Come closer, children, and spread ears like elephants’.
Let me tell you about the time of the ancestors. You’ve heard all the stories and I know most of you don’t believe them, but listen to me who am old and remember.
Yes, it is true that men could fly through the air like birds, only faster than birds. They could go to the other side of the Earth because they wanted to see what was there.
Yes, it is true that the great sorcerers of that time had created a magic that could project your image anywhere. People saw what was happening on the other side of the world even without going there.
Yes, it is true that people could put their opinions — or their breakfast, or their cat pictures — up in a place where anyone in the world could see them, so that if someone was lying about what happened anywhere, then everyone would know.
Yes, it is true most illnesses were curable, or at least taken care of, so people lived to old, old ages. At sixty, most people were still not old.
Yes, it is true there was no famine in most places. The poor had the problem of being too fat.
Yes, it is true they had gadgets they carried in their pockets that allowed them to talk to anyone, anywhere in the world, at any time. It is true that they could play music anywhere, at any time. It is true they could pick foods out of seasons if they wished to, they could light up the night without fire, they had leisure — hours and hours of leisure — to enjoy all of this, and their poor had luxuries unimagined by the kings before their time.
What happened you say?
They forgot how fortunate they were. They thought that living with no pain and with all the conveniences was the normal state of mankind. They tore each other up over minor insults, small slights; they demanded even more leisure, even more convenience, with no regard to who paid for it; they felt guilty, perhaps, at how well off they were, and said their civilization and the commerce from which their riches came were bad and artificial, as though nature were ever good for humans.
But more importantly, they forgot what made humans humans, and they forgot they shared a common humanity. Because they could control when they had children, they forgot that children are human and not a choice to be made by one person. Because they could make life so comfortable, they forgot that even an uncomfortable life is still life, and started talking about getting rid of the old and infirm. Because they imagined some perfect natural state, the women talked of how their problems could be solved by getting rid of men. Or how one race or the other was doing nothing good for the world.
Once they’d stopped understanding that to diminish one human diminishes humanity, they tore each other apart. Once they stopped understanding how good they had it. They tore their lives apart, in defense of some imaginary creature called Gaia.
I guess we have a state of nature now, in the ruins of their great paradise, earning our living with the sweat of our brows, and dying fast and young.
Perhaps they would think we’re fortunate.
But if I could send one message back it would be: Do not deny to others what you had. Push ever forward, to space if needed.
To stop, to turn inward, to long for the mud, is to deny your future children what you have.
But I can’t talk to them, and they are gone. And they’ll never know what they gave up, because they never had to live without it.
*Make this NOT a blast from the future. Built over, build under, build around, so when the elites collapse there’s something standing. Be not afraid. Do it for the children.*