Musings of a Headstone

Do you believe humans are the only things capable of being truly alive?

“Aren’t they? Animals and plants may possess vitality, but can they be considered alive when they do not hold the essence of what it means to be human?”

What essence do you speak of?

“The essence of existence. Humans find meaning through the awareness of their identities, fostering innovation as they progress towards a more enlightened future. What other species or force of nature could achieve what we have?”

The humans you describe could rival the gods in their creative might, but are the beings you speak of the ones who exist today? Have humans not lost sight of who they are and what drives them to manifest their ideas as reality in this modern world? Are they simply traveling through a monochrome life, becoming complacent under the available resources and technological advancements that manage their lives?

“You speak harshly of my people. What grudge do you hold against us and the comfortable lives our ancestors strove for?”

Humanity was never meant to be comfortable. It is a celebration of how hardships shape people into something unique and powerful and kind. Humans are relying too much on dull metal and sparking wires to maintain genuine communication and free expression. They are losing sight of what makes them human in the first place, of what it means to have a soul.

“What right do you have to lecture me on souls and humanity? You are nothing more than a stone marking my mother’s grave. How could you know so much about life’s value when your very presence implies death?”

Am I less worthy of possessing wisdom because of the nature of what I am— a headstone weathered by the sun’s relentless burning and Jack Frost’s army of icy soldiers? Does every piece of granite not contain its own history?

“If your history is so fascinating, explain it to me. Show me why you deserve to express honest emotions.”

Very well. I was born from a river of blistering magma turning beneath Earth’s crust, battered against my stony prison until I cooled among the blacks and browns and greens of my siblings. We slumbered under the surface as new life flooded the planet, unaware of the flowering trees and clawed feet making their homes above us.

But our sleep was not meant to be permanent. Our eternal dreams of darkness and crumbling soil were disrupted by calloused hands, our mountainous blanket chipped away until nothing remained to shield us from the blistering heat of Helios’ rays.

My brothers and sisters who first left me were carved out by the careful hands of those who took pride in their art. Those who left later were not so fortunate as we became victims of the brutality of technological advancements. I was subjected to manmade trauma as I was torn from my mountain home, falling prey to dust shattering from my surface and tiny drills peeling away the rough armor I built for myself. Sharp teeth sliced through my stony flesh, the remnants of my memories crying out in agony as the imperfections of my old self were polished away.

“But how could stone, without the nerves and tissues that cause humans discomfort, feel such terrible pain?”

I feel not the sting of a mortal body, but the haunting loss of my natural identity. I have been reduced from supporting a mountain’s grandeur to a smooth slab immersed in the mud. My final purpose is not for my benefit, but for a human’s, marking a name that will forever be more significant than mine ever was. I cannot die in the way flesh and blood rot from whitening bones; how ironic is it that I am more alive than the secrets buried beneath me?

Everything has a story, whether it be the sun resting in his celestial throne as he oversees the asteroids paying him tribute, or the cicada draining sap from aging trees to nurture its eggs, or an icy river flowing from a glacier that grows smaller with every year it tastes a cycle of pollutants. Everything has a purpose, a unique awareness of its role, so why do humans view themselves as the only beings worthy of leaving behind a legacy?

“Because we are the only entities with enough courage to share our stories and to boast of our achievements. We hold the distinct authority to cultivate as we see fit without allowing another power to take control of our agency.”

And yet this mindset permits humans to attain a new level of arrogance as they rely on technology to tell their stories for them, abandoning real connection for the cold, dark corners of a distorted world. You would rather listen to machines than reason.

“If my mother’s headstone is allowed to spin a tale, why should a machine with unlimited access to human knowledge not be allowed to do so?”

Machines do not understand what it means to be alive, to be engraved deep into the Earth’s core before merging with the realm of humanity. They are simultaneously the product of human imagination and a soulless copy of the capabilities of mankind. Machines are the result of a species that grew complacent with the luxuries a modern environment afforded them.

Humans believe themselves to be superior beings, yet they neglect how their current state shapes them. They unconsciously replace their innate originality with machines that ponder their deepest secret for them. Humans forget they can only pursue a fulfilling life driven by storytelling if they observe their world, not create a false one.

“You only look down on our achievements rather than acknowledge the good that comes from our progress in an era unaffected by history’s follies.”

You are merely supporting my fears with every denial.

“Why should I believe you? In the end, you’re only a stone who will never understand the complexities of humanity. I no longer wish to hear your irrelevant musings.”

Perhaps you are right. I am nothing more than an entity representing a single human’s death in a field of thousands. However, I believe there is much to be learned in nature’s story, a gleam of hope that might save the world from its inevitable loss of identity.

I pray you do not submit to the arrogance that will inevitably lead to the downfall of creativity and the essence of what it means to be alive. That would be the true death of humanity.