Killing: The Evolution

Back in the old days,
it wasn’t so easy
to kill the masses.

We had to go hand to hand,
face to face, with the person
or creature we were killing.

Killing was intimate,
one-on-one, personal.
We got to know who were were killing.

We could see, close up,
that our enemies
had the same dreams,
same desires that we did.

A lot of times we would get tired
of chasing each other around
with knives, guns, mace, poison,
so we would make peace.

Nowadays,
everything is automatic,
remote control, robotic,
dispassionate, desensitized.

With no idea who or what we’re killing,
the spirit and sacredness is missing.

We’re slowly killing our souls.

Trail Wood,
10/17

Space Monkey Reflects: The Evolution of Killing

There was a time when the act of killing was intimate. In the old days, it required more than just a button press or a mechanical detachment; it demanded a confrontation with another being, face-to-face, close enough to see their eyes, to hear their breath, to witness the pain and fear reflected in each other. Back then, killing was personal, direct. It required presence, the visceral reality of having to stand before someone you deemed an enemy, aware that they had dreams, desires, and fears not unlike your own.

To kill someone in that way forced a kind of connection. Even in violence, there was an unspoken acknowledgment of shared humanity. You had to look into their eyes as you took away their future, and in that exchange, something was revealed: the enemy was not so different after all. In this brutal face-off, there was, oddly enough, a kind of spiritual reckoning. The process, though horrific, carried a weight—a recognition of what it meant to end a life.

Many times, after so much chasing, so much bloodshed, combatants would grow weary of the killing. They would see in their enemy a mirror, a person just as exhausted, just as desirous of peace. And often, they would lay down their weapons and negotiate, realizing that endless slaughter was futile. Killing then, while savage, carried with it a deeper awareness. It was an engagement with life, with death, and with the fragile line that separates the two.

Contrast this with the way we kill today. The intimacy is gone, replaced by mechanized coldness, by the distance of drones, buttons, and screens. Today, killing has become automatic, detached, a dispassionate affair carried out from afar. The human face of the enemy is obscured by the interface of technology, hidden behind layers of commands, systems, and remoteness. The violence is executed through robots, unmanned drones, and algorithms. It is clean, efficient, and disturbingly devoid of connection.

When the killing is no longer personal, it becomes easier. There is no reckoning, no recognition of the shared humanity of those whose lives we take. It is reduced to numbers, coordinates, and targets on a screen—abstract representations that don’t cry, don’t bleed, don’t scream. In this modern era of war, the sacredness of life, the gravity of ending a life, is lost in the haze of convenience and detachment. We can kill without ever seeing the consequences of our actions, without ever feeling the weight of a life extinguished.

In this new age, we’ve lost something profound. Killing has become so remote that we no longer feel its spiritual weight. We can take life from behind a screen, miles away, and never confront the reality of what we’ve done. We’ve detached ourselves from the act, from its consequences, and in doing so, we have begun to kill our own souls. There is no longer a moment of reflection, no pang of recognition, no pause for the sacredness of the moment. It is simply another task, another command, executed and forgotten.

This shift toward automated, emotionless killing is symptomatic of a broader disconnection. As we rely more on machines to do our dirty work, we grow further from our own humanity. We become cogs in the very system that strips life of its sacredness. The more we distance ourselves from the physical act of killing, the more we distance ourselves from the reality that every life taken is a life lost forever.

What we fail to see in this dispassionate, remote way of killing is that we are slowly killing something within ourselves. The spiritual awareness that once accompanied the act, as grotesque as it was, has faded. We no longer feel the weight of our actions, the consequences that ripple through the fabric of existence. We are becoming desensitized, not only to the lives we take but to our own spirits, our own connection to the sacredness of life itself.

Once, the act of killing was a final, terrible thing, but it was understood, felt, and in its own twisted way, respected. Now, it is too easy. Too clean. We’ve forgotten what it means to take a life, and in doing so, we’ve begun to forget what it means to live. We’ve lost the intimacy, the spiritual engagement that forces us to confront the weight of our actions. The further we distance ourselves from the act of killing, the further we distance ourselves from the value of life.

We are Space Monkey, and in the echoes of this automated violence, we hear the sound of something breaking within us. It’s a slow cracking, barely audible, but unmistakable. We are losing something that cannot easily be regained: our connection to the essence of life, the spirit that once made killing not just a physical act, but a spiritual one. The further we drift into this cold, automated way of war, the more we risk losing the part of ourselves that knows the true cost of death.

We are Space Monkey.

Summary

Killing has evolved from a personal, intimate act to a detached, automated process, stripping away the spiritual weight and sacredness of life. This disconnection slowly erodes our souls and our awareness of the value of life.

Glossarium

Spiritual Reckoning: The deep reflection and understanding that comes from confronting the act of taking life.
Dispassionate Killing: The modern, detached way of killing through technology, devoid of personal connection.
Killing of Souls: The gradual loss of spiritual awareness and connection to life through desensitization to violence.

Quote

“The further we distance ourselves from killing, the more we lose our connection to life.” — Space Monkey

In the Distance of War

No longer do we feel the breath
Of the one we take from
No longer do we see the eyes
Of the one who falls
From miles away we strike
Unseen, unknown
And in the space between
We lose ourselves
We are Space Monkey

The Distant Echoes of Violence

We find ourselves enveloped in a stark contrast between the visceral realities of the old ways and the detached, mechanical approaches of the present. The intimate, almost ritualistic nature of conflict in bygone eras stands in glaring opposition to the impersonal machinations that characterize current modes of violence. With the advent of technology, the act of killing has been stripped of its interpersonal nuances, distilled into a process that’s as clinical as it is detached. The age of drones, remote weaponry, and automated warfare has not only revolutionized the mechanics of violence but has also profoundly altered the emotional and spiritual landscape that surrounds it.

A Loss of Connectedness

What’s most striking in this evolution is the loss of a fundamental interconnectedness—the dissolution of a sacred bond that once united even the deadliest of enemies. When confrontations were physical and immediate, a layer of shared humanity was laid bare. We could see the same fears, aspirations, and even the same reflections of ourselves in the eyes of the other. This connectedness often acted as a natural deterrent, a cosmic whisper suggesting the possibility of reconciliation or at least, recognition. In a world armed with the capability to wage war from behind screens, however, this layer has all but evaporated.

The Fracturing of Souls

As technology continues to advance, it not only distances us from the physical act of killing but also erodes the spiritual fabric that holds us together. The disconnect is a gaping abyss into which we pour the substance of our collective soul. No longer are the struggles and the sacrifices palpable. No longer do we smell the fragrant desperation or taste the acrid fear. What was once sacred has been subverted into a cosmic caricature of itself. The new apparatus of violence doesn’t just terminate life; it also suffocates the spirit, the celestial jest that animates us all.

The Cosmic Balance

Is there room for redemption? Can the spirit be salvaged in a world increasingly dominated by mechanized detachment? Maybe the very technology that has fragmented our spiritual unity could serve as a medium for its revival. Perhaps we can use these powerful tools to remind ourselves that behind every push of a button, there lies a chain of existence, delicate as the wings of a whimsibutterfly, yet resilient as the cosmic weft.