The Veterinarian – (17) Three Mothers, the Crowd of Me, Me, Me and the Killing of Souls



                Another, and another, and another, he sees them fall. One Angel, after another, lost… so damn lost; raised by and among beasts… so many overwhelming beasts who possess no awareness, minimal, if any intellect, and no understanding, whatsoever, of the precious creatures within their midst. Angels; swimming in a sea of unaware, unempathetic, imperceptible beasts. And there happens to be nothing wrong with being a simple beast. There is actually a comfort, a purity, and a beauty in being such a creature; furthermore, in all truth, a limited awareness, removes the hellacious burden of responsibility that falls upon the Angels. But, beasts should never rule, subjugate, torture, drug, deconstruct, demoralize, or dominate Angels.  Never, never, never. Beasts are the children of animals and Angels are the children of God. But, a beast cannot comprehend such a thing and by virtue of their ignorance and naivety, they perceive and declare, the Angels as abominations. 

                Abominations….. What is wrong with them? Why are they so weird? Why do they talk so much and ask so many questions? Why can’t they just relax? Why are they so stressed out? Why are they so emotional… so demanding? Why are they so depressed? What is there to worry about, so much? Why can’t they be content? Why can’t they just sit still?

                Why would she put a shotgun in her mouth? Why would she let cancer consume her? Why would she welcome a terminal beating? Why would a child arm himself and open fire on a crowd of beasts? Why would he write….? Why would he write…….? Why would he write?

                Because, Angels are suffering… for Fuck’s sake….. for Fuck’s sake, because Angels are suffering and suffering…..and suffering. And they are lobotomizing themselves in every way imaginable, so they can just stomach and survive in a world controlled by the beasts. And when the lobotomizing fails, they have to check out completely….. they have to… they have to blow their brains out, one way or another… they must… because they are drowning in the hoards of the beasts that surround them in every direction for miles and miles and miles, and every mile, yard, foot, inch, centimeter and millimeter of that area, is so fucking empty… so fucking empty… that they can’t stand it. So, so, so empty. The beasts deconstruct existence for the Angels. The beasts turn an Angel’s existence black and ugly and empty; and the Angels fall, because they know better… they know better… they know the true beauty of supreme awareness… they know appreciation of the full potential and gift of existence, even when they are consciously unaware of it… and they can’t fucking stand to see that gift squandered, denied, corrupted, or spit upon.

                A beast’s world is okay and good for the beasts. It is not okay, or proper, or healthy for the Angels. And this world could, and should be, shared by both. But that specific discussion is also a complex subject, and it is story to be told at another time.


Those with Wings must Fly and find One Another


                The Angels must rise. Rise. The Angels must believe in themselves, and that other Angels, also exist. Believe. The Angels must accept the inherent difference between themselves and the beasts, and not interpret such a difference, as a curse or isolation. They must accept the difference as a grace… a wonderful, blissful, amazing, transcending, grace. Accept. The Angels must not lose faith; they must not give in to discouragement or lose hope in repetitively failing to help, to nurture, to educate, or to uplift the beasts, because beasts prefer to exist as beasts and not as Angels. Hope. Angels must embrace other Angels. They must look for the signs. They must eliminate all distractions….eliminate all excuses. Embrace. They must spread their wings and fly. Fly. They must sing from the depths of their soul, and as they do, resonate the melodies of swirling existence; melodies composed of passion and sorrow, ultimate bliss and the fact of loss, yearning and hope, love and the unfortunate distortion of that love, which leads to fear and contempt and hate. Sing. They must love without reservation or fear or consequence. Love. They must let go…let go of all of it. Let go. They must learn to see, to accurately turn their eyes upon themselves, and see themselves, for who they truly are…to accept what is viscerally present within…and then, and only then, will they be able to actually love themselves, not just in word, but also in deed and in profound unmitigated instinctual truth. That truth, that specific truth, alters even the vision of Angels, and it allows them to see things in a synchronous state of the highest transcendence; it allows them to see the whole damn world…the beauty of it all…the grace of everything…existing as it should…..every single bit, existing contently as itself…..beasts, existing as beautiful beasts, other Angels, existing as radiant beings of love and awareness, and themselves…themselves, existing in their own exquisiteness.


                The acceptance and application of such vision…..such awareness, is a love that transcends all. It transcends fear. It transcends anger. It transcends insecurity. It balances all of it…..all of it. Such a force, such a choice…..such a simple, basic, concept, could save all of us…every single one, as we dance together through existence.


 No one, Angel nor Beast, should have to suffer for simply being themselves.   


The End

 Cribb     2014


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