Quasi-Lucid Ravings

I don't understand time. I don't understand this weird 80-year period of life, bracketed by glory. I don't understand squinting and sweating under the sun, waiting for our Rescue. I don't understand the Creator's insistence of running the simulation of humanity on such a flawed and cantankerous scratch file. I don't understand the wisdom of incarnating spirits as ants to help other ants, and to be evaluated on the extent to which we helped. I don't understand being broken, being given a crutch, and waiting for the bones to heal when bones are no more. I don't understand the point of funneling breath into dirt, which only then longs to be freed from the dirt to which it was bound. Please help me understand the point of this entire exercise, the parameters of which seem very strange to me. And help me have compassion on the other ants that think they are only ants, who live, kill, extort, abuse, and die so that they can pile up more dirt on their ant mounds. I just don't get the point…