Ungalvanized voyeurs watching the world spin madly on, as if
Still heeding the gentle tut-tutting of our mother’s “look, but don’t touch”.
Hypnotized by reflections of our flesh and bones and insecurity? Ashamed
And naked we take our fig leaves and weave them into glass and brick,
Threaded pelts from mighty inorganic beasts. Harkening to days of old
Towards adolescence long gone.
Like a child telling her mother “I’m all grown up now. I can do it by myself”.
Taking small halting steps and calling them “giant leaps”
And when Mother earth responds with a fierce resistance we shout
“If we cannot have Eden, then let Gaia be ours!”
Goring her mantel with oedipal thirst.
Once just fruit pickers, we have become as gods.
Gods who hide within mortar and steel.
Ghosts in a machine.
This is part of a series entitled “Dreams of Electric Sheep.” It draws its inspiration from those of us who struggle with feeling completely out of sync with nature and the ecological mission. In many ways, the author feels like a helpless robotic sheep who knows better, but struggles to put words and thoughts to action. A dreamer afraid to touch the world because of how it might touch back.