A Matter of Choice

We are faced with a decision as a species that humanity has never had to seriously concern itself with,
Until now.
We know not why we inhabit this mound of rock,
But we know we are programmed to keep it inhabited.
Or are we?
I am told that within the next few years,
The natural biological tendency written deep within my genetic code will send stronger and stronger signals to my male counterparts that I am ready to be drilled, filled and fertilized.
A rather unsettling prospect for me.
When our ancestors emerged from the primordial soup of originality,
I imagine the single-celled organisms that came to be lacked the complex neurological chemistry to foresee the evolutionary tangent nature would later produce: us.
We, however, happen to house this magical, chemical machinery within the confines of our being,
And, unlike those funky inhabitants of the womb of the Earth itself, we have foresight and the ability to choose to bare fruit.
No immaculate conceptions here, ladies and gentlemen.
So, what of this choice?
The thinker inside of me says:
Take stock of the billions of us roaming the very ground from which we were birthed,
Chipping away at what was once abundant,
Only to move ourselves closer to a self-inflicted apocalypse.
Taps will no longer run freely,
Fossil fuels will no longer be beneath our feet but amongst the gaseous realm of our atmosphere,
Fertile land will be barren and arid from chemical exposure and mass production.
And what about our superior Western culture which capitalizes on the docility of children,
Shaping their minds to be little consumers,
Stealing that sparkle from their eyes ever earlier and earlier?
I would not wish to throw my children into the thralls of chaos,
Paying the heaviest price for mistakes made by generations past.
Knowingly and willingly placing a human being into a situation of such sufferableness seems sociopathic.
The agent within me, however, says:
That these breasts and hips were not given to me for show but are instead tools for creating, birthing, rearing, and shaping a generation of beings.
Through lots of hard, socially alienating work, the fruit of my labour can posses a global consciousness unfathomable to us straddling the fence of eco-socio-spiritual consciousness and materialistic, consumer-based systems;
A global consciousness that will soon recognize the necessity of action in favour of retaining a habitable habitat.
But such a perspective requires nourishing values and us fence-sitters are not quite so good at identifying let alone acting upon benevolent values.
When my child just out of diapers demands the latest Mac gizmo for fear of being ostracized from their peers,
I know the super heroine work will begin.
So, to abstain from or to bring forth life are both acts of love rooted in the desire to diminish suffering.
But the very nature of the question is not rooted in love,
Rather a frightening distrust of humanity.
Where, then, do I derive my hope?