The Curse of Humanity

To some, it may be easy to view humanity as a curse. I'm sure the other species on this planet that we have trampled over on our way to the top, frequently regard us as that. But, this is not what is meant by "the curse of humanity." For all our faults, I do not believe humanity to be a curse, though I do believe our race is the victim of a curse. Perhaps the worst in existence.

It's hard to think of humanity as cursed. Given how rapidly we've climbed our way to the top of the food chain, dominating other, more physically imposing, species, with ease, and spreading out to every corner of the globe.

But we are.

The same voice that pushed us out of the trees, the same urge to fall, or maybe to fly, that sent us barreling into one conflict after another, until we had conquered all the excitement our tiny planet held, is fueled by this curse.

And, like all the best curses, it presents itself in the form of a gift.

Imagination. Our advantage over more, reality driven species. Spurned from our mutated and expanded prefrontal cortex, home to our emotions, our humanity. . .and that voice. The ever present voice. What makes mankind unique, the ability to dream about impossible things, is also what makes us all quite mad.

You may not notice it at first. We all handle the madness in a different way. Some throw themselves into their work, others find a hobby, some speak to a shrink, and some blog about it all. . .but we all suffer from it. The madness of knowing what is, and what never could be. The madness that comes with being able to dream of a better world, yet being forever bound by the chains of reality to live in this one.

Imagination curses us, by allowing us to imagine things that can never be. A better world, a more interesting world, one full of wonder, and beauty, and excitement. Yet, no matter how much we imagine, how often we live with our head in the clouds, our noses in books, our eyes on the stars, it can never be. It's all make-believe, the stuff of dreams.

And that's the rub, to be able to create worlds upon worlds which will never fully manifest. To be forever on the outside, looking in, wishing, wondering, waiting.

So here we are, the whole of humanity, at the probable pinnacle of our great civilization, cursed to always imagine more, to see beyond reality, yet forced to accept the mundane. Every part of our being, crying out, screaming, "there must be more, there has to be more, this cannot be it!", every atom in our bodies longing for something more, yet always knowing that we are forever cursed to settle for less.