What if the consciousness of the ancient ferns and dinosaur remains has been resting In peace among the sandstone and shale for hundreds of millions of years?
Can you imagine the shock as that deep meditation is penetrated by drills, shattered by steam?
What if distillation is to petroleum what trauma is to humans: a dissociative rending of consciousness, a bewildering loss of self, of connection?
What of the profound shame: to be reduced to a toothbrush, a water bottle, a zip tie binding a prisoner’s wrists?
To be found in the stomach of a whale dead from starvation, to be implicated in its extinction?