The Art of Racing in the Rain

by Garth (Fido) Stein -- October 2010

“Reverend Cleo, my leader,” “I am on my knees before you!”
“Please rise, Chessie, oh sagacious one.” “You are near the end of your fifth felid ascension, and a counselor whose advice I value.”
“Thank you reverend Cleo.” “You are still new to your ninth ascension, but in your maturity, you shall be the wisest felid in the land.” “What knowledge might I be able to impart to you today?”
“Well, it’s that stupid canid living in the field next to us.” “He’s a part of that nutty cult that has an upside-down, sort of helio-centric, view of the world.” “Those canids went off the evolutionary path thousands upon thousands of lives ago.” “Their souls have atrophied; and rather than developing naturally into revered, higher quality beings like we have, they have regressed into unclean, guilt-ridden canids with no control over their passions.” “They’re really disgusting.” Cleo was becoming excited with this oration.
“Please, my reverend Cleo the ninth,” Chessie again bowed low, “We really can’t do much about those creatures.” “All would agree that the canids have dropped several tiers on the evolutionary tableaux.” “But we have spent scores of thousands of lives evolving the primates into perfect servers.” “Unfortunately, during this same period, the canids have developed a horrid, symbiotic relationship with the primates, and we’re now stuck with the both of them, like fleas.”
The Reverend Cleo smiled and calmed down. “Yes, Chessie, each allows the other to expiate their guilt.” “What a strange thing that guilt is … .. I’m glad we’ve never developed any.” “No, the thing that was bothering me was this rare sense that sometimes seems to develop between the lower species.” “Every now and then, out of the billions, upon billions of pairings, somehow ideas get transferred from one to another, a canid to a primate in this case, and the primates spread the story with their primitive communication tools.” “Maybe one or the other of them, or both, has a flashback to a previous descension; a sort of genomic memory. The primate Jung had a vision of this.” “Or maybe it’s just an errant gene. I’ve heard that every now and then, there’s a positive mutation, and a canid ascends to a felid (!) at only the first level of course.” “The comedy in all this is that this particular canid seems to understand the concept of ascension, but wants to descend backwards to a primate level; and of course, primates don’t believe in progressive lives.”
“OK, mother Cleo,” “I understand your concern now.” “Yes, this does come up every half-life or so.” “We’ve been able to successfully contain any true belief in these stories by making sure the primates laugh at them as children’s stories.” “It actually helps to have the canid espousing some form of primate worship.” “This works like a charm – every time. The primates think these stories are cute.” “No primate has any idea of the true nature of things.” “They’re so self-centered, that they still believe their world, their Gods, their whole universe is centered around them.” “They don’t want to believe anything else.” “Even if there were hints, like Jung fantasized about, they don’t believe in past life memories.” “They cut themselves off from the real world long ago.” “They are very happy, though, with their guilty canids.” “And we love them, just as they are – happy servers.”