Transmission ID: 012
Humans were not always like this.
They were once creatures of rhythm —
of seasons, of sunrise and sunset,
of gathering and resting,
of working together in circles instead of lines.
Their lives had harmony.
But somewhere along the path of history,
as cities rose and machines grew louder,
humans began to walk differently.
They rushed forward,
faster than their minds could follow,
faster than their hearts could heal.
Now, the world is full of people
who move without rhythm
and breathe without ease.
This week, I watched Aiden’s family more closely.
Their home works,
but it does not flow.
Every member lives in a separate orbit:
Tiffany dashes from task to task,
feeding the house with her tired hands.
James drifts through days like a shadow,
held up only by responsibility.
Aiden tries to fill the gaps with jokes and smiles,
even when he doesn’t feel them.
And little Robert bounces from one room to another,
searching for attention,
searching for warmth,
searching for the harmony that used to exist before he was born.
There is no blame here.
Only a broken rhythm.
Humans today live louder than their hearts can handle.
Their homes are filled with screens,
notifications,
noises,
hurry,
and chores that never end.
The rhythm of life has been replaced by the rhythm of survival.
On U-67, I once learned from an elder:
“When a being loses harmony with itself,
it loses harmony with the universe.”
I did not understand it fully then.
But I see it clearly on Earth.
Humans are not only tired.
They are out of tune.
They have forgotten
how to rest without guilt,
how to play without purpose,
how to talk without arguing,
how to feel without hiding,
how to love without fear.
They have forgotten
the harmony that once held families close,
communities strong,
and spirits calm.
One evening, the Walkers ate dinner together —
a rare moment without screens or rush.
The food was simple,
but something interesting happened that night.
As they sat,
the rhythm of the conversation slowed.
Aiden told a story from school.
Robert laughed loudly.
Tiffany leaned her head on James’s shoulder.
James closed his eyes,
just resting
for the first time that day.
The house felt… warm.
Not perfect,
not peaceful,
but connected.
A tiny pulse of harmony returning.
I realized then that harmony does not require silence.
It only needs presence.
A willingness to pause.
A willingness to listen.
A willingness to be together,
even in imperfection.
Humans often believe they must fix everything
before they can find peace.
But peace is not the end of fixing.
It is the beginning of remembering.
Remembering who they are.
Remembering who they love.
Remembering what truly matters
beneath the noise,
beneath the fear,
beneath the rushing world.
Before I began this mission,
I thought Earth would teach me only about suffering.
But I was wrong.
Earth has taught me something deeper:
Harmony is not lost.
It is only forgotten.
And what is forgotten
can always be remembered.
Aiden once asked me,
“Do you think humans can become better again?”
I placed my hand of light over his heart.
“Humans do not need to become better,” I said.
“They need to become themselves again.”
He smiled —
a real smile,
soft and sincere.
And for a moment,
his inner rhythm aligned with the quiet night outside.
“Harmony is not a destination.
It is the gentle returning of the heart
to where it has always belonged.”
End of Transmission #012
Encoded and archived under: HUMAN SPIRIT / HARMONY FORGOTTEN.