When the sun came up this morning, the moon was setting on the far horizon. She was in a crescent phase—white, with faint light the blended selflessly with the early clouds. She sang to me a faint, slow tune that came in on the wind. I tried to teach it to Nibbs, but he wasn’t interested. He saw a mouse go under a stump last night and has been preoccupied with its capture all night. I chided him for being so single-minded, but he didn’t listen.
People don’t give animals credit for what they know. Just the other day I was talking to pigs on a farm, and they told me they knew that they were due to be slaughtered and eaten. They were sad for that, and I felt for them. I considered coming back by moonlight and setting them free, but wondered how far they would go. They’d probably revel in their freedom for a few days, then wander back to the farm for free food and a chance to mate. Some might thrive in the woods, but most wouldn’t have the stomach for it. Pigs in the wild have to be mean to survive. People are the same way.
In a natural environment, people are just another kind of animal. I’ve heard many a scholar try to deny it—but they preach to themselves when they do, and to poor effect. The claim of our similarity to the wild creatures often offends, but without logical reason. Instead it is a reason of pride and justification. People like to put themselves above the animals so they can justify all the things they do that they know makes no sense. I don’t usually point this out to people anymore…because there’s no need to distress them with the truth.
There are problems here in Ursundova, some more serious than others. While on the farm I helped arrest a cult of Gyronna. The girls in the cult had devoted themselves to spite and revenge. What a funny idea. It seems akin to devoting oneself to the drinking of strange poisons. Even if you survive the drink, you cannot expect such things to make you well.
Usually when I see things differently it is easy enough to accept a difference of opinion and move on. But most people like to be right, and they like to show others how right they are. I’ve been asked by the others to argue the fate of these poor delusional souls, but I have no heart for it. It seems punishment enough to me that they’ve wasted so much their short lives to hate.
Certain truths come back to me as I ponder the meaning of this. It’s is easier being part of something than it is to be whole. It is easier to close your eyes than to see. It is easier to believe a lie than know the truth.
I hope the moon will sing to me again at dusk. If she will, I will light incense and sing slow songs with her.