Liber Neptuni - Chapter 73

Verses

My cat has stared into the hallway for eleven minutes, so naturally I am considering alternate dimensions.

This is how religion starts: an animal notices plumbing inside a wall and a human writes metaphysics.

I asked whether Neptune governs dreams. The cat yawned, which may be the strongest source I have consulted.

She sleeps sixteen hours a day and has never once monetized the unconscious.

When I meditate, thoughts multiply. When she sits beside me, she becomes a loaf and achieves what I was advertising.

I explained māyā to her. She attacked the string I was using as an example and improved the lecture.

A reflection trembled in her water bowl. She drank the cosmos without hesitation.

I envy this lack of symbolic responsibility.

Poseidon may command horses, but I would like to see him place one cat in a carrier.

The mystic says boundaries are illusion. The cat agrees until another cat enters the kitchen.

The Gnostic says rulers of this world are incompetent. The cat has inspected municipal services and seems open to the thesis.

The astrologer says Neptune brings confusion. I have lost the cat while she was sitting on the chair I was searching around.

The scientist says the planet has supersonic winds. Finally, a claim too large for her to knock off a shelf.

At night she watches the dark window and sees herself looking back.

For one second she appears startled by the second cat in the glass.

Then she remembers nothing needs to be solved and washes her shoulder.

Perhaps enlightenment is not knowing the answer but losing interest in owning one.

Or perhaps she is simply a cat, and that may be the more merciful doctrine.