Animals are Spiritual Beings

 

Song of Myself, 32

Walt Whitman - 1819-1892

I think I could turn and live with animals, 

they are so placid and self-contain'd,
I stand and look at them long and long.

They do not sweat and whine about their condition,
They do not lie awake in the dark 

and weep for their sins,
They do not make me sick 

discussing their duty to God,
Not one is dissatisfied, 

not one is demented with 

the mania of owning things,
Not one kneels to another, 

nor to his kind that lived thousands of years ago,
Not one is respectable 

or unhappy over the whole earth.

So they show their relations to me and I accept them,
They bring me tokens of myself, 

they evince them plainly in their possession.

I wonder where they get those tokens,
Did I pass that way huge times ago 

and negligently drop them?
Myself moving forward then and now and forever,
Gathering and showing more always 

and with velocity,
Infinite and omnigenous, 

and the like of these among them,
Not too exclusive toward 

the reachers of my remembrancers,
Picking out here one that I love, 

and now go with him on brotherly terms.

A gigantic beauty of a stallion, 

fresh and responsive to my caresses,
Head high in the forehead, 

wide between the ears,
Limbs glossy and supple, 

tail dusting the ground,
Eyes full of sparkling wickedness, 

ears finely cut, flexibly moving.

His nostrils dilate as my heels embrace him,
His well-built limbs tremble with pleasure 

as we race around and return.

I but use you a minute, 

then I resign you, stallion,
Why do I need your paces 

when I myself out-gallop them?
Even as I stand or sit passing faster than you.

(This poem is in the Public Domain) 

Blue Dog by Hirth Martinez