I wish, I wonder

I wish global warming would stop.
I wish the ices weren't melting and polar bears aren't dying.
I wish humans weren't so destructive and selfish.

Sometimes I sit in a bus, tense and worried, expecting everything around me to collapse, for Earth to collapse in upon itself, looking at the weight of all the buildings through the bus window.

Sometimes when I sit, I fear my weight is the last straw the Earth can take, although scientifically I know the thought is ridiculous. But I worry anyway.

Sometimes I wish my CPU would stop emitting that humming noise, making me feel guilty that I am using electricity, like right now.

When I believe in the end of the world (and I think I now do, one day, many years from now), when everything comes back a full cycle and evolution starts all over again, I stop and wonder what is the purpose of my life. What is the use if I make a million bucks, if I am nice or if I am evil. What is the point of minute things such as feeling nervous before heading onstage for a performance, of getting angry or upset at somebody?

If everything is a circle, if everything comes back to the beginning in the end, what is the point of feeling so strongly about an issue and wanting change? What is the point of anything when everything comes to naught anyway?

The day before, I suddenly saw how the materialistic everything was. Cars, money, houses, clothes. The latest fashion, the tabloids, politics, arguments. Everything changes, pulled down, discarded or given away. Everything I have once touched and treasured I have either not seen them again or will not see them again. So fleeting.

If everything comes a full circle, then why am I worrying over present problems? Why can I not satisfy any desire I have, why do I have to think of "consequences" if consequences don't matter in the end anyway because the end is the beginning?

If everything comes a full circle, then why do I still wish?
Maybe because we always seek to make things better, for ourselves. To ease that discomfort I constantly feel, the guilt I sometimes bear for my existence as a human.

In the end, everything that exists do not seem to exist. Everything that appears to matter, does not. I am tempted to go through the motions of life as if I live it and yet do not live it. Motions for the sake of motions, detached. Yet I know life will suck me back in anyway, giving me an illusion so real I believe it is real. I would then have forgotten the essence of this post and the view I hold when I first wrote this.