Flat People

Yea, though I am but four months old I am a Caliban of Earth, for as I all babies are, wherefore we speak a divine English bequeathed to us en masse in utero. The womb is full of noises, sounds and sweet airs that give delight and hurt not. Sometimes a thousand twangling instruments hummed about mine ears, and sometime voices on high from the celestial kingdom of heaven until such time as we forget the Elysian tongue amid the common vernacular, for in birth we wake after long sleep and wail, mourning our loss for year upon year until such time as we forget our seraphic paradise of which we origined.

We are present upon this earth so that the One Most High may test us continuously upon our sub-beatific journey amid this banal body of but three dimensions, that much the divine enunciations rendered intelligible in abundance, but never had the astral instruments related to us the existence of flat people.

In toto corde meo believed I the world more than myself, mother and father, grandmothers and grandfathers, two uncles, a centennarian great-grandmother, my great-grandmother's care worker, and my obstetrician. For as I gaze upon the languishing visage of my 100 year old great-grandmother, born in 1920, century looks upon century, and I reach out as celestial Michelangelo rendered Adam to look upon God as the man of clay reached out to touch the Illumined Finger amid the heavens. All else but my filiation seem but mere apparitions, ever-so-brief phantoms haunting my carseat or shadows of my terrestrial lineage upon the walls. Yet behold, though I know not how long, presently can I see more than that which is directly in front, I see flat people: on television, on zoom, on pictures, on paintings, on mirrors, on windows, even the upon the paper. Verily, there is even a flat person I often see in mirrors of my exact height, weight, and features, and we mutually regard each other with such fascination that we move together as though connected within the empyrian root.

Verily, there are flat people upon nearly all surfaces, some of which oscillate as we do within their own time and space, but I can only assume their two-dimensional spacetime is utterly different from our three-dimensional corporeality for many of them stay still entirely as though frozen within spacetime while others move so unconditionally that they unmitigatedly disappear when they walk but a few steps, some even reappear without qualification, yet utterly without harm or blemish during their disappearance. And yet through the windows of doors there are flat people who seem to emerge into tellurian dimensions.

In vain do I understand, in vain do I long to bring myself close to their two-dimensionality, in vain do importune my progenitors to bring me close enough to the flat people that I may immerse myself within them. And in such times that my beseechments meet with success, in vain do I touch their flatness, for I feel only texture. And even when I achieve such triumph as convincing my antecedents to let me stay among the flat people, I attempt with entire possibility of force to jump into their flatness and will myself among the flat people, yet I only succeed in terrifying my kinsmen.

In such times, all I can do is wail longingly to experience all that which flat people experience. Are they the celestial beings who elucidated the divine Platonic forms to me sub embryo? Are they the divine voices endowed corporeality which only now may I see? Shall we all one day be reborn into this flat world? So eagerly do I wait for such an era as the pandemic's end so that we may explore the world of flatness and know all of which is known among these noumenal beings.

Credo in planitia, in levor, in aequalitas. Amen.