The Bold She-Blackbird. A fable

The Bold She-Blackbird. A fable

Once upon a space, there was a blackbird. Having only brown and black relatives, they perceived her as inferior—she had been born with a whitish-brown plumage. Her mother used to overprotect her, thinking: This poor thing won’t survive a single day without us. Compared with this, her father wondered whether he might be a cuckold.

After all of her siblings had left their home in order to reproduce, our whitish-brown one boldly declared in front of her parents: I’m going to see the world!

Her father sighed, yet her mother said: No way! So she was forced to leave without their permission.

In the beginning, everything seemed pretty easy: She knew how to fly, and nature proofed to be lush enough to offer several meals per day. Things changed when a hawk began to stalk her zealously. She tried her best in order to escape him, yet he was not one of those slow-food disciples. Eventually, she confronted him boldly: What the heck do you even want from me?!

He hence presented his dumbest visage, saying: Hello cutie! Nice to eat you!

She felt quite a bit offended and responded: Have you ever eaten someone like me?!

Nope!, he replied without changing his grimace.

So what makes you believe that I’m edible then?!

Dunno! I’d say let’s give it a try!

Wanna know what my mom used to say? No way! Now get out of mine!

He was impressed quite a bit, and since she looked good enough to eat he had another idea: Look cutie, why don’t you accompany me for a while? Perhaps, by knowing me better you’ll learn to appreciate my beak.

Considering her options she was thinking: He doesn’t seem to let me vanish easily, and even if he does there will be more guys like him bothering me. Let’s see whether he’s willing to accept my terms … Here’s the deal—number one, don’t ever touch me! Number two, don’t eat birds! Number three, don’t ever touch me! Got it?

Whats number one again? Alright, alright! I can see it in your eyes you don’t find it funny.

Upon this special agreement, they joined forces. His territory proofed to be quite big, and whenever he was heading for a feathered prey she reminded him of his promise. Yet the day came when she had seen everything there was to see, and she realized that she was bound to her promise, too.

The way she eventually got rid of him might sound a bit unlikely, but I am going to recount it nevertheless. As a matter of fact, he soon fell in love with a hawkess who made him choose between her and his ‘feeble friend’. When he intended to eat the latter his fiancée made a fuss: Are you kidding me? You’re not going to enjoy her under my very nib, are you? Is this how you imagine an emancipated partnership based on affection and mutual consent?

He felt quite a bit ashamed, and while he tried to beg his aggrieved beloved for pardon our confident blackbird managed to escape. Of course, her next encounter was merely a matter of time.

She was just swallowing an earthworm when she suddenly felt some teeth around her tail.

Give it back!, demanded a muttering voice.

Excuse me?, replied the blackbird, incapable of turning around.

Whatever you are, give that worm back!

Who the heck is talking to me?!, the trapped one desired to know.

The mistress of the situation!

What if I don’t?, our blackbird boldly bargained.

Then you’ll end up as a fox’s prey!

She gagged the earthworm out. The vixen released the tail in order to eat the dizzy creature. Upon licking her jaws she noted: You’ve got a refined taste!

The blackbird was astonished quite a bit. Well, thank you!, she responded. You’ve got a, uh, nice tail.

You like it?, asked the vixen with a proud visage. I’d like to hire you as my personal hygiene assistant. It’ll be your responsibility to keep my entire fur free of parasites. As a reward you may dwell in my brush, and I might even spare a worm for you once in a while. Deal?

Our plumed heroine was pondering: Is it normal for a fox to be this crazy? Anyway, as long as I live in her tail nobody ever harms me for sure. Deal!, she thus answered.

It turned out to be a decent symbiosis: The vixen was content with her shiny fur, and our blackbird was able to discover new places without being bothered by anyone. Besides, the brush proofed to be the most comfortable and secure nest ever. Their mutual tranquility lasted until the mating season. The vixen was in heat, and the male foxes could not ignore her—which meant the ‘hygiene assistant’ was not safe in her tail any longer. Make sure to return as soon as this revelry is over!, the host reminded the blackbird, bidding farewell to her.

The latter was so concerned about ending up as a fox’s prey that she flew away fast, namely till the point of exhaustion. Halting on a clearing she tried to calm her breathing. When she looked up she was surrounded by a pack of wolves. Whom do we have here?, asked the alpha female, pressing a paw on the blackbird’s tail.

Looks like a weirdo!, exclaimed a male wolf youngster, and his peers cheered.

Silence!, the matriarch growled. If you haven’t lost your voice tell us what you are!

A blackbird!, replied our whitish-brown one. The youngsters cheered again.

It’s less the appearance than the song which makes a blackbird!, an older she-wolf declared.

Are you capable of singing?, the alpha female asked, and everyone was still.

Had she ever sung before? It seemed so natural, and yet she could not remember. She bowed her head in shame.

Well?, said the leading she-wolf impatiently. It’s Blackbird’s choice—it’s sing or slip. She opened her mouth in order to visualize what she meant.

Just when our humbled heroine sensed the stench of doom she started singing. All of a sudden, dozens of black birds with yellow eye-rings and bills showed up on every shrub and responded to her bewitching chant.

Joining the aspies. A coming out

According to my mom, I was a very joyful infant and toddler. When anyone was glancing into my buggy (s)he was rewarded with a laughing face. When I was tumbling I simply stood up and continued smiling. When my family was sitting in a restaurant I left my chair in order to greet the other guests. When we were in a city my father kept me on a leash to prevent me from running before a (street)car.

Over the years my personality changed: I turned more & more into a timid and highly sensitive individual. I experienced neurodermatitis, chronic bronchitis, and bronchial asthma. I used to stare a lot: those moments were pure bliss (until any adult stopped me from ‘daydreaming’). At age 15, I was socially phobic. After being threatened by several bullies I barely dared to leave the house. One year later, I went to another high school where my phobia slowly got better.

At 19, incapable to bear my parents’ daily conflict any longer, I not only left our home but moved 670 kilometers southwards in order to become an academic. Six years later, I journeyed 1,570 kilometers southwestwards in order to move on from conformism. After 39 months in six provinces of a foreign country, I journeyed 1,910 kilometers northeastwards in order to learn a fifth language. At age 30, I journeyed 1,340 kilometers northwards in order to pay my family & friends a visit. Prior to my birthday, I journeyed 2,340 kilometers southeastwards in order to experience the ‘orient’. Five moons later, I journeyed 1,840 kilometers northwestwards in order to improve my fifth language. I could go on like that for a while, yet I can see that you are bored already.

Do obsessions indicate whether somebody is autistic? Not necessarily. But I make you believe that almost everyone can pretend to be—’normal’.

GeoCam 2016_03_23_16_46

Enter society

Our home as well as its surroundings, the material things as well as the ideal things are determined by the culture we were born into. In order to solve any problem we have to consider the available tools on the one hand and the cultural norms, taboos, and values on the other hand. Usually, this happens subconsciously of course. But in certain moments, for instance in a dilemma situation, we become aware of it.

Each kind of society reduces the amount of possibilities of how we can respond to any action or information not only owing to the social norms but also due to the possible consequences we are afraid of. This makes us predictable; every unpredictable individual is a dangerous menace in the authorities’ eyes. In ancient times, predators were either killed or domesticated. The same happened to non-conforming people: they were either sentenced to death or somehow forced to obey. The decision on who was dangerous always laid in the hands of the men in power—whose only fear was losing that power. And that fear can easily transform into its extreme, paranoia. A paranoid person is insane because (s)he suspects every stranger to be evil. Most deeds and statements of such a person are irrational and likewise arbitrary. The ‘Cold War’, ‘Axis of Evil’, ‘Global War On Terrorism’ anyone?

Yet not only any U. S. administration since Kennedy but every single government with rising excessive military spending proves its paranoia—while convincing the citizens of rational reasons.

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Enter neurodiversity

From a neurobiological point of view, an individual belongs either to the ‘neurotypical’ majority or to the ‘neurominorities’. Prior to the 1990s, any kind of autistic behavior was generally considered as pathological. If your manners constantly scandalized, you got a disability label before you could even protest. For about two decades, the neurodiversity movement’s “advocates promote support systems (such as inclusion-focused services, accommodations, communication and assistive technologies, occupational training, and independent living support) that allow those who are neurodivergent to live their lives as they are, rather than being coerced or forced to adopt uncritically accepted ideas of normality, or to conform to a clinical ideal” [source].

So what makes me ‘neurodiverse’ and ‘neurodivergent’, respectively?

When something fascinates me I tend to ignore everything around me. Others have noticed that I solve problems in an uncommon way. As a child I preferred to assemble/disassemble or examine objects on my own. I frequently need retreating. I have been keenly collecting and internalizing facts and data about my special interests. I recognize iterative patterns. When others make a mistake (e. g. concerning facts, figures, orthography, grammar) I feel the urge to correct them (AND I appreciate to be corrected!). I continually work on my special talent.

I find it very difficult to remember several instructions that were uttered at the same time. I remember things I have done myself more easily. When I get interrupted I cannot return immediately to my previous activity. I have a hard time learning something which does not interest me. I am not really capable to make notes during a lecture. I get distracted easily. I cannot do two or more things at the same time.

It is very important to me not to get disturbed when I am busy with my special interests. Before I do something or go somewhere I must prepare myself mentally. I tend to wear the same clothes several days in a row. I get frustrated when I am forced to stop an activity which is of importance to me. I am not attached to ‘favorite objects’. I need my routines. I find it annoying when someone is not punctual. I need lists and notes in order to do things.

I hardly ever have the feeling to talk the same language as others. I do not consider team sports fun. I do not share my age group’s typical views. I do not fit into the stereotypes that are expected of males. I am not interested in fashion trends. I do not like gossip.

I can relate more easily to extraordinary or different people than to ‘normal’ ones. My sense of humor is rather uncommon (I can be amused while everyone else is as solemn as a judge). My eating habits are considered odd. I tend to daydream and to be absorbed in thought. I find it difficult starting or completing a project. I have an authority issue. Sometimes I cannot sleep because there is too much to think about.

I prefer to avoid personal conversation with people I do not know well. After convivial gatherings I feel exhausted and need to relax alone. Others perceive me as impersonal. I have a hard time being close to someone on an emotional level. I find it unpleasant to get touched or hugged spontaneously if I did not ask for it. I cannot relax easily in romantic situations. I am unable to cope with unexpected visitors. I cannot stand it being watched during work.

My mind automatically repeats recently heard melodies and rhythms again and again. I cover my ears, or pace up and down, when I am contemplating, stressed, or anxious. I like to toy with items. I often behold the people I like; I try to ignore all others. I bite my tongue when I am nervous. I talk to myself. Others are stunned by the way I express my feelings. I was told I had smiled without any reason. During a conversation I concentrate on my own thoughts rather than on the other’s ones. I rarely know when I am expected to apologize. I am so sincere and honest that I expect everybody else to be the same.

Occasionally, I mix up a noise with a voice. I like to watch rotating or blinking items. Slowly flowing water fascinates me. Sometimes I want to jump over items or obstacles. I like to tiptoe.

I find it easy to fill in forms. I do not recognize a phone number if it was not said in my preferred way. I immediately realize the time on an analogue clock.

I get distracted by sudden noises in the distance. When talking to someone I find it difficult sifting out the background sound. It bothers me when somebody is walking behind me. I am oversensitive to physical pain, to noise, and to changes of humidity or air pressure. It bothers me when someone stamps his foot. I become frightened instinctively by the sound of a motorbike.

I cannot easily coordinate and imitate motion sequences. I underestimate the bygone time whenever I am busy with something interesting. To estimate distances, heights, depths, or speed is a tough task. My fine motor skills are precise. Orientation at places unknown to me is only feasible with a map. To recognize faces is easy.

When I am stressed or overwhelmed I feel like relaxing or flipping out. I got exploited more than once. My frustration tolerance is low.

2016-03-30

 

Exit

As you might have recognized the above statements are answers to a questionnaire. My result reads as follows:

Your neurodiverse (Aspie) score: 138 of 200
Your neurotypical (non-autistic) score: 84 of 200
You are very likely neurodiverse (Aspie)

In the detailed score, they tell me that there might be the possibility of intellectual giftedness, ADHD, obsessive-compulsive disorder, social phobia, and a nuanced perception. Fancy!

You consider it alarming—I do not mind. You find it ridiculous—I do not mind. Simply because I do not care about labels of any kind. Yet I do care a lot about handicapped and discriminated human beings.

Dragonfly wisdom

Dragonfly wisdom

Observing most amazing flies
I’m sitting by a pool of dragons
(Not far away from vans & wagons),
Enchanted beings in disguise!

We are neither flies nor dragons,
Just to be is all we seek;
Fitting into man-made flagons
Does not mean that we are weak!

Your very force is obvious:
Although you couldn’t cross an ocean
The wings do set you fast in motion,
You fly without all clumsiness!

Yet, who wants to cross the ocean?
Our home is all sublime!
Tell us more about that notion
Fellow with the blissful beam!

I have been knowing charming folk
Who live beyond the tides of water;
I wished the distance would be shorter
To calm the yearning that they woke.

Even those behind the water
We can sense most animate:
There a mother, here a daughter,
This perception is innate.

In fact, my heart can see them too
Regardless of the situation;
I’m always changing my location
To make another wish come true.

Yet, thy current situation
Seems to be out-of-the-way:
Vivid is thy hearts vibration,
Fateful is the female sway.

An angel touched me with her wings:
I felt my sorrows quickly lightened,
My tired eyes were truly brightened;
The being, though, remains a sphinx.

So the soul became enlightened;
Questions bother, yet, the mind.
Do not let the heart be frightened:
Fearful thinking maketh thee blind!

But how to calm the restless mind?
And what to do against the thinking?
Aurora wakes me, I am blinking:
The brain mill, then, begins to grind.

Simply sense thy mere existence,
Peace is what thou ought to find.
And let go thy strong resistance —
Just give in to whom thou pined!

NOT SUITABLE FOR FOLKS UNDER 26

Lord of the Rings, Batman, Spiderman, StarWars, Harry Potter. Why are these (graphic) novels and movies, respectively, so extremely popular among young people? Because they tell stories about heroes. Generally, growing-up isn’t easy: it’s a prolonged phase of boredom and obedience. Teachers force their pupils to learn uninteresting stuff by giving marks and parents expect their children to be good or even superb at school. Boys and girls feel inferior because their life is controlled by adult persons who are stronger, smarter, and wiser. But then there is the hero: a male, more rarely a female, character that is able to deal with every challenge. He or she has got that capability due to any sort of special powers (e.g. invulnerability, magic, thought-control, the ability to fly, immense strength, energy ray) or thanks to powerful items (e.g. weapons, magic wands, magical artifacts, potions). The hero is always confronted with problems—normally, (s)he has to fight evil. Identification with such a character is easy because the perception of young people usually is black and white: I am the good one, only the others can be bad! Everything the young person desires is a feeling of superiority. Of course, it’s a pseudo-superiority. That’s why those hero-tales don’t really satisfy an individual’s need for inner happiness.

But what about being a hero oneself? Probably more satisfying, difficult to realize though. Or is it? Doesn’t that depend on the definition of “hero”? If you want to become a popular celebrity, well, good luck then! But if you like noble-minded entities, this blog might be of interest to you—namely beyond ideologies.

Minor legend

Minor legend

At a time still unimagined
Everything becomes a legend.
Listen to this poet’s song;
If he errs, well, proof him wrong!

  1. There was a maiden from the water:
    A land surveyor’s charming daughter;
    Though being heaven’s sweetest gift
    Her family soon got a rift.
    The wife became extremely jealous,
    The brothers’ envy nearly zealous.
    The more the father used to praise
    The worse the others’ wicked gaze!
    Their jealousy evoked aggression,
    And violence was its expression!
    So by the time she knew to fly
    She was too timid and too shy.
    Although she never was complaining
    She suffered due to envy’s draining.
    Despite her father’s constant love
    She hence became a wounded dove.

  2. There was a boy who climbed the trees;
    His teaching father kept some bees,
    And only loved his wife, his daughter,
    And any drink except for water.
    Apparently a walking wall,
    The mother did not love at all.
    Her husband’s love was utmost zealous,
    She had no reason to be jealous.
    Not being fond of anyone,
    She never hugged her first-born son
    Nor ever showed a warm expression;
    So what she sowed was just aggression.
    The boyish gazes were like hurls,
    He broke the hearts of many girls.
    His need for love became that draining,
    His parents never stopped complaining.

  3. He was a father of two daughters,
    That wounded dove turned twenty-eight;
    To be at once each other’s mate
    She left for him the homeland waters.
    And though she proved to be most zealous
    To love and care for everyone,
    The tragedy had just begun:
    His youngest daughter being jealous.
    His mother merely showed aggression,
    As if she once had been abused;
    His father seemed to be amused,
    Encouragement was his expression.
    Despite the mom-in-law’s complaining,
    Despite the daughter’s jealousy,
    Despite her own anxiety
    She sought the amniotic draining!

Das Philanthropenschwein. Eine Fabel

Das Philanthropenschwein. Eine Fabel

Einem Freilandschwein war es daheim einst unerträglich geworden: Ein Jeder fraß nur und soff und schimpfte über „die da oben“, also über die Bauern in dem Falle. „Können wir nicht dankbar sein“, erdreistete es sich einmal in die Runde zu fragen, „täglich vom Menschen mit Speis und Trank versorgt zu werden?“ Die Artgenossen glaubten sich verhört zu haben und hielten unisono vor den Fresströgen inne. Plötzlich ergriff einer der Verwandten das Wort: „Einen Dreck! Dankbar sein für diese Krümel? Du hast ja wohl den A- offen!“ Anschließend widmete er sich wieder rülpsend den opulenten Krümeln und auch die anderen hatten sich von dem Schreck erholt.

Das Philanthropenschwein beschloss daher, in die Welt hinaus zu ziehen, um – na sagen wir mal seinen Horizont zu erweitern, und wollte weder rasten noch ruhen, bis es ein Tier finden würde, das dem Menschen nicht grollte. Bald schon vernahm es ein Piepsen, das zuerst behauptete, ein gescheckter Harzbiber zu sein, sich im weiteren Verlauf seines Vortrags mit Gott und der Welt identifizierte, sich beim Näherkommen jedoch als die Stimme einer Wühlmaus entpuppte.

Das Philanthropenschwein hörte fasziniert zu und guckte dabei wie ein Schwein ins Uhrwerk – Unsinn! sagen wir besser: – wie ein Mensch aufs Fernsehen. Erst als ein Fuchs nach der Wühlmaus schnappte, kam es wieder zu sich. „Lieber Rotschwanz!“, sprach es ihn an, „Auf ein Wort!“ Selbiger hatte das Philanthropenschwein nicht bemerkt und erschrak daher so sehr, dass ihm die Wühlmaus aus dem Maul sprang. Er knirschte mit den Zähnen, wie er sie entwischen sah, setzte aber sogleich eine Maske der Höflichkeit auf:
„Gott zum Gruß, liebes Schweinchen! Womit kann ich dir helfen?“
„So sagt mir doch, was ihr vom Menschen haltet.“ Der Befragte verzog das Gesicht und antwortete:
„Ja was soll unsereiner schon halten von diesen hinterlistigen Fallenstellern! Das ist der Abschaum der beseelten Welt! Wo soll ich da anfangen? Nichts als Zwietracht und Falschheit haben sie im Sinn. Selbst wenn sie freundlich tun, schmieden sie im Geheimen düstere Pläne! Eine ernsthafte Bedrohung allen Lebens stellen sie dar! Ausradieren müsste man sie, ihnen den Garaus machen, dann würde endlich Frieden herrschen …“ Er hatte sich so in Rage geredet, dass er nicht einmal merkte, wie das Philanthropenschwein seinen Weg fortsetzte.

Das nächste Tier, das ihm begegnete, war eine zeternde Ziege. „Liebes Zicklein,“ unterbrach es ihr Gemecker, „weißt du etwas Positives vom Menschen zu sagen?“
„Von diesen stets unzufriedenen und nörgelnden Zeitgenossen, denen man nie etwas recht machen kann, die an allem immer etwas auszusetzen haben?“ Und so verließ sie das Philanthropenschwein.
Es dauerte nicht lange, da sah es einen Esel in der Gegend herumstehen. „Lieber Grauer,“ fragte es ihn, „habt ihr ein gutes Wörtchen für den Menschen übrig?“
„Für diese faulen Säcke? Lass mich kurz überlegen … nein!“
Nicht weit davon entfernt stand eine Kuh. „Liebe Milchspenderin,“ redete sie das Philanthropenschwein an, „wie haltet ihr es mit dem Menschen?“ Das Rindvieh hob den Kopf und stellte die geniale Gegenfrage:
„Mit die Menschen, die wo da so blöd sind?“

Das Philanthropenschwein wanderte immer weiter, doch keines der Tiere ließ ein gutes Haar am Menschen.
Kaninchen: „Dieser perverse Pöbel, der immerzu nur ans Rammeln denkt?“
Hund: „Diese kaltschnäuzigen Kreaturen, die den Schwächeren beißen und dem Stärkeren die Hand lecken?“
Schlange: „Diese boshafte Bagage, die nur Gift versprüht, sobald sie das Maul aufreißt?“
Wolf: „Diese gierige Gattung, die nie den Rachen voll kriegen kann?“
Elster: „Dieser missgünstige Mob, der niemandem etwas gönnt?“
Hase: „Diese furchtsamen Flenner, die vor jeder Herausforderung des Lebens davonlaufen?“
Kuckuck: „Diese schamlosen Schmarotzer, die sich am liebsten ins gemachte Nest setzen?“
Rabenmutter: „Diese gleichgültigen Gemüter, die ihren Nachwuchs wie Dinge behandeln?“

Deprimiert angesichts der allgemeinen Verachtung der Menschheit durch die Tierwelt lief das Philanthropenschwein in den Wald und begann bitterlich zu weinen. Sein Gequieke rief den Mond auf den Plan, der sich in seiner Urlaubsruhe gestört fühlte und daher Licht machte, um den Schuldigen zur Rede zu stellen:
„Himmel, A- und Zwirn! Wer schreit denn da wie ein Schwein am – wie ein Spieß im Dienst?“ (Hier zeigt sich der militärische Drill des Erzählers.)
„Ach lieber Mond,“ schluchzte das Philanthropenschwein, „ich bin als Menschenfreund in die Welt gezogen, um Gleichgesinnte zu finden, doch niemand will seinen inneren Menschenhass (und nicht etwa Schweinehund!) überwinden.“ Der alte Himmelskörper erbarmte sich des Schweines Schicksals und sprach gutmütig zu ihm:
„Zwar bin ich nicht befugt die Geheimnisse des Universums auszuplaudern, doch lass dir gesagt sein, mein Freund: der Weg ist das Ziel.“ Mit diesen Worten löschte er wieder das Licht und das Philanthropenschwein tappte nun im Dunkeln.

Ein Wildschweinrudel kam des Weges; wie der Anführer seiner gewahr wurde, blieb er abrupt stehen und fragte: „Freund oder Feind?“
„Eines jeden Freund!“, antwortete das Philanthropenschwein im Brustton der Überzeugung. Der wilde Eber musterte es argwöhnisch:
„Du hast zwar unverkennbar etwas Schweinisches, aber einer von uns bist du nicht! Was suchst du hier?“
„Ich versuche Gleichgesinnte zu finden.“
„So so! Und was hast du im Sinn?“
„Die Liebe zum Menschen.“ Das ganze Rudel zuckte beim letzten Wort zusammen. Dann sprach der Eber:
„Diese gemeinen Grünröcke, die alles abknallen, was ihnen vor die Flinte kommt? Weiche von uns, denn du bist von Sinnen!“ Ein halbstarker Frischling raunte dem Philanthropenschwein im Vorbeiziehen zu:
„Du hast ja nicht mehr alle Borsten am Leib!“ (Denn einen mit Tassen gefüllten Schrank besitzen Tiere grundsätzlich nicht.)

Kurz darauf ertönte aus der Eiche, unter der sich das soeben Geschilderte so und nicht anders zugetragen hatte, eine Stimme:
„Vermameledeite Schwarzkittel! Müsst ihr eure Nachtwanderungen immer durch mein Revier unternehmen?!“ Das Philanthropenschwein fühlte sich angesprochen, da das Rudel bereits außer Hörweite war:
„Entschuldigung, lieber Baum!“
„Ich bin ein Uhu, du Einfaltspinsel!“
„Ihr verwechselt mich, ich bin …“ Der Uhu ließ ihn nicht ausreden:
„Ja ja! Ich habe mitbekommen, was du bist! Ich werde dir diese fixe Idee schon austreiben!“ Sogleich referierte er in epischer Breite über die Verderbtheit des Menschengeschlechtes im historischen Kontext (oder so). Eine gefühlte Ewigkeit später resümierte er:
„Und nun weißt du, dass man uns, die wir in irgendeiner Weise von der Menschen Norm abweichen, seit jeher getötet, eingesperrt, domestiziert sowie kastriert hat. Du kennst vermutlich nicht die Geschichte jenes Schimpansen, der erst in einen Zoo gesperrt, dort die Leute zum Dank mit Steinen beschmiss und infolgedessen seine… Na-du-weißt-schon einbüßte, oder?“ Das Philanthropenschwein schüttelte den Kopf.
„Na ja, nun kennst du sie. Wir haben also allen Grund zur Verachtung, auch wenn das freilich vergebene Hassesmüh ist!“ Hier hakte das Philanthropenschwein nach:
„Demnach spricht doch eigentlich alles dafür, es zur Abwechslung einmal mit Zuneigung zu versuchen.“ Der Uhu reagierte empört:
„Wer hat nun die Weisheit mit Schnäbeln gefressen, die Eulen oder die Schweine?!“ Der sonderbare Vertreter der letzteren ließ nicht locker:
„Wollt ihr es – in eurer grenzenlosen Weisheit – nicht zumindest auf einen Versuch ankommen lassen?“
„Mitnichten!“ Das Philanthropenschwein war im Begriff nach den Neffen zu fragen, hielt es dann aber doch für ratsamer Lebewohl zu sagen.
„Für den Fall,“ gab ihm der Uhu mit auf den Weg, „dass deine fixe Idee wider Erwarten Schule machen sollte und es an die Verteilung von Ministerposten geht, stehe ich natürlich zur Verfügung.“ Das Philanthropenschwein fragte verdutzt:
„Ministerposten? Was meint ihr damit?“
„Na wenn deine Revolution von Erfolg gekrönt sein sollte, die Macht des Adlers zu Luft sowie die des Löwen zu Lande beendet, ein neues Herrschaftssystem an die Stelle des alten tritt, dann wirst du auf den weisen Rat dieses Uhus weder verzichten können noch wollen!“
„Aber ich wünsche mir doch gar keine Revolution!“, erwiderte das Philanthropenschwein.
„Willst du damit etwa andeuten, dass es dir überhaupt nicht um Ruhm und Ehre geht, dass du – ich wage es kaum zu formulieren – Menschenliebe um ihrer selbst willen predigst?“
„Wenn ihr es so nennen wollt, ja.“
„Nicht zu fassen! Und mit solch einem Spinner vergeude ich meine wertvolle Zeit!“ Der Uhu flog davon und man hörte ihn noch lange durch den Wald fluchen.

Das Philanthropenschwein war nach alledem derart müde geworden, dass es nach Hause ging, alle Viere von sich streckte und zu schnarchen begann. Ihm träumte von einer Welt, in der Tiere und Menschen in Eintracht miteinander leben (das klingt kitschig, ich weiß, aber was kann man von einem Philanthropenschwein auch anderes erwarten). Als es erwachte, kam der Bauer, um es zusammen mit zwei anderen Schweinen zur Schlachtbank zu führen. Er wunderte sich noch darüber, dass eines der drei völlig ruhig blieb, während die andern beiden einen Mordsradau machten. Einmal nur vernahm er ein kurzes Grunzen, bevor er … – na wir wollen auf die Einzelheiten hier nicht genauer eingehen.
Zeuge dieser Exekution war unter anderem jene größenwahnsinnige Wühlmaus, die ihr Leben in gewisser Weise dem Philanthropenschwein zu verdanken hatte. So hörte sie auch seine Botschaft, die da lautete: Vergebt dem Menschen, denn auch wir wissen oft nicht, was wir tun!

Fortan stellte sie ihr Leben in den Dienst der Verbreitung dieser Botschaft, und zwar mit Erfolg: viele Tiere nahmen sie in ihrem Herzen auf und fanden so zu innerer Zufriedenheit. Die andern nahmen sie mit dem Verstand auf, errichteten ein neues Herrschaftsystem und wurden Minister oder dergleichen. Aber das ist eine andere Fabel und bedarf eines Erzählers, der weiß, was er tut.

 

Im (süd)italienischen Exil, Sommer 2011