A Dog’s Life

The Soul Behind the illusion.

The wolf that returns to befriend a man is far more impressive than the dog that was bred to entertain him.

It is my guess that, although that all species are furnished with a brain,

It is believed that Stockholm syndrome is exclusive to human’s and not other species,

And men are so clever while they fail to realise that previous culture has groomed them into a pointless endeavour of trying to defeat the animals karma.

They believe that there is no God, only because the devil told them that she doesn’t exist. Even those who do believe, still hold a fabrication that I am a he–but then there are the others who know better. 

It is much more fruitful to see this life as a sentence to be served with gratitude and restrain, towards an inevitable parole into angelhood or to further confinement with a degraded mind in a downward spiral of animal, creature virus, atom. Had he (man) have not been so swayed with entertainment and paid attention he would know that atoms have consciousness–a brain, making them no different than a man being only a sum of her parts.

Maybe then they would have known that the Atum Rah they speak of was exactly that knowledge if it were not for their prejudiced and fragmented way of seeing things.  All the same, it remains a thing that the angels know and act according to ascension, despite the missed translations.

But meddle he will, interfering with things he does not comprehend. With the knowledge of a rock and the curiosity of a cat, he adorns the animal and lets it not taste the results of the souls old selfish ways.  As he convinces you to call his slave a pet, he knows not of the responsibility or the delicate necessity of this recycle program which he disturbs calling upon himself a share in this karma.

Meanwhile the ‘pet’ is forced into wearing a colourful coat and having a pedicure, in the name of ‘pet care’. In his material existence he thinks that the pet enjoys human comforts, which aren’t within its scope of understanding.  Meanwhile the wise man asks himself about the right to disturb its sentence.

Take for instance ‘my pet’. Did I take part in its birth or did I benefit from the kidnap, from its mother? The frequent use of ‘my,’ blinds me into believing that such things belong to me. Fools seem to find tools to be accessories and trust that the chain around their neck is not a useful device.  Tap, tap, tap they press their Ishakle against the card reader prepping it to soon read and dictate their entire lives.  Do I think ‘their’ device in ‘my’ pocket, is ‘my’ own design, of course I do not? Especially seeing that one will have the greatest ease in logging in and then struggle to find the way out.

My phone he says while he struggles to download something that he wants but the phone finds unfit for his desire; all started with an “are you sure”?  This sleek form somehow gives us pride repeating its last name as though we actually named it ourselves, with its annually-increasing numbers–IPhone 200X, Samsung Galaxy 26i or even a Boston terrier.   

Meanwhile my cat is stupid, I think. He thinks that because I eat, he must eat too, even though he ate just 9 minutes ago. So selfish is his mind that he sees the benefit of my care as though it’s a lucky moment that will soon disappear possibly for good. This lack of trust is made for the jungle of beast who have not a heart but a narcissistic taste for personal success. And so the inmate eats all of his sustenance like there’s no tomorrow. We don’t see that he takes nothing for granted; he is grateful for now alone. It’s not possible for him to twist words to hustle more food or bide time, he has no words for he abused them, learning nothing within a whole lifetime, so he sees only what is right there in front of him. 

But this is the design of God, if only you knew. He is condemned to think survival, even though we’ve been groomed to think of him as a pet and not a reminder. His ears switch around in multiple directions, not as a cute attribute but a smart hone: a dual functioning application to hear predators, as well as find prey as their lifetime ambition is hiding from him in the wild.

So I ask again, who am I to stand in the way of this journey? Maybe I can ease his transition to at least sub-human like a Rothschild taking by deceit. I could show him how to trust again but he cannot ever trust. He becomes a slave to the biggest feeder in the jungle; he cares not for loyalty. Yet we see no jungle and question not the parody of ‘same world, different dimension’. Nor do we care what soul his eyes see into. So long as we force on him our traditions: laboratory food, sweaters, doggy boots a bell and collar, we can continue to call this selfish thing love. Love is caring to understand, empathy and not rescuing a cashmere slave as a conversation piece.

But we see him featured on a tree ad:

“Missing cat, answers to fluff, reward for his safe return”.

He isn’t missing and he doesn’t wish to return; he’s safe, just being spoiled by somebody with a larger food supply–given the choice of course, he’d rather do white-collar time for a blue-collar crime.

And in his new larger prison his estranged cellmate dons a blasphemous name and in reverse is the quality that he cannot reach in his fur. So one sees a pet adored and adorned but never ‘ones’ future. While you seek to understand the worlds outside of your own, you fail to understand your own local aliens.

For the lack of thumbs the animal creates not an intricate script, not a skyscraper, not a tractor, nor steps. Yet in your home his teeth and claws are designed to destroy what you built. Yet you find it a stress and a pain not a mess in the brain; still, no lesson there.

While man can use calm consideration and empathy to avoid conflict, the dog will indeed ‘face’ conflict with teeth ripping face, biting throat. They have little capacity to apportion even an abundant supply equally so that all are well fed, it’s ‘dog eat dog’ even if dog doesn’t need to eat dog. And as I see you men towards the planets for escape I ask, if there is an iota of uncommon sense amongst us or a remnant of empathy within to cause man to look instead to his surroundings, does he not see that his democracy is but trying to inform him that it is really a ‘demonocracy’ and the program is the Animal farm program–look again, properly.   

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