Living in Peace and Wisdom on our Planet

I'm waking up in the middle of the night a lot more these days.  Like so many others, my slumber is being disturbed by dark dreams suffused with a sense of suffocation.  My sleep-stopped ears ring with the lamentations of a million no-longer-existent species,  my heart is chilled with portents and signs.  Even when I awaken the feeling of stifling closeness does not abate.  Instead it is amplified by the somnolent snuffling of my numberless neighbours, all cleverly crammed into this small, safe space.

I have had to accept (reluctantly, oh so reluctantly) the evidence of my senses and my reason: no matter how safe and warm it feels in here, we are trapped.  Trapped by these living arrangements we have so cleverly yet witlessly designed for ourselves.

Oh, our velvet-lined trap seemed so seductively attractive when we had our expanding energetic future still in front of us. Now we are all safely inside here with the one-way door tightly closed against the cold drafts of the outside world. In here we're all comfy, warm and mobile, nourished through this little hose that snakes in through that closed door bringing us our daily ration of food, heat, fuel and entertainment.

We dimly remember how cold and hard it was on the outside before the velvet lining and the little hose, and so we are happy to pay the price for the easy comfort that pours out whenever we turn the little tap on the end of it.  Lately though, we've been noticing the price of that comfort has been going up, and even though we always pay there's not always as much liquid comfort coming out as there used to be.

Some of us in here are starting to have uncomfortable memories of a time without velvet linings or little hoses, and are getting a bit anxious. Some of us have even tried pushing the door open to venture outside, but we discovered that it seems to be stuck. The few who have squeezed outside have reported back that it's actually colder and harder out there than we remember.  We can't leave, we have to stay in here, and we just want it to be warm and safe forever.  Is that too much to ask?

There are so many of us in here now! Some of us are starting to have nightmares about the little hose drying up, and are starting to feel angry at all the crowding others who insist on sucking the faltering bounty from its tap. We notice that even when we try to use a little less, they just seem to use a little more. If we even suggest that they might use a little less they get so hostile and abusive!

It's getting scary in here. I want my mommy.