Here is the dying animal. Slowly pulling itself along the journey. Unable or unwillingly to give up. It is pushed forward by generations of bad programming. When asked if it is alright, it stubbornly refuses to answer.
The past is present in its lungs. Each breath is a testament to tradition and indoctrination. It fears the end is coming. An end that will bring it to lie down, take its last bated breath and become a relic or reminder of something dark that had existed once. Banned to the shadows once again. Looked upon with scorn. These thoughts frighten it terribly. The nights are dark even though the moon shines brighter than ever before because its eyes have failed. Cataracts of panic, fear and delusion prevent it from seeing the world clearly. It attempts to look relevant in the face of those who condemn and wish its death was already a foregone conclusion that arrived much more rapidly than it was.
Sadness and desperation turn into anger and bitterness. And that all morphs into loneliness.
This animal was once mighty… the biggest of them all. Propped up by religion and politics…it tells itself that love… love is circling the wagons and loading the rifles. Defending its position hoping that somehow and somewhere, redemption will come to its rescue! It prays for that deliverance. But the attack becomes even fiercer with time. It gets harder to defend itself as a just and honorable animal.
Its hope and desires are mired in illogical and ill-conceived ideals that gently reassure the animal that it is on the right path. It tells itself that God is on its side. It tell itself that it operates on a blessed mandate that the unrighteous cannot comprehend.
But instead it feels the power of its muscles being drained. It senses that its jaws no longer have the power that they once had. It believes it has become a lesser being than the one it was born. It is now feels nearly as weak as the sparrow that walks alongside the wheezing animal watching it curiously. It continues to resist the weight of death.
From time to time an animal whisperer has appeared and given it a temporary renewed lease on life. He reassures the creature that its twisted views of the world is really just an almighty power to heal. An ability to see more clearly when others are blinded.
But God sits watching the dying animal. He is sad. Not because it is dying. But because it could have prevented its own death. It could have been a force for good. But it had long ago made a choice. It let a tiny pin prick fester into a raging infection.
God sits and watches the dying animal. Free will had been given, a chance to not destroy its own soul. This was not the beautiful animal he had created. This was an ever evolving monster many generations in the making. Unrecognizable. He watches it enter the death cycle of failed religious interpretations and prideful entitlements. This process is necessary. That is the design of the universe. The rotten must one day lay down and return to the Earth.
The dying animal now looks toward the heavens. A victim of the voices that rise above it. The voices that offer a protection for the mute. The voices that drop ballots.
It had learned nothing. It had taken love, the power of the cosmos, and dashed it upon the marbled floor of the drumbeater. It had taken the words from the creator of the cosmos and then tore it into pieces. Pieces that scattered across the depressed and oppressed minions of able ears.
God places his hand on the dying animal. The voices of love grow louder. The world brightens ever so slightly. The animal takes its last breath.