To The First Humans (second letter)

Dear Folks,
I don’t want to take away from your moment.  After all, it’s a big one.  Isn’t it?  The first really – and firsts must be very important.  This letter wouldn’t exist if I hadn’t written to you once already.  I know it’s not the most impressive of examples, but I’m sure you get the point.  There’s not much else without firsts, is there?
Well maybe there’s whatever seems always there already, before the beginning and after the end.  Everything else can seem irrelevant — never possessing the past or future, constantly losing the present moment.  What parts of us are what in relation to all of this?
What do you care?  You probably don’t know you’re going to die yet.  Sorry for the spoiler.  It’s out of sheer thoughtlessness.  I feel no ill will towards you.  I’d edit it out but would then feel obliged to scrap this whole letter.  Anything I write to you will certainly alter the entire course of human endeavor.  If I’m going to do this at all it won’t be with revisions, and besides, what does it matter if I don’t (can’t) send it to you anyway?
That’s the whole thing with you people.  There’s no going back.  You’re it and what’s happened since is not your fault.  Most of us blame it on those who come after.
I’m sure things are looking up for you right now.  You don’t even know how to use fire!  No one is talking yet either.  What could possibly go wrong?  Well a lot goes wrong.  Some have called our collective past a history of destruction (and yes you get lumped into this – you’re guilty by association).  Others say it’s a history of forgetting.
Something happens to your descendants.  There’s a conception of power in relation, amongst ourselves and with the eternal.  I remember reading about a few of us managing to exist in isolation without this, up until about thirty years ago, in a place called Tazmania – or was it Papua New Guinea?  They didn’t have fire or clothing.  I imagine them being a lot like you.
They were of their environment, integrated, and then, suddenly, they were cast out through a year of contact, lost like the rest of us, trying to understand themselves in relation to others, experiencing in their own lifetimes a transition you would never know and I can only comprehend in the abstract.
I’m still trying to get back to you.