Respected is only one adjective when it comes to a virus that’s been around since time began.
Fear loathing paranoia are just other words, deeper expressions that at some point come to mind. If you are ‘lucky’ enough to experience Rabies and survive, other feeling words will arise as time recedes and distance grows.
Rabies strikes ferociously and silently, instills terror and creates absolute insanity. Its objective isn’t personal, it’s really that intelligent. Survival and growth is simply what it desires.
The common frothing ferocious crazed and fang baring beast is what most think of when Rabies is mentioned. That’s certainly one manifestation and it’s truly terrifying to witness. The lightning speed of a mammal in full blown end stage Rabies is literally heart stopping. With no physiological brakes applied, adrenaline pump on overload, Rabies expulsion is looking for other hosts, its viral shedding is horrific in action. Your chance of being infected if you’re within strike radius, is extremely high.
Rabies doesn’t always take the ferocious route, quiet and insidiously gentle can also mask its methods. Creating paralysis from the infection site, makes it often mistakenly regarded and treated as something else. But even a paralyzed unmoving infection can still transmit.
It’s not the bite. Most of those questioned on how Rabies transmits, believe it’s done through the bite. Even though this is wrong, biting in fearsome rapid snapping is a calculated and evolutionary by-product of the viral symptoms. It’s a perfect opening hole and cavity for the virus to enter, heightening an ultimate successful implant, hot and alive in saliva. The virus is only active a few days before death after it has travelled through the nervous system from the infection site to the brain. At this point there is no coming back, no cure, no treatment.
Only warm blood live birthing beings carry Rabies. Mammals that is. If you add up all in the Mammalian family, you get an idea what a rich source and reservoir Rabies has to choose from.
Rabies is a ‘beautiful thing’, in its ability to survive and thrive. It isn’t going anywhere anytime soon, it’s a true survivor.
One of the most frightening and saddest examples of many cases involving the virus was portrayed in this true example.
A Mother who had been bitten by a small puppy thought nothing of it. As the months passed and the virus made its way from the infection site, through her nervous system and eventually to her brain, her symptoms were disregarded as just other ailments. As was within her culture, her new born baby was given softened bread. Bread that as a doting and devoted Mother, she softened in her mouth using her saliva, before placing it in her child’s mouth.
One can only pray that Rabies never ever adapts into an airborne virus.
For more information. http://www.who.int/mediacentre/factsheets/fs099/en/
Conspiracy definition: A secret plan by a group to do something unlawful or harmful.
Conspiracy theory (disambiguation) alleges an event or events to be secretly influenced by a premeditated group or groups of powerful people or organizations working together.
As a nod to the reality or not of conspiracy, its ‘fascinating’ to ponder the fake fueled state of reality that we as mere mortals have always and are presently being force fed or starved of.
Fired FBI Director James Comey’s Testimony on Capitol Hill Thursday June 8th 2017, was telling on unprecedented levels.
LANKFORD: OK. OK. You had mentioned before about some news stories and news accounts, but, without having to go into all the names and the specific times and to be able dip into all that, have there been news accounts about the Russia investigation, about collusion, about this whole event or accusations that, as you read the story, you were stunned about how wrong they got the facts?
COMEY: Yes. There have been many, many stories purportedly based on classified information about — well, about lots of stuff, but especially about Russia, that are just dead wrong.
Aeschylus, the Greek tragic dramatist (525 BC - 456 BC) would appear to have authored the famous quote “In war, truth is the first casualty,” although that could be fake or also steeped in conspiratorial smoke and mirrors.
‘The truth will set you free.’ Buddha explains this to mean “Spiritually speaking, what's being said to you is that you don't have to go looking for the truth, and that it's already inside of you. All you have to do is feel it and judge it for yourself. Does it "ring" true in your heart, or not?”
As with weapons of mass destruction (WMD), 9/11 New York, Moon landing(s) and endless events on levels of global significance, truth is what you are told in lieu of you actually being there and directly observing, absent of all and any outside or other stimuli that could bend your perception in a direction other than the truth. Of course your very own uncontaminated perception of the truth is dependent on your very own senses alone.
Did Russia hack the 2017 USA elections and usher in Trump for their own nefarious means. Did the USA engineer the election to elect a President who could divert the whole world from what the main game is and always has been about?
About continuance of historical animosity, escalation of a new Hot War and a battle of power between two very old and very bitter adversaries.
It’s not actually a war of civilizations it’s an endless battle over difference.
Anyone who has experience of relationships, and that includes everyone, will very well know the work involved in that unavoidable human activity is immense. We are all in a relationship of one form or another.
In an era of quick fix, doesn’t work for me, just move on mental reality, breakdown of relationship union is enormous. Locally and globally, fracturing of relationships is gathering momentum at a frightening speed. It’s as if our technologically smart selves, having now unlocked the ability to connect instantly with all of humanity, cannot deal with the reality and scale of mammoth diversity of difference.
There is no other recipe for the meal that makes up humanity. There are no selective ingredients that will flavour enhance for general approval.
As the 60’ song says.
What we need is a great big melting pot
Big enough enough enough to take
The world and all its got
And keep it stirring for a hundred years or more
And turn out coffee coloured people by the score
It’s even more relative now than ever before.
If fake news reports about real news can be believed, then the straight jacket is certainly being applied to the globe. Serious questions are now being asked about just exactly where Geo political affairs and matters are headed. Is the most powerful human on the planet, militarily and monetary wise, really a full blown danger and completely beyond being reigned in and controlled?
Wiggle room in a rubber room, with a constricting control coat fastened tight, is a bit of an oxymoron. Being forcefully led down the path to a state of bedlam, a growing reality of insanity, by a maniacal moron, is just downright crazy. There are many variations on the crazy theme, not all of them dangerous and lethal. But what is transpiring and being transmitted tweet by tweet is definitely downright freaky and a new level of creepy scary time.
Viewing Planet Earth as one big padded cell is given more credence as the World Health Organization classifies depression as ‘a global crisis’. WHO states that depression is now the leading cause of disability worldwide and its ongoing manifestations are increasing.
Unfortunately the cell is becoming very crowded, padding is looking a little threadbare and there is no escape to any other planetary nirvana. If insanity was a profitable growth industry, it would be worth trillions.
Pressure of the sort being experienced currently, is not handled well by humans. Admittedly an amount of pressure is required for evolutionary forward momentum, a type that is complementary to organism and environment.
Enter the Commander of Incredulity, Chief Unbelievable and the padding in the rubber room has completely blown away, revealing a full horror. The reality that a system that is the only real faith left for a tired and weary population of billions has succeeded so well, in failing so many, so miserably. If in fact real news reports are accurate about fake statements emanating from the mouths of those in powerful positions, an outcome of truth may not actually set us free.
It may in fact be too real for too many who have been sucked in by fake and lies. Easier to tighten the straps, repad the room and medicate the masses. Kinder to keep enough of them in fitful slumber, rather than risk all of us awake and fully aware.
God sure is a twisted bitch.
Free will is pretty much similar to parenthood. You’re free to do it. Although in many cases rigorous attempts are made and endless energy is expelled, resulting in fruitless outcomes. There’s no handbook or guide. One person’s actioning on their perceived free will is another’s absolute criminal act, punishable by literal death.
As in the act of becoming parents, free will is enacted as a right, insofar as the ‘responsible’ persons are in fact responsible for their own rightful actions. Fate in respect of an outside entity is not responsible for making a baby and not responsible for delivering free will in your lap.
God has nothing to do with allowing some to enjoy the spoils of their will and freeload off millions of others who don’t have such opportunities. It really becomes somewhat hazy when the scriptures tell us that God gave us free will, thereby giving us the power to make our own decisions. And as long as we choose to obey Gods commands, because God won’t force us, then that choice will see us right. Given the way those who God decided to make in his image have turned out, it’s a fairly safe bet to surmise that God has obviously taken off and truly left us to sort it out.
Allowing parents to bestow their offspring with a free will caveat of, ‘only by following my commands will you become a meaningful and worthy person but don’t forget I won’t force you’, smacks a little bit of free willing up some guilt and dumping it right in their lap. One person’s parenting is another’s tormenting.
Free will ‘should’ be a universal option. Freedom to choose, self-determine and be the director of your very own unique life. Unfortunately for too many it’s given verbally on one hand, ripped physically away with the other hand and rapidly followed up by a punch in the guts.
The yearning for free will is as obsessive as parenthood; both are natural urges for species human. Unfortunately both are not free and they will most certainly have consequences that may or may not be in your control.
Image credit. Super Moon, by Burent Binici.
I hadn’t seen him for eight months, but still knew him well enough to know that he would still be alive, if he could. He was tough, a true Bali Dog, conditioned after thousands of years and infused with a DNA that would enable him to fight to the death in order to live. I acutely knew this about him and his lineage, I was fully aware and fully frightened.
His latest home was a concrete walled box, no bigger than a very small bedroom. Three walls were enclosed, the forth a crudely erected reinforced wall of wire, which gave him an outlook onto the village road and normal daily life. His floor was powdered and pitted, a mixture of hard and soft concrete. This was his now home, his domain and as an Alpha canine, he owned this space and was not leaving, unless it was on his terms. He had returned to Bali Life and returned to being a Bali Dog. For his continued survival he had to leave this space, this place, this home, his home.
He had never liked or sought human touch, one of those many Bali Dogs who shun such contact. His history had exacerbated an already built-in reluctance, the taunting abuse and trauma delivered by humans in his early years had cemented that. I gained his trust over the years since and had been able to make physical contact, but always on his invitation. His propensity to become full blown defence aggressive when threatened or cornered was legendary and a documented reality. I had witnessed it before, had witnessed full blown rabies, his behaviour in defence mirrored rabies in attack. I had no illusions that he was a dog. An animal with supreme instincts, blinding speed and very sharp hook shaped teeth.
I knew that any aggression would only be a response to fear and that he would never initiate an attack on humans. But I never knew for sure, anything can turn to initiate an attack if pushed too far. I was about to push him to that limit and we hadn’t been in the same space for quite some time. This was foreign and new for us both, but he also knew my strengths and weaknesses, very well. I was a human connected with a dog, he had and was still a huge part of my life my heart and my soul. I knew emotion on that level was not going to be helpful on the level we were both at, right now.
The sedatives he had consumed earlier mixed with rice and fried egg, had started to take effect. His ravenous appetite and adrenaline flooded body had ensured sedation was probable. Years before it had taken enough medicine to kill a horse, in order to rabies vaccinate him, even then he was alert and fighting. It appeared that age and condition had worn him down this time, but I was very concerned they hadn’t. I knew this animal and I was worried, very worried.
‘The only thing to fear is fear itself’.
I knew on entering the small square enclosure that I was apprehensive, fully focused and had a plan of action already mapped out, with as many back up contingencies as possible. Given that the possibilities of any number of things happening was screamingly high, I was as prepared as I humanly could be. Facing an intrinsically wild, angry, scared and very strong fast animal, was the first step.
The sedation hadn’t worked, ‘kinda thought it wouldn’t’. He was fully up and pacing the perimeter. Standing in the centre of the room I moved as he did, a small circle to his squared space. With tail down and head low, he attempted to move the four walls out as far as he possibly could. His gait began to shorten and he dropped his body slightly lower, he was ready and rigid. Still squeezed against the walls, at least at this point I knew he wasn’t in attack mode, yet. The day before, I had spent some time with him in the box attempting to regain our relationship. I also wanted to observe his condition and strength after being enclosed for so long. The box had done him no harm at all, his already strong well-toned body had been enhanced, not eroded.
His weaponry was impressive. Animal speed agility power and fangs. My weaponry was impressive. Knowledge and a rope noose. It was to be a fair fight. Could I have brought in a net, stick or gun? Of course, but to beat him wasn’t the objective, he had been beaten enough before, no more damage was the intent.
More sedation was not an option, he was already wired and very pissed. Retreat from the box wasn’t an option, his survival would be untenable and his fate sealed. As representatives from the village looked on and in to what was happening, he was leaving this box dead or alive, by my hand.
The first bite was a severe warning, to not make physical contact. I had slowly cut down his movable space and he had cowered in a corner. Knowledge had taught and proven that there was a window, to being able to very slowly and gently pick him up, from around his abdomen, from behind. I knew the risks were very real from experience, but still wanted the trauma inflicted to be as low as possible. Crouching low and slow behind him, I was able to cradle his abdomen with my hands and lift him gently, all the while keeping my throat and face as far away as possible. The first indication of trouble looming was in the quiver and tightening sensation of his muscles transferring to my hands. The speed of an animal cornered and frightened, is immensely unnerving when in its presence. Like a coiled snake his whipping head and sinking fangs were surreal. I was emotionally connected to this animal but was completely realistic about his animalistic abilities, the juxtaposition was clear and present.
Bali Dogs do not bite and release, unless in training or play. They lock whip and shred when the fight is for survival. He was fighting to survive against an adversary, my only option was to punch or pull. He had locked onto my right forearm, my strongest arm and was beginning to whip. I had to pull away or risk flattening him with my left fist, resulting in a chunk of flesh and bone removed and my ultimate fear that he would turn and offensively attack. As I pulled free from beginnings of shred, he retreated to his new combat position, a few feet out from the back wall and I retreated to my circle. Did I want to run away, get out of this hell and survive this? ‘Oh my God, yes’. Maybe one of us would now walk out of this dead or alive, he was coming out.
As shock, fear and realization sunk in, the blood began to spurt and ooze from the puncture and shred sites on my forearm. Anger is a very powerful and intense force, used for good or bad is really up to the beholder. He was fucking coming out very dead, half dead, alive at any cost, it didn’t matter anymore because it had just become very personal and very painful.
Looking on and in, the audience fell silent and watched on and in, at what the hell was going to happen next. A Bali Dog and a Bule were going to war.
This canine, this dog, this sentient being, never sits. Unless he is at peace and secure, this personality in dog form never sits. Even when being fed, the rest of his pack will sit, but he as the head Alpha, he does not sit. Business is business and for him the type of business being carried out in this walled fighting cage, with a viewing platform for human observation, was really serious business. Fight for survival business is raw and intense, where the rules of fair play are a laughable concept. For me the rules were evolving, he was coming out dead or alive or he would need to take me, which was my constant fear. Hiding fear was over, we were both scared shitless, not tired yet, and with nowhere to go anymore, this was our time. Whatever relationship I had with him it was always unconditional, built on an ancient reality of man and dog needing each other for survival. A histrionic weight of oneness with the dog, still carried over in all forms, even at the risk of Anthropomorphism.
In this room, in a village, by a lake and under a volcano, there was no time to put human emotion and labels on the dog I was now facing down.
I crouched to his level in my circle and he sat on spring hind legs close to the back wall, he was shortening the distance. We stared very directly and very intently at the equal threat facing us, and he bared his teeth and began to gutturally growl. I had no choice but to respond from a distance and with every energy force available I silently threw it at him. We both physically blew up and presented ourselves to the next round.
‘Some one is coming out dead or alive, enough is enough’.
He still had all his weaponry intact, wasn’t tired, and wasn’t blooded. He had bloodied me but I still had use and a rope noose. I had watched many hours of this dog snapping his pack in play and retreating at speed, to return and practice the process over and over. His wildness disturbed me at that moment, and the constant thought of him turning and performing that routine on me, in a locked door concrete cage with an audience, was distracting and torturous.
It is highly inadvisable in attempting to noose an animal in this state, from a front on and spring facing snarling position, it’s impossible and fatal. The only way is from side or above, or dart or shoot. I had always put his leash on his still now tattered and soiled collar, from side sitting with him. I always used my left hand to attach and he would always walk leashed on my left side, before he achieved true street dog status and free roamed. But how to get him to now present his side to me, because that time was a lifetime from where we are now.
My options were diminishing rapidly and still I feared a premeditated attack, he had never faced off like this before, with me. He was strong and ready and really had the upper paw and I so hoped he didn’t sense it. The old soiled towel in the corner caught my eye, it was an option, a possible distraction and some weaponry to attack and defend with, I really didn’t want another bite, really. Getting to it meant crossing his space threshold, and I always knew his was as wide as this fighting square. In that other lifetime I was able to direct him to move with body language a point in the direction I wanted him to go and a click of finger and thumb. With no verbal language he had been able to learn and respect and we had mutual understanding. In this paradigm could it still work?
At what point he decided he wasn’t gonna play, I don’t know, but he decided. I had to step into his path and cross it or he had me cornered. A snarling frightened animal sitting so still but quivering as you cross its path is heart stopping. As his head with teeth and spit turned to follow me across his path, I could only snarl silently back. I had got to the towel on his right corner and slightly behind him and he hadn’t moved his body. I was relieved on many levels, he hadn’t attacked me in the corner and his flank was open from a slightly shorter distance.
Returning to my circle wasn’t an option anymore. I had made my move and retreating to my circle could be seen as weak and vulnerable, plus I would need to walk back past him again, when I was already in. I needed to move him from his central position to one of the corners. But throwing the towel at him from distance was futile as he would laugh it off and snarl again, pretty hard to just throw a towel over a snake head. I had to close the gap again and prepare for round two.
‘You are coming out dead or alive, you prick’
Closing the gap had to be quicker this time, surprise was now in both our weaponry. Getting the towel around his head and throat, or around my left arm and usher him to the corner, I had to make a stand and position. Two fast higher steps to his flank and he leapt back into the corner and curled into a ball with his head and jaw flat against the corner. Getting a towel around that is impossible, but I was there and retreat would send him another message. I had to get the towel around his head and throat.
A black small Bali Dog with black markings on its tongue is highly revered within Balinese folklore, very high intelligence being supreme. This beast I was dealing with had all the markings to indicate he was the complete description of the highest of high. But there was no time for admiration, he already had that, now I just wanted to stay alive.
I had to get him on the move again but keep him moving so I could virtually lasso him with the towel. With another move to his rear end he leapt away and I leapt toward his head, it worked, I had him in a towel headlock. That was until his slip knot designed head, whipped out of it. It was rope slip loop time.
As he leapt back to his corner I had to follow fast. He resumed the same position, glanced the loop and began to snarl and bare. Years earlier I had to use a similar loop on him to bring him into the pack and the memory was terrifying, I know he remembered. With lightning fast and rapid snapping of teeth, he attacked the loop upwards on his hind legs, all the while forcing his head backwards preventing me from slipping it on. I needed his head lower so I could quickly swing it on, but he wasn’t having any of it. Time was incomprehensible at this point, but neither one of us was tired. Lowering the loop would move his head but he could still block from the front. The advantage I had at this point was I was side facing and had my right hand free, but I was against the wall, at arm’s length from the loop and couldn’t get enough speed, I had to get closer.
There was no other option if I couldn’t loop him. I would have to leave the battle and leave him to a community who have their own way of dealing with such a canine display. It was really now or never for his physical survival and my emotional survival. We were both fighting each other for survival.
Shortening the distance again forced him back down and head flat in the corner, I had to find a way to lift his head enough to snap the loop over and around his neck, fast. Tapping the loop against his nose made him lift it slightly, I needed more. With one forceful tap he rose enough and snapped forward, allowing me a split second between snaps to force it over. He was looped and angrier.
He had always walked very well on a leash on my left side, and had reluctantly looked forward to our close time together and a bonding session, in contrast to his free roaming activities. But if the leash was pulled tight he would resist and pull back, we both found the balance of gentle energy, a soft loose leash and an enjoyable stroll. Now as he began rolling across the dusty concrete floor attempting to free himself from the snare, enjoyable it was not. The loop was attached so as to tighten on resistance but not choke, as on release it would slip. Suddenly he stood up quiet and proud and presented himself for our walk. We were half way there and I was bleeding and tired as adrenaline played rollercoaster. He was fresh and pumped.
‘You’re getting in that car, dead or alive, you asshole’.
Stepping with him out of the battle ground was tinged with immense relief and even more fear. We were now on the street and the audience had full vision of the combatants. As my bloody right arm was washed, we took a few moments to prepare for the final rounds. He had to be placed in the back area of a vehicle to move to his final home. Any thought of relief was quickly converted to panic as to how to lift him into the car. Getting him to the car was achievable, he walked as he always had, as long as no tension was applied. The gathered people had a clear indication as to his many sides, realizing I hoped that he wasn’t a rabid dog who would attack any locals.
Lifting him straight up, basically hanging and swinging him in was probable, visually and physically wise. But the message that would send to the community representatives would be irreparable. The towel was still an option but after one try and his Houdini act, it was discounted. There was only one option left. I would have to put this proud dog down on his belly and scruff grab the back of his neck. And hopefully get enough fur and skin, to lift and with both hands, throw him into the car. He had never been put in this position by me and whatever relationship remembered was at that point blown away.
My left arm had not been damaged and the action to be carried out felt better left handed anyway, plus my blooded right arm and hand was intact. Putting him down from his upright full standing position was actually physically easier but emotionally so hard, but it must be done. Flattening him spread eagled required surprise and speed, but it worked and with one movement he was lifted and an onlooker assisted with his hind quarters. The car back door was quickly opened and I threw him into the boot. It was never over until I released the grip with my left arm and just as I let go, in one seamless whip movement he latched onto my left forearm.
This time it wasn’t a warning bite and as his upper and lower canines bit deep and gripped firm I was back to the beginning. To not allow him to get to shred stage, I would again need to punch or pull. Ripping free from his grip meant ripping what was attached to his jaws. With one final movement his jaw opened just enough, and in readiness for the bigger bite to come, I was able to pull away from him.
In the end, it was the end to our latest evolving relationship as Dog and Human. It was a very fair fight, we used only what we had and nothing more. My respect for him and all the dogs he represents was already high. After our latest survival fight, my admiration and respect has reached supreme levels. I am actually thankful for what happened in that arena and give thanks to him that he didn’t turn to attack.
Sultan now lives in his forever home, really forever. He will not be moved again, not until he is carried dead to a cremation site, where he will be blessed and sent on his very own journey to dog nirvana.
Sultan and I took thirty minutes after the event to shake it all off canine and human style. We were able to come together for touch and an even deeper understanding and respect in our relationship. It did us no harm at all.
‘May you live long and roam free’
For those who have experienced them and those who have observed its manifestations, Terrors of the Night can be rather disturbing. Literature on the subject explains the phenomena are isolated in and to childhood and that in general individuals have no memory of the happening(s).
Night Terrors are not rare but are also not that common. For those without any experience of them, it’s very easy to mistake the explanation as nothing more than a nightmare. Nightmares are certainly nasty enough and are not to be scoffed at in respect to the torment they inflict. There wouldn’t be a human alive who hasn’t awakened in sheer relief, in the knowledge that their sweat drenched body and beating heart has just escaped the cold grip of some horrible near death event.
Night Terrors don’t offer such relief, because you don’t just suddenly awaken. It’s more a coming out from, a slow ascendency from something that has been very disturbing and all encompassing. As many individuals with epilepsy will sense an aura before a seizure event, so many Night Terrorists will sense an after effect. An uneasy and anxious knowledge that something very frightening happened last night, a dreamlike remembrance of waking up, most probably not in bed, with an accompanying foreboding fog like emotion that something had terrorized them. For most, it’s not that they can’t remember the very details of the Terror. It’s putting the complexity of it, remembering that its torment is right up there on the open ended Indexed Tormenter Scale, into conceptual wording and language, especially in view that the subjects are very young children.
The origins of the phenomena are varied. Genetic factors, early trauma and over-arousal of the central nervous system (CNS) during REM sleep time. No matter the science, reality for those who experience and those who observe is disturbing.
For parents the experience can be and certainly is, in the beginning, highly disturbing. As a parent, witnessing your child in the throes of pain of any sort can be equally painful, if not actually more than. Having no way of comforting, placating, relieving or solving such pain, is unbearable and goes against all things nature wise. Without knowing what is actually happening and knowing that Night Terrors are a very real condition, family units and unification can be sorely tested.
Unfortunately night time terrors are not confined to the witching hours and variations on the theme and intensity can occur during daytime napping. The classic full on physical Night Time Terror symptoms and occurrences appear to dissipate as a child moves through adolescence. In my own lifespan, my last full on classic Terror, stopped around 16 years young.
I imagine that like many other individuals who have experienced such torment, yet moved on to live very full lives, their memory of Night Terror has never ever disappeared. I can certainly attest to waking moments of symptom awareness, a very strange sensation indeed. A feeling of foreboding, a rapidly ascending arousal, followed by anxiety and fear, combined with all the sensations of a classic panic attack. Yet they are not attacks of panic, but certainly such a development can be a ‘natural’ progression.
Night Terrors are not life threatening, even though for parents and onlookers it can appear that an alien entity has entered a very much loved subject. Such a shock can certainly frighten those outside the Terror into a state of the proverbial scared to death. The worry of another event is also a great stressor for those looking in.
My own experience has taught that keeping a regime of physical and emotional wellbeing is immensely helpful. It has also shown that demons are very real and that as I grow older my remembrances of the unexplainable have become so much clearer.
There are things that go bump in the night, things that torment and terrorize. But, they are not the things that stop a full and amazing life being lived. It’s us and our collectively frightened species. We do that.
If interested in what Night Terrors are, please just simply type it into a search engine.
inordinately or wrongly desirous of wealth or possessions; greedy.
As a species we are supremely good at it. Why? Simply we can. As the primero apex predator, we have nothing to stand in our way. We are first, at the top, controller of the chain. We are totally free to do what we like and consuming is a very big like. With nothing outside of ourselves to regulate our insatiability, we have become unable to regulate ourselves.
Consumption has virtually become a form of religion, with all the fervour that can accompany a need that never gets full. In a growing absence of grounded meaning and belief, a God like beast in the form of commodity has filled the void.
Unfortunately those who really should know better are leading the competitive gorge, stuffing as much in and away as possible. Our elected leaders, those example setters, put up there to reflect our will and want. Admittedly, they come nowhere close to the growing and bloated private sector elite. That upper echelon of society where many political movers and shakers retire, topping up the bloat.
Of course it has always been this way, in degrees. But with an exploding planetary population and technological super advancement, the conditions are ‘so right’ in encouraging our natural innate ability to consume. To fuel it right up, explode it to stratospheric levels.
The human species will only be a mere squeak in the totality, our story will only amount to the proverbial footnote. It’s not that we couldn’t choose to just consume less and just seriously think about the consequences. It’s that we actually chose not to. When we arrogantly place ourselves above all else, in effect trampling on all else, we create conditions for pay back.
It may not be a cataclysmic event or a slow grinding depletion of life sustaining elements. It may just end up being one of those tiny organisms, an invisible to the human eye viral infection. A fever that is really fucked off with how we behaved and in its superior intellect and more ancient deliberations, just decides that the mighty and haughtiest has had its time.
Its time to bring it to its knees.
Not sure of the complete biology involved but strongly suspect it’s broken down into simply becoming lost in the process. Everything about life is really nothing more than process. Preparing a meal can be joyfully thankfully, one of those peaceful processes, if you’re bent that way. For an equal many, it’s a process through hellish realms of unspeakable torture. There are endless ways to get out of your head, preparing a meal is one.
Eating is the end action of preparing what is ingested; actually shitting is the final cycle. However that may detract from the enjoyable factor in the purpose of writing this. Defecating for fun is a totally different area, a subject reserved for those who become lost in that process.
Preparing a meal really is about love. Putting love into it isn’t just an old saying or pithy meme. Of course there are many other things that must go into a fine dish, bottled love wont totally get it there. However one person’s love input, can be another’s demonic disaster.
A calm balanced mind, preferably free from recipes with constrictive elements. A vision of a finished product, remembering that it will probably never turn out the way your mind conceives it and a willingness to start with a knife and end with a satisfied look.
It really is simply, a matter of getting what you put in. Too much spice, not enough seasoning, undercooked, overcooked, bland, overly complex, or just too simple. Wars have been waged, peace has been diplomatically passed. People have too much of it, so many more don’t have enough. Without it, life cannot exist.
For those of us who love the process, it’s so much more than process and action. It’s creating something from a bunch of separate elements. Bringing them together, combining their strengths and weaknesses. It’s indulging in a slice of life, getting lost in the peaceful zone, trusting that love will add the finishing touch to a memorable meal.
It’s crazy that it’s hidden away, behind secure premises. Away from curious eyes, from millions who have an insatiable interest in it’s by product. Secrecy abounds the industry.
Although every now and then, snippets of commonly perceived truths do leak from the killing grounds. But of course the hiding isn’t crazy at all. It must be done on an industrial amnesia scale. Sensibilities for human angst and emotional well-being override open in the face slaughter of beings. Protection from witnessing the death of things that pump blood from hearts and feel pain via nervous systems is kind.
This isn’t some lefty do-gooder tree hugging hippy rant or bleeding heart vegan preaching. If you choose, to consume products sourced from animals, that’s completely within your legislative rights. Not going to get into animal rights or best practice slaughtering of them. Not going to get into sentience and the emotional feelings of other beings. Not going to get into canine teeth and the argument for protein versus plant.
Slaughtering of animals for human consumption is massive and growing exponentially. The distance that consumers actually stand from the physical point of slaughter is also growing exponentially. The reasons why are based on need speed and convenience. No need to witness, faster through a production line and much more convenient for you. Selecting pretty packaged pink dyed flesh, from a super-duper brightly lit sweet smelling soft music playing mega market, is so much better, for everyone. That obviously includes the animals. Am sure they don’t want anyone forced into seeing hoisting stunning stripping slicing dicing mincing and packaging. That could really damage the emotions of an awful lot of people.
Why not throw open the doors, let the people in. It’s time to show off where those fine cuts joints and delectable wings breasts and offal originate from. It’s only responsible and right that future generations are given the right to responsibly choose exactly where their consumption comes from and to really know how it’s packaged.
Image credit. Pinterest
Observing whats real is becoming increasingly difficult. This site is my view, my perception and my commentary on what I believe to be real, from my own unique position.