Welcome To Our World

My home planet is dying. I was sent to the planet Earth to ascertain whether or not it is a suitable planet for us to relocate to. What follows is my report on the conditions supportive of, or detrimental to, life for our kind.

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After much thought, I chose a fairly average woman through whom to take form on Earth. She was of mixed heritage, was raised in a typical Earthling family as the eldest of five children. Her parents operated under superlative work ethics, and had both earned advanced educational degrees. Education was a top priority for her family, as it seemed to be for most people on the planet.

My mother was herself highly educated and had a sound work ethic. She loved to produce music and good food for others. She found a great deal of joy in nature. She was just a tiny bit uneasy with herself, always self-reflecting and looking to others for advice. She was very very good to me in utero, playing music for me, eating food that sustained and nourished us both, avoiding toxic substances, and loving me deeply even before I had left her womb. I felt confident that this human I had chosen as my mother would follow Earth's best practices for raising their young. Things, so far, were looking good.

I emerged. That was, as often happens on Earth, traumatic for both of us. After a few lovely moments with my mother, I was removed from her hold, poked, prodded and hung upside down until I cried out. Something stinging was put in my eyes. My skin was punctured, twice, while my new new parents looked placidly on, as if nothing were wrong! My skin burned at the injection sites. My entire body felt as though it had been poisoned. A nurse forced some nasty liquid down my throat. I cried long and hard for a while there.

I did not like this place!

But a day later my mother and I left the cold, noisy and sterile environment in which many of Earth's babies are born, and went home to a quiet, clean, happy and loving home. There, I had a big sister who loved me, two parents who adored me, and two creatures called "cats" who could calm me with their purrs. I began to settle in nicely.

One day about a week after I arrived, my new home was teeming with people. I was at the center of attention, no longer in my mother's arms. My body was unclothed, a strange man said some strange words, and ... EXTREME PAIN! What had they done to me?!

I had heard of genital mutilation occuring in some places on earth, but my understanding was that this was done only in backward, atypical places. I had thought that surely my kind would be able to take form on Earth with out losing any body parts.

I was wrong. Good to know.

I had a few good years there, except for those times my mother let me cry myself to sleep, which were horrible times indeed. But when I woke, she would hold me to her breast so that I could take nourishment. We went for long walks in pretty places with my body pressed to hers. I learned to run, jump, climb and play with other children joyfully. I felt love, I felt safe, I was thriving physically, and I had started to think the Earth might just be a place where my kind could thrive too.

As I neared an age called "school age," my body was again punctured, and not just a few times. My mother again looked placidly on, as if inflicting this harm on children were perfectly normal. I screamed! My entire body seized up with excruciating pain! When we returned to our once happy home, my mother made me take that very bad tasting "medicine" she sometimes made me take. It did nothing to ease my extreme pain. I felt my body temperature rising, and I began to uncontrollably shake. The happiness in our home was shattered. I was very sick for a few days, eventually coming back to a calmer state. But I was never really the same. I began to have terrible stomach aches, which caused me to squat down while I waited out the waves of pain. My mind felt a bit muddled too, allowing anger to more easily arise.

Off to "school" I went. I was stoic those first few days. I needed to find out what school was all about. We children were herded, like cattle, into crowded rooms that reminded me of that horrible hospital I was born in. I was forced to do meaningless "work" all day long. I was expected to sit quietly for long periods in a hard chair. I was expected to walk single file in the halls, even when we were about to receive a bit of respite from the horrors of school - 15 minutes of free time in the playground. Worst of all, I was expected to obey orders from clearly deranged adult earthlings. I wasn't good at that part.

After a few weeks of this, the pressure was too much for me. I came home one day and said to my mother

I feel bad all the time.

I will now fast forward to my leaving of the planet Earth. I had spent more than twenty years being injected, infused, smeared with, and forced to swallow a great many toxic chemicals, ostensibly to make me feel better, but I just got sicker and sicker. Every year was much worse than the last. My muscles became weaker, my bones broke easily, my mind was muddled. My mother had to tend me night and day by the time I died, I could not leave my bed for my final eight years on Earth. I learned that, incredibly, lots of humans live in this same state.

I had made one good choice in coming to Earth. I died in my mother's arms, embraced by an endless love. I can say that Earthlings are capable of the purest of loves.

I was happy to leave though. I was ready to go home.

In conclusion, I have found that Earth is not suitable for life of our kind.

This is my entry to a weekend experiences challenge. I chose to write about what aliens would think of our world. My aliens found three things of grave concern - circumcision, vaccines, schooling - and one of inestimable value - the human capacity for love.

Should any of you wonder why I think and feel as I do about modern western medicine, this is why. I once asked a psychic if my son would ever get better, and she said "no." She said he was a being from a dying planet, who was sent to Earth to see if it was a suitable home for his kind, and that he had found it was not.

Blurters: I posted this you-know-where yesterday and, not surprisingly, it received very little attention and support. Since a post of mine of this nature, but not of this content, usually does well for me, I can deduce that it was actually read by, and deliberately ignored by, my few remaining curators. They say they don't do this, but they do.

The two final images are by my hand.