I still can't get it out of my head, the thing I didn't mention in my earlier post about Central Park. By the time I sat down to write that post, I was so happy to have been there that I didn't want to spoil my mood by thinking about it. About what? Horse drawn carriages.
They were the first thing I saw when I got to Central Park. There were a dozen at least. My first reaction was (as always when I see an animal) a delighted: "Horses!" I want to go and stroke their long faces and feel their soft muzzles. The next instant I remember that the horse-drawn carriage trade is rife with cruelty. Here are fifteen reasons why: http://www.banhdc.org/archives/ch-fact-reasons-6-4-11.shtml
I won't repeat them here, but I hope you will check it out (and sign the petition at http://www.banhdc.org/petition.shtml). The thing for me is - I know the facts now. I could see the truth of them for myself as I watched the horses in Central Park. Almost every horse pulled its load with a stiffened gait, its hind legs strained. One horse limped. Only one horse seemed to have any spirit left. The others simply plodded along, looking defeated and downcast.
Years ago though, I didn't know anything about the horse carriage trade, and so I went on a horse-drawn carriage ride. It was my older daughter's thirteenth birthday. My husband and I had taken her, her sister, and her two best friends out for dinner in Denver and to see the holiday lights. Then we saw the carriages, and it seemed like taking a ride was a great idea. It was fine for us, sitting in the carriage all bundled up against the cold and frosty night air.
I hadn't given much thought back then to how the horse felt about pulling heavy carriages for hours and hours every day and night in all kinds of weather, yoked and laden, walking only on asphalt instead of running through grassy fields. Now I cannot help but think of how the horse feels, how any animal must feel, as we use them for our purposes instead of leaving them to their own purposes, their own lives.
Since that carriage ride 17 years ago, I learned about the horse carriage trade and the toll it takes on animals. Once you know a thing, you cannot not know it. You can only decide who you are and what you will or will not do in the face of what you know. Given what I know about the horse carriage trade, I did not ride in a horse-drawn carriage in Central Park; my days of riding in a horse-drawn carriage are done.
Friday, November 14, 2014
Tuesday, November 11, 2014
Renewal in Central Park
Another sunny day in NYC and by one p.m. I find myself alone again - at last! I headed straight for Central Park. I was so happy to be in a place unlined with buildings and not overrun with hustling, bustling crowds of people, many plugged into cell phones and IPods, not even looking at the scene through which they rush. In Central Park, even New Yorkers slow down and some even un-plug.
It took me awhile to tune out the noise of cars that penetrate the Park. None of the silence of the Rocky Mountains here; the busy-ness of city life and air traffic hums (sometimes blares) in the background of Central Park like the hums and "white noises" of our homes: refrigerators, dishwashers, washers and dryers, even the buzz of the DVR. (Electronics are never silent unless unplugged.) Still, the relative quiet was peace-inducing.
As the city noise subsides, so does the chatter in my head. It is then I begin to notice things one often otherwise misses: the female red cardinal flitting from tree to tree; an owl sitting as still as a statue on a high branch;. a blue jay darting past; ducks swimming in the scattered ponds. As I wander the Park, I come to a place with a sign that informs me that this area is one of the top birding spots in the United States. Who would have thought such a thing! Yet it makes sense - with so little habitat in the city, the birds and other wildlife (gray squirrels seem to abound) must congregate here, a green haven in the midst of the concrete jungle.
I lay down on the grass, where my whole body gets to reconnect with and ground into the Earth I so love. I feel the stress of the past couple of days drain out of my body, as the Earth and I begin to breathe in unison as the One Being we are. I look up into the tree canopy, which given the season is red and gold rather than green. The sunlight lights the leaves, and the slight breeze causes them to rustle. One can get mesmerized watching them.
Hours later I return to the hotel, refreshed, ready to be with the couple hundred people at the the conference my husband it attending. Ready to dance, and dance we did.
It took me awhile to tune out the noise of cars that penetrate the Park. None of the silence of the Rocky Mountains here; the busy-ness of city life and air traffic hums (sometimes blares) in the background of Central Park like the hums and "white noises" of our homes: refrigerators, dishwashers, washers and dryers, even the buzz of the DVR. (Electronics are never silent unless unplugged.) Still, the relative quiet was peace-inducing.
As the city noise subsides, so does the chatter in my head. It is then I begin to notice things one often otherwise misses: the female red cardinal flitting from tree to tree; an owl sitting as still as a statue on a high branch;. a blue jay darting past; ducks swimming in the scattered ponds. As I wander the Park, I come to a place with a sign that informs me that this area is one of the top birding spots in the United States. Who would have thought such a thing! Yet it makes sense - with so little habitat in the city, the birds and other wildlife (gray squirrels seem to abound) must congregate here, a green haven in the midst of the concrete jungle.
I lay down on the grass, where my whole body gets to reconnect with and ground into the Earth I so love. I feel the stress of the past couple of days drain out of my body, as the Earth and I begin to breathe in unison as the One Being we are. I look up into the tree canopy, which given the season is red and gold rather than green. The sunlight lights the leaves, and the slight breeze causes them to rustle. One can get mesmerized watching them.
Hours later I return to the hotel, refreshed, ready to be with the couple hundred people at the the conference my husband it attending. Ready to dance, and dance we did.
Sunday, November 9, 2014
An Evening in New York City and a Breath of Air
After posting yesterday's blog, my husband arrived at our hotel room. He is attending a conference here in NYC, hence our visit to this place so far out of my comfort zone that I might as well be on Mars. Last night was a Hudson River Dinner Cruise with the conference attendees.
We boarded a bus that would take us from the hotel to the embarkation dock. As we drove down the street, I noticed for the first time that - lo and behold! - there are actually some trees at the NYC Public Library! I had been so intent on finding a "park" (i.e., an expanse of grass, with large trees and maybe a winding dirt path through the trees on which I could walk and escape from the concrete, steel and occasional glass walls that line the city streets) that I had missed them! Of course, these trees seem dwarfed by the buildings around them, and they are slender unlike the massive trees I am most fond of hugging or sitting with my back snuggled against their trunks. Still, how could I have missed the them? It is amazing - in a sad way - how anxiety (and fear) can blind us even to the very thing for which we are looking. I wonder what might we see/discover about the world, each other and ourselves if we could drop the fear and anxiety? For me, Nature has always been the pathway in - in to my Self, in to the space of no fear, in to the space of connection to all that is.
(As my readers will discover, I easily digress, so back to the story.)
As the bus traveled slowly (apparently, speed limit aside, there is no other speed by which to travel in NYC) down the street, I noticed more trees here and there. Noticing them, I felt myself finally begin to relax and now I am on the look out for more. Perhaps 20 blocks from the hotel, there was, at last, a "real" park - green grass and trees and benches.. As we move further away from the city center the buildings get shorter and, occasionally, through a gap in the buildings, I see the still almost-full moon rising. A little more tension leaves my body.
At last we come to the port and get off the bus. There to my right is the river, a wide expanse of water separating me from the closest buildings on the other side. Although not the cleanest water perhaps, as the slight breeze across the river comes my way, I feel myself breathing long and deeply. I hadn't realized how little and shallowly I had been breathing from when I landed in the city 26 hours earlier. ( It was, of course, self-preservation - the exhaust and smoke to which I am unaccustomed assail my nostrils, scratch my throat and sting my eyes.) Here, by the open water without the walls of the buildings crowding in on me, I could breathe.
After that, the night was fun. Seeing the city skyline at night from the safe distance of the boat, I could marvel at the sight - the Statue of Liberty at Ellis Island, where my paternal grandparents entered the U.S. a century or more ago; the Empire State Building; and the lights of the city. Only once of twice did the thought enter my head how much prettier than all the city lights are the stars of the Milky Way as seen from high in the mountains where there is little or no light pollution (and yes, it is considered pollution, because - among other things - it obscures the stars and disrupts bird migration and affects the growth of crops and other plants). Then I had to remind myself to stay present, stop comparing (and judging) and enjoy the moment for what it was.
Music came on and there was dancing for the rest of the evening. Once music starts there is no stopping me. I don't care if my husband sits down or how many (or few) other people are dancing, I just dance for the joy of it. And I breathe.
We boarded a bus that would take us from the hotel to the embarkation dock. As we drove down the street, I noticed for the first time that - lo and behold! - there are actually some trees at the NYC Public Library! I had been so intent on finding a "park" (i.e., an expanse of grass, with large trees and maybe a winding dirt path through the trees on which I could walk and escape from the concrete, steel and occasional glass walls that line the city streets) that I had missed them! Of course, these trees seem dwarfed by the buildings around them, and they are slender unlike the massive trees I am most fond of hugging or sitting with my back snuggled against their trunks. Still, how could I have missed the them? It is amazing - in a sad way - how anxiety (and fear) can blind us even to the very thing for which we are looking. I wonder what might we see/discover about the world, each other and ourselves if we could drop the fear and anxiety? For me, Nature has always been the pathway in - in to my Self, in to the space of no fear, in to the space of connection to all that is.
(As my readers will discover, I easily digress, so back to the story.)
As the bus traveled slowly (apparently, speed limit aside, there is no other speed by which to travel in NYC) down the street, I noticed more trees here and there. Noticing them, I felt myself finally begin to relax and now I am on the look out for more. Perhaps 20 blocks from the hotel, there was, at last, a "real" park - green grass and trees and benches.. As we move further away from the city center the buildings get shorter and, occasionally, through a gap in the buildings, I see the still almost-full moon rising. A little more tension leaves my body.
At last we come to the port and get off the bus. There to my right is the river, a wide expanse of water separating me from the closest buildings on the other side. Although not the cleanest water perhaps, as the slight breeze across the river comes my way, I feel myself breathing long and deeply. I hadn't realized how little and shallowly I had been breathing from when I landed in the city 26 hours earlier. ( It was, of course, self-preservation - the exhaust and smoke to which I am unaccustomed assail my nostrils, scratch my throat and sting my eyes.) Here, by the open water without the walls of the buildings crowding in on me, I could breathe.
After that, the night was fun. Seeing the city skyline at night from the safe distance of the boat, I could marvel at the sight - the Statue of Liberty at Ellis Island, where my paternal grandparents entered the U.S. a century or more ago; the Empire State Building; and the lights of the city. Only once of twice did the thought enter my head how much prettier than all the city lights are the stars of the Milky Way as seen from high in the mountains where there is little or no light pollution (and yes, it is considered pollution, because - among other things - it obscures the stars and disrupts bird migration and affects the growth of crops and other plants). Then I had to remind myself to stay present, stop comparing (and judging) and enjoy the moment for what it was.
Music came on and there was dancing for the rest of the evening. Once music starts there is no stopping me. I don't care if my husband sits down or how many (or few) other people are dancing, I just dance for the joy of it. And I breathe.
Saturday, November 8, 2014
Nature Deficit Disorder - Alone in NYC
A friend of mine recently mentioned to me a book called "Nature Deficit Disorder" by Richard Louv, a child advocacy expert, who links many of the "problems" with children (and adults) today - ADD, ADHD, obesity and depression to our current disconnection/alienation from Nature. His is not the only book to address this, but the title speaks perfectly to me. I don't have to read the book (though I may), because I am acutely aware in my own body and by my own moods of this disorder.
I am on my own today in New York City. Some would jump at the chance to be here, but not I.
The problem is not that I am alone. When I was younger, I routinely flew or drove to places like Santa Fe, Taos, Sun Valley, obscure towns in Wyoming, Colorado and Utah, for work or work-related conferences (yes, I know, tough job, but someone has to do it!) where I would explore the area on my own for a few days after the job or conference was done. I even went to Seattle for a conference, then drove to Vancouver and took an Alaskan cruise by myself. My biggest solo adventure, though was fourteen years ago when, for our twentieth wedding anniversary, I flew to Italy and drove across Italy - all by myself - to meet my husband in a small town in the Dolomites, where he was completing a four day, 60 mile per day bicycle ride over the mountains. That, however, is another story.
The difference between NYC and all the other places I have ventured on my own is that the other places have an abundance of nature and, for the most part, clean, breathable air. NYC does not seem to have much of either (though another day I will try to find Central Park). What it does have is a lot of traffic with concomitant exhaust fumes, sidewalks crowded with people (some of whom smoke!), and tall buildings that stretch endlessly and that (from my experience in NYC a few years ago) block out any sun.
Yes, I know. NYC has a lot to offer - theater, some architecturally interesting buildings, museums and shopping. If it had occurred to me sooner, I might have been able to get theater tickets for today, but no such luck. I admire a lot of architecture - the feat of genius and talent that it can take to design, engineer and construct some buildings (especially cathedrals). The problem with architecture is that I have to walk (which I love to do) on crowded streets reeking of exhaust fumes (which I don't love). Besides, nothing man made is as beautiful or awe-inspiring to me as nature (or my daughters and granddaughter). Museums are tolerable to me for short periods of time and that assumes I actually like what is being exhibited. Shopping is something I only do out of necessity (like for groceries or if I have to get something to wear to an event or it is someone's birthday). Nonetheless, I am here and have to make the best of it.
Having arrived last evening to rain, traffic snarls and exhaust fumes, I was pleasantly surprised this morning to see some sun shining outside our 30th floor hotel room and wondered if any might possibly be reaching the ground. At noon I decided to go out, get something to eat and explore the city. That desire lasted less than two minutes after I was outside the hotel. There was the crowd of people again, the looming buildings, and the rank smell of automobile exhaust and tobacco smoke. I ducked into a building to get some air that I could inhale and to quell the already arising anxiety.
The building turned out to be Grand Central Station. This is one of those places tourists visit, because it is old and quite elaborate and has some lovely architecture, as well as shops and places to eat. I wandered a bit inside and then found a place in the food court to get a salad and fruit smoothie (those of you who know me understand that this was perfect for me). Finished eating, I told myself to suck it up and get back out there!
I wondered two more blocks and saw a sign for a park (yeah!), the location of which was not obvious. So I went into the not-tall but old and quite elegant building to inquire about the park. Besides walking the two blocks had left me anxious again. The building turned out to be the NY Public Library, another tourist hot spot, so I decided I to investigate in the hope that I could conquer the anxiety.
The library is a very impressive building - lots of marble and winding staircases. I was confused by the fact that there didn't seem to be a book in sight - just a few rooms with people on computers. In my search for books I discovered a small art collection of some lithographs. Fortunately, the lithographs were of scenes from the West - Yellowstone National Park and the Rocky Mountains of Colorado, Wyoming and Utah. The relief I felt just looking at those lithographs! I then explored a bit longer, finally found the "book room" but by then I just wanted to find the park.
Having been told that the park was just on the other side of the Library, I made a bee line for it. Now, I knew this park was not going to be anything like Rocky Mountain National Park, but I thought there would be a lawn where I could lie down and feel the Earth or at least a tree I could hug to settle me down. No such luck. There were a few rows of flowers and then stalls of food and trinkets and photographs. The lawn had been converted to an ice rink, which I understand makes some sense in a place where it gets and stays cold enough in the winter to ice skate, but it did me no good..
So here I am back at the hotel, writing this You see - and to get back to the point of this - I feel the nature deficit in a city like New York. At home I can walk on open space with my dogs, dig (or lie down) in my garden, hike in the mountains, feel the Earth beneath my (often bare) feet, hear the birds and prairie dogs and coyotes out back of our house, breathe the clean air. In the mountains there is the scent of pine and the deep woodsy smell of soil and humus, none of which can be replicated by candles or perfumes (which generally evoke a gag response from me). At home I am not hemmed in by towering buildings or jostled by crowds. At home I can see for miles and, even if my view is obscured by a building here or there, I can always look to the west and see the Rockies.
I need that - my connection to Nature, to what is wild and free and spacious. When I am in those places, then my whole body feels wild and free and spacious. In the city, though, especially a city like NYC, I feel as though I am compressed, squeezed, pressed down - hence the anxiety. It is indeed a nature deficit disorder. The good news is, it is curable - I will be home again soon, and in the meantime, I will have to get to Central Park. I hear there are trees and grass (the kind on which to lie down) there.
I am on my own today in New York City. Some would jump at the chance to be here, but not I.
The problem is not that I am alone. When I was younger, I routinely flew or drove to places like Santa Fe, Taos, Sun Valley, obscure towns in Wyoming, Colorado and Utah, for work or work-related conferences (yes, I know, tough job, but someone has to do it!) where I would explore the area on my own for a few days after the job or conference was done. I even went to Seattle for a conference, then drove to Vancouver and took an Alaskan cruise by myself. My biggest solo adventure, though was fourteen years ago when, for our twentieth wedding anniversary, I flew to Italy and drove across Italy - all by myself - to meet my husband in a small town in the Dolomites, where he was completing a four day, 60 mile per day bicycle ride over the mountains. That, however, is another story.
The difference between NYC and all the other places I have ventured on my own is that the other places have an abundance of nature and, for the most part, clean, breathable air. NYC does not seem to have much of either (though another day I will try to find Central Park). What it does have is a lot of traffic with concomitant exhaust fumes, sidewalks crowded with people (some of whom smoke!), and tall buildings that stretch endlessly and that (from my experience in NYC a few years ago) block out any sun.
Yes, I know. NYC has a lot to offer - theater, some architecturally interesting buildings, museums and shopping. If it had occurred to me sooner, I might have been able to get theater tickets for today, but no such luck. I admire a lot of architecture - the feat of genius and talent that it can take to design, engineer and construct some buildings (especially cathedrals). The problem with architecture is that I have to walk (which I love to do) on crowded streets reeking of exhaust fumes (which I don't love). Besides, nothing man made is as beautiful or awe-inspiring to me as nature (or my daughters and granddaughter). Museums are tolerable to me for short periods of time and that assumes I actually like what is being exhibited. Shopping is something I only do out of necessity (like for groceries or if I have to get something to wear to an event or it is someone's birthday). Nonetheless, I am here and have to make the best of it.
Having arrived last evening to rain, traffic snarls and exhaust fumes, I was pleasantly surprised this morning to see some sun shining outside our 30th floor hotel room and wondered if any might possibly be reaching the ground. At noon I decided to go out, get something to eat and explore the city. That desire lasted less than two minutes after I was outside the hotel. There was the crowd of people again, the looming buildings, and the rank smell of automobile exhaust and tobacco smoke. I ducked into a building to get some air that I could inhale and to quell the already arising anxiety.
The building turned out to be Grand Central Station. This is one of those places tourists visit, because it is old and quite elaborate and has some lovely architecture, as well as shops and places to eat. I wandered a bit inside and then found a place in the food court to get a salad and fruit smoothie (those of you who know me understand that this was perfect for me). Finished eating, I told myself to suck it up and get back out there!
I wondered two more blocks and saw a sign for a park (yeah!), the location of which was not obvious. So I went into the not-tall but old and quite elegant building to inquire about the park. Besides walking the two blocks had left me anxious again. The building turned out to be the NY Public Library, another tourist hot spot, so I decided I to investigate in the hope that I could conquer the anxiety.
The library is a very impressive building - lots of marble and winding staircases. I was confused by the fact that there didn't seem to be a book in sight - just a few rooms with people on computers. In my search for books I discovered a small art collection of some lithographs. Fortunately, the lithographs were of scenes from the West - Yellowstone National Park and the Rocky Mountains of Colorado, Wyoming and Utah. The relief I felt just looking at those lithographs! I then explored a bit longer, finally found the "book room" but by then I just wanted to find the park.
Having been told that the park was just on the other side of the Library, I made a bee line for it. Now, I knew this park was not going to be anything like Rocky Mountain National Park, but I thought there would be a lawn where I could lie down and feel the Earth or at least a tree I could hug to settle me down. No such luck. There were a few rows of flowers and then stalls of food and trinkets and photographs. The lawn had been converted to an ice rink, which I understand makes some sense in a place where it gets and stays cold enough in the winter to ice skate, but it did me no good..
So here I am back at the hotel, writing this You see - and to get back to the point of this - I feel the nature deficit in a city like New York. At home I can walk on open space with my dogs, dig (or lie down) in my garden, hike in the mountains, feel the Earth beneath my (often bare) feet, hear the birds and prairie dogs and coyotes out back of our house, breathe the clean air. In the mountains there is the scent of pine and the deep woodsy smell of soil and humus, none of which can be replicated by candles or perfumes (which generally evoke a gag response from me). At home I am not hemmed in by towering buildings or jostled by crowds. At home I can see for miles and, even if my view is obscured by a building here or there, I can always look to the west and see the Rockies.
I need that - my connection to Nature, to what is wild and free and spacious. When I am in those places, then my whole body feels wild and free and spacious. In the city, though, especially a city like NYC, I feel as though I am compressed, squeezed, pressed down - hence the anxiety. It is indeed a nature deficit disorder. The good news is, it is curable - I will be home again soon, and in the meantime, I will have to get to Central Park. I hear there are trees and grass (the kind on which to lie down) there.
Thursday, November 6, 2014
Revolution of Love - Are you In?
The Wayseers posted a new video, We Are the Future: The Revolution of Love:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XaykbM3WFVI
The video gave me chills and goose bumps - a sure sign for me that there is energy, power and truth here.
I am ready for a revolution of love - I have been for years, since the late sixties/early seventies. Some of you are old enough to remember John Lennon's song Imagine: "Some may say I'm a dreamer, but I'm not the only one. I hope some day/you'll join me/and the world will live as One."
I am a dreamer - dreaming is how the world we desire to experience comes into existence. I have been dreaming for 40 years of a world of love and unity, in which all beings - human and animal, plants and rocks, Earth and sea and sky - live in peace and harmony; a world of joy and laughter, well-being and prosperity for all. I have been dreaming of a time, when we all know, not just intellectually, but in our very core that we are all One, interconnected, interdependent. Where we all know that the Oneness we are excludes no one and no thing - not people of different races, creeds, sex or sexual persuasion; not animals, plants, the Earth or Nature.
I choose to see the Wayseers video as evidence that my dream is starting to materialize - move from the realm of the unmanifest to the manifest. It is a wake up call and an invitation. Will you join the Revolution of Love? I hope today - not just some day in the future - you and all who read this blog or see the video will join me and the Wayseers.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XaykbM3WFVI
The video gave me chills and goose bumps - a sure sign for me that there is energy, power and truth here.
I am ready for a revolution of love - I have been for years, since the late sixties/early seventies. Some of you are old enough to remember John Lennon's song Imagine: "Some may say I'm a dreamer, but I'm not the only one. I hope some day/you'll join me/and the world will live as One."
I am a dreamer - dreaming is how the world we desire to experience comes into existence. I have been dreaming for 40 years of a world of love and unity, in which all beings - human and animal, plants and rocks, Earth and sea and sky - live in peace and harmony; a world of joy and laughter, well-being and prosperity for all. I have been dreaming of a time, when we all know, not just intellectually, but in our very core that we are all One, interconnected, interdependent. Where we all know that the Oneness we are excludes no one and no thing - not people of different races, creeds, sex or sexual persuasion; not animals, plants, the Earth or Nature.
I choose to see the Wayseers video as evidence that my dream is starting to materialize - move from the realm of the unmanifest to the manifest. It is a wake up call and an invitation. Will you join the Revolution of Love? I hope today - not just some day in the future - you and all who read this blog or see the video will join me and the Wayseers.
Wednesday, November 5, 2014
Animal Experiments - Science or Sadism?
I decided to start this blog because I have a strong bond with animals and have been a voice for them in the past as a public speaker, an animal communicator and a persistent letter writer on their behalf to legislators. I desire to do more for them, because they have done so much for and meant so much to me my whole life. Some of my most formative experiences are those with animals. I will blog more about those in later posts. For now, I would like to share with you the letter (copied below) that I recently wrote
to Francis Collins, director of NIH (National Institute of Health), which funds experiments on animals.
The letter to Mr. Collins was prompted by an article I read in PETA magazine about experiments being conducted on baby monkeys. There is a petition online at http://investigations.peta.org/nih-baby-monkey-experiments/, and I signed that, but I know from past experience with Congress that petition signatures only go so far. What moves and motivates Congressmen and Congresswomen are personal letters from their constituents. I thought the same would be true of the NIH. Besides, I had a lot more to say to Mr. Collins about the baby monkey experiments and other experiments that are funded by NIH. So I share it here with you, the reader.
to Francis Collins, director of NIH (National Institute of Health), which funds experiments on animals.
The letter to Mr. Collins was prompted by an article I read in PETA magazine about experiments being conducted on baby monkeys. There is a petition online at http://investigations.peta.org/nih-baby-monkey-experiments/, and I signed that, but I know from past experience with Congress that petition signatures only go so far. What moves and motivates Congressmen and Congresswomen are personal letters from their constituents. I thought the same would be true of the NIH. Besides, I had a lot more to say to Mr. Collins about the baby monkey experiments and other experiments that are funded by NIH. So I share it here with you, the reader.
Dear Mr. Collins:
I have been reading about the experiments done on baby monkeys at a National Institute of Health Laboratory. The monkeys are intentionally being bred to be genetically predisposed to mental illness and then are subjected to tremendous stresses. This is not science; this is sadism, and it must be stopped. Were I or any other non-scientist to treat an animal in the fashion in which the so-called scientists (sadists) conducting this experiment (and just about every other experiment involving animals), I or such other would (rightly) be convicted of felony animal abuse in most states.
There is absolutely no justification for these experiments. The only thing we learn about humans from these experiments is what we already know - we are capable of incredible cruelty and of turning a blind eye and a deaf ear to the suffering of others.
What we discover from these experiments is that it is the so-called scientists who conduct them who are spiritually ill and morally bankrupt. They have lost their consciences and sold their souls (if they even believe in them). It is well-established that those who abuse animals often abuse people and tend to be violent. NIH should not be funding experiments that enable and promote animal abuse.
Funding these kinds of experiments allows sadists to torture and abuse animals without consequence to the perpetrator. Bright-eyed young scientists who get involved with animal experiments learn to shut down what is humane in themselves or they quit. Those who approve and fund these experiments are complicit in this cruelty. As the director of NIH, you are complicit.
I ask - no, I demand and command - that you cease your complicity and end these and all other animal experiments that inflict pain or suffering on any animal. For legitimate research, there are many non-animal tests now available, tests that are far more reliable than tests run on animals.
Mohandes Gandhi said: "The greatness of a nation and its moral progress can be judged by the way in which its animals are treated. I hold that the more helpless a creature, the more entitled it is to protection by man from the cruelty of man." Not only the nation and its moral progress but the greatness and the moral progress of an individual can be so judged. Every captive animal is rendered essentially helpless by its captivity. We have stolen their freedom and their right to live a natural life. At a minimum, they deserve our mercy, our compassion and our protection.
Show your greatness and put an end to these experiments. Thank you.
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