It is an eerily beautiful night. The downpour is nearly horizontal, and the bare branches of trees outside are cutting into the hissing wind. It's late, but nowhere near past my bedtime. And like most nights I am kept up by a thought.
I was thinking to our early ancestors. The ones without language. Ones who communicated with sighs and grunts and angry shouts. With looks and with their body language.
When I imagine myself living way back then, it's beyond inconceivable that one day, people would be able to communicate with words, in hundreds of different languages. That one day, we'd be able to soar into the sky inside metal beasts, or see and hear people who are alive, but not 'here'.
Most people fear us repeating history. But what I fear for the most is the history we may never get to make. It's terrifying for me to think that after millions of years of evolution, after all that we've accomplished, we could very well be mere decades from extinction.
Yes. It is an eerily beautiful night. But it heeds us a warning. One day I will be on my deathbed, wrinkly and old, and on that day, as I prepare to say goodbye to our beautiful world, I'd like to gaze through the ceiling of my room, envisioning a future that is long, and distant, and glorious. I'd like to be able to imagine it as wondrous and not frightful.
Imagine us further down the path of evolution.
Will we have wings? Glowing eyes? Dark skin impenetrable by UV rays? Extra limbs? What will we look like? Sound like?Think like? And would we look back at the internet, at social media, and our current technologies in museums with wonder and nostalgia? Or would we have been long gone, millennia ago?
What a shame it would be to have come this far, only to let the greed of a few bury us all.