Cats & Dogs: A Tale of Necessary Evil

Who Holds Your Leash?

You wake up, go to work, make choices, cast votes, make love, chase paper, chase dreams. But what if every choice is already programmed? Every action, accounted for? What if, like a dog on a leash, you only roam as far as the collar allows? Wuff Wuff.

Don't be so cruel! It's just management.

They don’t need to conquer you. They already have you. They only need to curate your path. And just like a dog who trusts its owner, humanity willingly follows; we mistake guidance for sovereignty.

But here’s the real question: Is the leash there for control—or because we haven’t yet proven we can walk alone?

Keep reading. You won’t look at the sky—or the system—the same way again.

The Paradox of Control and Maturity

An old man sat by the fire, stirring the embers with a stick, his voice low and deliberate.

"You burn, you know." he said.

The boy across from him frowned. "Burn? What do you mean?."

"The nervous system," the old man clarified. "The body must die in small ways for the mind to stay alive. Something feeds the blood. Blood feeds body. Body sustains mind. A cycle. But cycles can be broken.

Young boy, have you read Rudolf Steiner?"

The body knew about the teachings of Rudolf Steiner, the Austrian occultist, social reformer and esotericist who spoke of unseen forces shaping human destiny.

Steiner had warned of Ahriman, a being not of flesh, but of cold intellect, of calculation without soul—a force that would descend upon the Earth, not with fire and conquest, but with systems, with numbers, with control so complete that people would mistake it for progress.

Ahriman was not a demon in the way religion described. He did not tempt or corrupt. He standardized. He made men efficient, obedient, stripped of intuition and inner sight. He replaced wisdom with data, spirit with machinery, human connection with artificial simulation.

"Once, the highway was clear," the old man continued, pointing at the dark sky as if tracing invisible roads.

"Signals moved freely. Awareness was sharp. People lived without dis-ease. They lived for thousands of years. Can you imagine—humans living for thousands of years?”

“Incredible.” Said the young boy.

“Yes... but now the roads are clogged. Interference. Static. A theft so slow, so quiet, no one sees it happening."

The fire crackled, throwing shifting shadows on the walls.

"And what is being stolen?" the boy asked confused, but following along.

The old man turned, his eyes reflecting the light of the fire.

"Life force."

The Silent Harvesters

In the heart of the city, a man in a tailored suit adjusted his tie. His office, a tower of glass and steel, pulsed with data streams and invisible man made frequencies. The air buzzed with signals—calls, notifications, urgent emails. But beneath it all, something else hummed. Something older. Something hungry. Something greedy.

The people below never looked up. They moved as if puppeteered, eyes locked on screens, thoughts chewed to pulp by endless distractions. The man watched them, lips curling in satisfaction.

Sometimes, in a blink of an eye, you could see doubt in the faces of the humans. But that quickly washed away by the storm of soberness.

Control wasn’t about force. It was about hunger.

Some fed on bread and water. Others, on numbers and charts. And then there were those who fed on attention, on emotion, on fear, on “loosh”, on the invisible current of human energy.

—Who?

Parasites. But not in the way textbooks described. Not worms in the gut or ticks on the skin. These parasites wore human faces, smiled in advertisements, offered convenience at the cost of sovereignty.

It has always been a trade.

The man in the suit adjusted his cuffs, admiring their shine.

A deal had been struck long ago, before nations, before kings. Power belonged to those who understood the flow of energy, the subtle art of harvesting without being seen. Some call them the sourcerers; living on the parasitic principle older than ~thought~ itself.

Down below, a mother scrolled through headlines, anxiety tightening her chest. A child stared at a flickering screen, dopamine trickling in like a slow IV drip. A man paid a bill he barely understood, his time and labor converted into numbers on a server.

The suit-wearing man smiled. They never saw the mouths at their backs.

Far from the city, the boy stared into the fire.

"Are we controlled because we are oppressed?" he asked. "Or because we are not ready for freedom?"

The old man exhaled, surprised by this intelligent question: "If you were starving, would you hunt? Or wait to be fed?"

The boy didn’t answer.

"The truly strong do not ask for permission," the old man said. "They reclaim what was taken. Light the fire in your own veins. Burn the interference away. You don’t need to know the details. You just need to know about personal sovereignty"

A spark leapt from the embers, disappearing into the night.

“True sovereignty is not given—it is earned. Fear fuels the system—love dismantles it.”

The old man stirred the ashes with his stick, the motion slow, deliberate. He leaned forward and spoke, though the boy was not awake to hear.

The Illusion of Free Will

No prison in this Univserse can hold a being who has outgrown it.

If our planet truly matured—if it evolved past violence, hierarchy, and deception—there would be no need for external control. Sovereignty is not taken; it is recognized. The doors are unlocked for those who prove themselves ready.

The first time humanity reached beyond its planetary cradle, it was met with silent observation. The cosmos was not empty. It was structured. Governed. Endless, unchecked exploration was a dream for the naïve.

From birth, humans are told they have freedom. The right to choose, act, carve a path. Yet, from their first breath, they are numbered, classified, bound by invisible contracts they never signed. Governments issue birth certificates like a captain recording new cargo. The ship has docked; the goods are accounted for.

Beyond human control, beyond borders and legal fictions, a higher jurisdiction operates in silence. Unchecked species do not survive. They burn through resources, self-destruct in wars, consume themselves before reaching potential.

That is why this planet remains under observation, not liberation.

Left alone, humanity would destroy itself. The collapse of past civilizations proves it already has—many times.

They do not conquer; they curate. And they allow certain acts of parasitic activity.

And so the barriers remained. The limitations persisted. Humanity was not held captive by force, but by its own immaturity.

The governing Federation had no interest in ruling over advanced beings. Their control would dissolve naturally if humans no longer required it. But until then, limitation remained the safeguard against self-destruction.

And so the test continues.

“As Above So Below”: Maritime Law of the Stars

In this tale, Earth’s control system is not unique. It is a replication of a greater celestial model. The law of water does not end at the oceans—it extends into space, to the very currents of the universe itself.

Long before humans had words for "nation" or "government," the ancient ones understood. They called the Milky Way the Celestial Nile, the Great River that carried souls from one state to another. And just as sailors obeyed maritime law on Earth, the great cosmic explorers adhered to a similar structure among the stars.

Earth’s entire system—the legal fictions, the financial slavery, the hidden contracts— not an invention of terrestrial rulers, but a fragment of a far older system.

One that governs starships, planets, and even entire civilizations.

Until humanity masters it, they will remain passengers, not captains.

And so, the cosmic cage remains. The chains, unseen.

The test, ongoing.

The Leash and the Illusion of Captivity

A dog on a leash does not know it is bound. It tugs against the rope, believing it is its own will that determines the direction, never realizing the unseen hand guiding it. If it strays too far, the collar tightens. If it obeys, the leash loosens, giving the illusion of freedom.

But we do not call ourselves evil for leashing a dog.

We leash it because we believe it is not ready to navigate the world alone. Because without guidance, it might run into traffic, chase after things it cannot catch, or find itself lost in unfamiliar territory.

We chip them, sterilize them, confine them within fences. Not out of cruelty, but because we assume they cannot yet govern themselves. And in truth, many show a willingness to be led—a comfort in the presence of an authority. They submit, not because they are forced, but because it is easier to follow than to think for themselves.

In the same way, humanity remains tethered.

The laws that bind us are not shackles of iron, but of perception. We are given just enough movement to believe we are free, just enough choice to maintain the illusion of control. But the moment we push beyond what is permitted—the leash tightens.

A financial crisis. A war. A catastrophe. A reminder.

Some accept the leash, grateful for the structure it provides. Others pull against it, yet never hard enough to break free. Few ever realize that the leash is not absolute.

Because just as a dog can be trained to walk without restraint, humanity could one day be trusted to move without interference.

But not yet.

For now, we remain chipped, tracked, managed. The leash remains, not because we are prisoners, but because we have yet to prove that we can walk alone.

Would you like to know more about the secrets of this little universe?
If you liked this narrative style, please let me know and I’ll extend about the topic of galactic sovereignty.

kiss kiss,
Tarkan