Some may call what happened this week divine intervention.
I was checking out the far side of the planet for parnsipheads and weeds. In a silent apple orchard this was was a rare and crazy sight. A little spaceship, battered and dented from travel and from home repairs. Sitting near a campfire was a parsnip priest. They keep to themselves. There’s every chance they visit the far side on a regular basis.
I parked up the fern cart, and went to say hello. It took half an hour to persuade him I didn’t mean any harm. Then another hour to record an interview.
Please remember that I don’t agree with the opinions of this priest. I publish this so we get a difference of opinion. Treat this as you will.
P: ‘Millions died, and I understand the raw anger that brings to the very bones of the universe. I get that. It’s like nothing else in history. Finding an explanation for that madness is hard.
The one certainty is that we have to remain objective and logical. Yet somehow the conclusion of this argument agreed across the stars is total extermination of our brethren.
Let’s think about this change. Really think about it. We need to consider what has happened to such a ginormous chunk of our species. For example if you believe in the concept of the soul, what then? Are the people still in there?
What changed my mind was worrying about those trapped souls, and considering why they only eat plants. Do they have some residual concept of keeping us safe, locked within a dominant lizard brain? If so, what have we got to worry about?
We have to think about looking after our food supplies, and avoiding infection and damage. I’m not saying do nothing. But with the money and resources poured into getting rid of them we could have secured every major world out there.
We can live in harmony with them. There is no need to say goodbye to family or friends. We can accept this is a new stage in our development, and not resort to murder.
But murderers we are.
It’s a bitter, unpopular message. I get a lot of grief telling the world we’ve been committing genocide for years. But I’ll still keep pushing the message. I still believe we can come together one day.’
I told the parsnip priest he could stay the night in the orchard. For once I’m glad this guest didn’t visit the bar. He’ll be rattling through space by now, trying to find new supporters for his cause. I can’t help but feel his only support will come from the dead.
