The Questions of a Dog’s Life
We all have to make choices. Choices that I do not get to insult because of my own. The following is just a dissection of the loss created by an inevitable end.
It’s amazing what we cannot know until something is taken from us. Our emotions flood us with all sorts of things: hate, resentment, epiphany, self-discovery, ambition, and even lies that we’ve told about ourselves to ourselves.
As much as we all debate about the existence of God, it’s funny how insanely unconscious we are of how often we play him…
We make daily choices to speak as righteously as him, to justify our actions against others, to decide what is best for society…and to rationally choose who lives and who dies.
Is that not the role we take when we take an incapable being’s life into our own hands? To choose to take their life without their consent, even more so, without their awareness?
We take God’s hands and use them as our own.
That’s what it means to be intelligent. To be a dictator of life. The be an overseer of life itself and to act as the God of life and death.
I’m not saying we shouldn’t make choices.
Only be more wise about how and when and why we make them.
I claw at my chest…
It’s an attempt to dig out the bleeding, beating heart that can’t seem to handle the reality.
If I could just get it out, maybe then I could disassociate. I could remove the pain of loss—the pain of misery.
The pain of choice.
But at the same time, removing my own heart is also a desperate need to hug something besides my chest with my own arms. If I could just hold my heart in my hands, maybe I could feel consoled.
What happens when one life overwhelms the timeline of another?
When one must go on, unwillingly without the other?