Poetic Bacterias

...I have heard some days ago that the Egypt pyramids were not built by the Egypcians. What about that?
This is not that important, you would say, but it is, indeed. It gives us that strange feeling that everything we have been learning, all this time, is a lie.
Very much the same way people would have felt, centuries ago, when they were told that the sun didn't spin around earth, but exactly the opposite, putting us in a lower level. Submissive. Slaves.
I guess this is why we suffer from melacholy. As if it was taken from us the power, the power of feeling important, so important that we would even have a star, the biggest one we have ever known, delighting us with its light, serving us with its warmth. It is not true, we are the ones running after that light and warmth. If we stop spinning, we die. And that big star will continue there, exhaling light and warmth, even in the day we are vanished.
The Egyptians didn't build those pyramids. They are older than the Egyptians themselfs. Some say they were built by aliens. What about that?
Well, this does not change big things in our lifes, I guess. Because now we are already aware of our insignificance and we acept much more easier new theories about everything. And we dont necessarilly beleive in aliens, either, it is just a choice we have, to beleive or not. But I have to say that, now, I start doubting if Darwin's theory is actually right or if, in the end, Adam and Eve are our main ancenstors. Maybe no one is right.. 'till now.
What I know its how imense the world's enigma is.
However, when people thought the sun was the one spinning around earth and not the other way round, they would feel important, but they were fearfull. Fearfull that God was watching them and would punish them at any moment, in lifetime or in death. Now, we don't beleive anymore in a God that watches us, we just beleive in the unequivocal order of the Universe. What makes us even smaller, right? But also makes us more free. Atoms, little stubborn atoms we are. Pursuing every single thing we want, every single feeling we have.. we gave us this freedom because there is anything more free than a bacteria. But a lovely one. A bacteria that falls in love, a bacteria that recist poems, a bacteria who cries and grieves, a bacteria that creats stories. We are a poetic bacteria. But still, a bacteria.
If sun doesn't spin around us, if the pyramids were built by aliens, or something not necessarilly green, if Jesus was never born and Shakespeare never wrote a single word, who are we, then? Because we are so used to creat ourselfs through the things we learn and through the things people say we should do, say and.. definitilly, be.. if anything of the things we learned are true, who are we then?
Little stubborn atoms. Maybe we should cease, to cease beleiving that everything we are is what we are, and born to be, when, perhaps, it is just a story we created, and to know that everything we want it's just a whim that we increased by living in a fictional order and not exactly something that was destined for us. We are incredibly spoiled. We are incredibly demanding. And then we cry because we didn't get what we wanted. But we cry even more because we feel it is "unfair" not getting what we wanted. And we cry the triple because we feel embareced, embareced to admit to other poeple that we did't get it. Maybe, taking off these two last 'offenses' we would actually be much more happier, getting or not that thing we so much wanted. We live a story. And stories should be exciting for us and, mostly, for those who watch from outside the story. Sometimes we really do want to delight ourselfs, but most of the times we just need to delight someone else. We need to make our story valid before third eyes.
But we are nothing more than little stubborn atoms full of poetry living a story. Lots of stories... indeed. Fiction.
But the same way we will die if earth stops spinning around the sun, our soul will wrinkle if we stop dreaming and creating, no matter how deluded we are.