In some of my experiences, I was wealthy and powerful. I had a very, very bad temper.

I spent my time walking around, thinking about things that drove me crazy, and I ended up changing the course of history in impressive ways. Every time I understood something that, to me, was a brilliant solution, I celebrated, and when I made mistakes, things happened that led me to who I am today. It's not easy being responsible for everithing.

First, I considered understanding them and copying their behaviors until I learned how they acted, and then I told them what to do. I made great mistakes, and also the most notable disasters of the century.

I didn't understand why I was given so much power.
I did wrong early in that life.

That body eventually perished because of my bad decisions, and I had to move on to a safer, newer one where I could make new decisions.

I was furious at assimilating human beings as termites, and I would secretly destroy their castles to see if they built exactly the same model.
The thing is, when you observe a termite colony long enough, you understand that no matter what you do, they will always be building complex structures interconnected by a system of tunnels that allow them to create mud castles with shit, slime, and liquid secretions.
I escaped my responsibilities for a few years to calm my bad temper and found refuge in nature. I spent hours observing and contemplating every life form I saw. I liked to draw them.

This is how I seriously understood my encounter with each of them,
Although I have even written several books about them.

Termites have a genetic memory code that, despite being tiny insects that spend their time reproducing and sucking on soil or occasionally secreting liquids (this baffled me),
How are these insects capable of designing a building on a bite, being so small?

I thought they had a transparent imaginary collective brain that told them what to do. It was the only way something so simple could collectively create something so complex. If it rained, their castle remained intact; if the sun shone down, the structure kept them cool. No matter what happened, they continued to build their buildings of shit, slime, and dirt.

One day, I got fed up and destroyed what they had made because I thought they were invincible, but right after doing so, I quietly stepped back and sat on a rock to think about what I had done.
This made me very angry in some of my lives, and that's why I mention it in the first chapter:

I have seen countless times how complex structures have been built, and no matter what one may try to do, they always keep getting built.

Humans are modern termites, perhaps I thought, why do they want to build impulsively?

These biological processes confront society with an interesting question:
Why do we have a compulsion to build complex structures? The instinct is compulsive, the need to build is also, I suppose.

I made very wise decisions by understanding that there are repetitive behaviors in beings that have only caused us to follow the same paths until they have caused real disasters.

I remember one afternoon, I was sitting by the sea, and the waves rose so high that they wiped out more than one city, and hundreds of people died. I felt a deep sadness as I moved away from the ground, until I noticed that the water covered everything in its path; nothing,

Nothing of what they had built could be recovered.

Everything falls, or everything falls at a certain moment; we can't avoid it.

"And I myself am what I try to face."