You are carbon slime, deal with it.

Go climb a mountain on a clear day, and stand on the summit and look around. 

If you can see a few miles in every direction, that's perfect. 

How's the view?

Do you see rolling hills, trees, may be some water, perhaps roads, vehicles, homes and other human artefacts.

Look up.

What a pretty blue blanket the sky is!

You feel free, and safe, and empowered. 

Free, because you could go anywhere on this world and do what you want.

Safe, because that pretty blue blanket is made for you - it's just perfect. 

Empowered, because you climbed 1000s of feet. You can do what you want. 

And then there is a sudden change in perspective.

What looks like a flat world is in fact round: it looks flat to you because it's imperceivably huge. 

Those impressive 1000 feet of elevation you climbed: it's not even a wrinkle on the skin of this planet.

And that pretty blue blanket - well, it's not real. It's not material. It's just some air and scattered light. 

You are being fooled by your senses.

You are an insignificant piece of carbon based slime, crawling on the minute skin folds of a giant planet.

And you are completely exposed above your head for trillions and trillions of miles of hostile outer space.

This thought sends a chill down your spine. 

You crave the innocence of a moment ago, that feeling of safety, above all else. 

You want the world to be nice to you, to bend to your will, to cater to your needs. 

You know there are forces beyond you - the waves, the storms, the quakes, the fires, the comets and gamma ray bursts. 

You concede there are powers out there that may be vastly superior. 

You crave that they be benevolent. 

You so hope they look out for you. 

You appeal to them, you want to appease them. 

And now, you are no different than your ancestor from the African rift valley a quarter million years ago. 

You are a hairless ape. Mostly clueless. 

You have fancy titles, wear fancy badges, use fancy words. 

Ape, nevertheless. 

Part of a thin layer of slime coating a speck of rock hurtling around a small yellow star in one of the 200 billion galaxies.