|Dia de Muertos, Watermellon Eater|
by Jack Feldman
Together, they would watch everything that was so carefully planned collapse, and they would smile at the beauty of destruction.
― From The Book Thief by Markus Zusak
Hope for the Hopeless
I'm a hard-lander.
It's going down, I believe; fast, hard and low. Billions gone in the first year. Most of the rest in a few, ensuing years. Maybe all within a generation or two.
But I'm a happy, hopeful guy.
I believe that Gaia, our biosphere, will die in her bed, so to speak, of natural causes in her ripe, old age. Life will go on, though very possibly without us.
I believe that humanity has a chance, though it grows ever more slim.
Should we survive as a species, I believe our descendants, like our ancestors, will be all the better for tribal living, without the dead weight of civilization. And should we have none, I very much doubt those unborn generations will give a fig.
I believe that we, personally, live in interesting times.
Each of us live until the day we die; that day our one, precious life comes to its end. We aspire to live well and die well. No more, no less, come what may. And so has it ever been.
We look ahead, and prepare as best we may. We are where we wish to make our stand. We add to our store of skill and tools. We gather our friends and raise the alarm. We live, in other words, a life of hope and optimism. A life of joy.
Meanwhile, our world is beautiful.
Collapse, as it comes, is surely an awesome and wondrous spectacle, events of dark and turbulent beauty, of brutal poetry. The gnashing teeth of history.
My Love and I run will-we, nil-we toward it, hand in hand, o'er wild and flaming seas; sailing as Rome burns. We gather us rosebuds; sieze our day; eat, drink and be merry...
For, tomorrow, we die.