Many times, when I have the opportunity to observe these beautiful animals and their apparent happiness, I cannot help but think of that lurid story of Original Sin that meant, for humans, access to consciousness and, by default, the welcome to unhappiness.

They, not possessing it, could be said to still live happily in a Golden Age, sheltered by the ignorance of the ego, to which we have always dreamed of returning ourselves, in what some hermeneuts, such as Mircea Eliade, called the myth of the eternal return.

But they, not being subordinate to the power of their arrogance, live based on completely natural instincts, which keep them away from all kinds of anguish, including being caught in that metaphorical spider web, which is time and its terrible circumstances, letting himself be carried away by the only thing that is truly valuable: the meaning of living.

For better or worse, their inferiority is, paradoxically, their superiority.

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