Immortality and the Odyssey

If you ask me, immortality is totally overrated. If you are immortal, sure you enjoy the delights of the fruits of divinity. And what might be some of the remarkable benefits you get to enjoy? You no longer have to worry with cosmetic cures like botox (so you can have some esteem and earn some respect when you visit the Hindu goddess Kali), or expensive skin serums (no need to travel to Egypt and bring Nefertiti back to life for her priceless epidermal rejuvenation tips), or a face lift (so you don’t have to chuck out all that gold currency, you can horde it all for yourself), because you can remain impeccably young and hearty, indefinitely. Age is only relative to the risings and fallings of the sun rather than being relative to various parts of your body sagging in disproportionate ways, with the unfortunate consequences of cellular oxidation and overworked and hyper-extended mitochondria. Poor feeble mortals! You will be able to bench press three hundred ten and run a marathon in under four hours at the centurial age of three hundred like you did when you were in your so-called-prime-of- life. Come on, you’re a stallion, you still have the stamina to tap that ethereal handiwork of your fleshly splendor for hours on end and still have enough energy to run up and down the stairs until Ishtar, your marital bliss partner, you polyamorous-on-the-sly beast, calls you outside to enjoy her newly cultivated lotus garden. However, after awhile, this immortal stuff becomes overly routine and you will probably want to take a candid dive off Mount Olympus to escape the monotony. And, you have to keep in mind that all this gain has some costs. You will find yourself watching your mortal friends and family doomed to die. You will watch them age considerably and go through the cycles of life which inevitably end in a dramatic and drastic shift towards the afterworld (or to the souring ground, depending on your persuasion). Each century or maybe even decade will bloom