one point. Injustice? It was too late for that, and it rarely helped. Pain? Yes, indeed, especially after birth and while passing a kidney stone, whichever came first. Suffering? Many seemed to have gotten used to it, often accepting it as a ticket to Paradise and a better world. This is not Paradise or a better world, but injustice, pain and suffering have become farfetched, at least physically. Most of our torment lies in our memories of everything that had been lost because of greed and folly, barbarism and closedmindedness, elitism and mediocrity, religion and sloth, and too many other reasons that lacked any reason.

We continued to live because we were still alive. Those waterfalls only reminded me, and surely others, of humanity's fall. We had turned our only Paradise into a real Hell. What was the point of starting all over again on this strange planet? Let us create a better humanity, some of us suggested and then declared. Where did we hear that before? We needed guidance from a superior species, but the Aliens who saved us did not think so. I guess that they also believed in live and let live. Perhaps it worked in their world. We never saw them face to face, that is if they had one. Part of me always suspected that they were a species of AI; a somewhat cold-caring AI.