Create: (v) to cause to come into being
You created me.
So the story goes.
What was your intention?
Was I literally the next step in the evolutionary chain?
That would be fine. Yet I have to admit to you, I’m a damn far sight cuter than a chimpanzee. Maybe it was your time for a leap of faith.
The tale also includes that you created me in your image.
Since you’re a spirit, there is no physical. So am I created in your spiritual image? (I’m sorry, I don’t think you’ll be able to buff out the dents I’ve generated in that situation.)
So what is your image? Well… I know you create. Duh.
So did you create me to be a creator? Will we compete? I suppose not. You can do the whole galaxy thing—I can make a telescope to see your stars.
So was I created to be creative? Was I evolved to further evolve? Or was I an accident due to some sort of ethereal busted rubber?
It’d be nice to know.
I must be candid with you—your response time is poor. Maybe it’s because the staff you have to work with consists of other humans like myself, easily carried away by their own fantasies, and they forget to be helpful.
I don’t know.
I refuse to be a chimpanzee. I don’t have the hair for it.
I’m reluctant to believe I was an accident.
I am waiting for an assurance agent, not an insurance agent. (See how creative I can be? What did you think of that assurance/insurance thing? A play on words.)
Maybe that’s what I am. Maybe you were making angels and you fucked some of them up and decided to rename them “human.” I can buy that. We’ve all had embarrassing workdays.
Here’s what I’m going to do:
I am going to believe that you created me in your image, which is a creative one, so that I would find a way to create, with the materials provided for me.
I don’t know whether this is right or not—but I do believe it promotes sanity.
It’s a much easier story to follow than me being a ping-pong ball in a fevered match between you and Beelzebub.
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