We sit in the cave and stare at the wall, not tied up, at least not by physical shackles, but held by conventions, social agreements and apparent inevitability. We do not move so that we can give ourselves the illusion that we are bound by shackles. Only when we moved would we notice that there are no shackles. Illusion of a perfect world in view of the downfall, because the pictures tell us. No, it’s not bad, it’s good. We just have to keep going like we did before. Do not let yourself be distracted from the previous path that was successful. All live in prosperity. All have a refrigerator and a car and a television. If you don’t have it, it’s your own fault. A path of success if you just sit well and stay true to the illusion.

Suddenly I look at the floor. A small trickle of blood makes its way. I watch this little trickle that no one else seems to notice, even when it runs through under everyone. It is narrow and does not get wider, but it is constantly fed by … Yes, from what? I no longer just want to watch, look at, I want to know where it comes from. That’s why I’m leaving my place. Immediately I am expelled. No, you can’t get up, don’t lose sight of the illusion. This is the first offensive thing I do. But it doesn’t stop there, because I follow the trickle, the steadily filling trickle of blood, and get to a door. It says “No entry”, but I won’t let that deter me either. This is the second offensive thing I do. But it doesn’t stop there, because I open the door and step inside.

Animals are slaughtered in a long line of battle. There is hardly a species that is left out. Pigs, cows, chickens, sheep, goats, yes of course, primarily, but also dogs, cats, rabbits, hamsters, wild animals, sharks, whales, fish, they are all butchered and their blood nourishes the trickle. Billionfold murder, which is shortened on the wall of illusions to a juicy piece of meat that was once life. We allow this billionfold murder because we want to eat life and only achieve death in the process. Blood that doesn’t reach our mouth but sticks to our hands. Just because we think we have to eat it.

I step through the second door, where babies are murdered. Baby chickens, functionless because male, cow babies, functionless, since male, while their mothers are driven to produce more and more because we want to eat their products, the fruits of their bodies. We think we are feeding ourselves life, it is only death. The blood that is shed does not reach our hearts and yet it sticks to our hands. Just because we think we have to eat it.

I am not afraid to open the third door and enter. Behind it, animals are skinned, their wool or feathers removed in the most gruesome way, which they need and not us. They do not die immediately but suffer unimaginable torments because we want to wear them, see them as an object of prestige, on our wrists, on our feet, as bags and purses in which we put the money with which we pay for these atrocities. The products themselves are clean and neat, you can’t tell by looking at the blood it costs, but it sticks to the bodies that wear them, to our hands and feet and heads. Only because we think we have to put them on and dress up with them.

I return, stand between the people and the images of the illusion and tell them about the processes that I have seen behind the doors, pointing to the trickle of blood. No, they don’t stop, they don’t look at the ground to see the trickle, they start throwing stones at me. Because I dared to get up and walk through the doors. But the worst thing was that I came back to tell them: We are to blame, to blame for this billions of murders that take place everywhere and always, to blame for a society that only produces more death and suffering and exclusion and ultimately madness. They stone me to death so that I am calm and no longer stand between them and the illusion. And my blood mixes with that in the trickle, the blood of those who just wanted to live.