Robots

How do we know that we are not robots?

Sometimes the stories we hear and the tales we tell seem to loop and flow like they have happened in a previous life. We live in an eternal state of deja vu.

How do we know that we will make the right choices?

Sometimes the path forward seems as clear as a fall morning, and sometimes it drifts away in a hazy fog never to be found again. We are led astray by optimistic angels and determined demons that swirl and battle inside our troubled dreams.

How do we know that we have not been here before?

Sometimes I think about how flesh and bone sat where we now sit and eked out an existence, only to close their eyes in rest from flesh-eating demons yet to be discovered. We are on that same destination of corruptible flesh, held together by beeping machines and silent prayers.

How do we know if someone is writing our code?

Sometimes we read from the history books about the astounding feats of bravery and even greater episodes of evil and wonder if we possess the programming to write a different storyline. We share the same DNA and the potential for triumph and tragedy flows unceasingly through our veins.

How do we know that robots did not invent us in their image?

Sometimes a novel has an ending that we would have written and sometimes the conclusion is as perplexing as the conflicting stories that are carved inside us. We must create the future with the hands that we were given and use our minds to free ourselves from the viruses of anxiety, fear, and perfectionism.  

How do I know that I did not write this just to prove that I am human?