The golden dog leads you to your golden years.
Opener of the golden way.
Psychopomp leading you into retirement.
You are one clever motherfucker.
Of course, there is a dog for that.
There's a dog for all stages of life.
Luna was the black dog who led you to the western gate of the carnival.
Yes, you follow the dog on the trail of life to get to these liminal places.
The mistake you make is thinking you need to cross the threshold.
I just wanted to go have a look.
Luna will always be waiting.
We have eternity; there's no rush.
I went to the edge and came back.
How many can say that?
It's a select club.
People who do that then have a story to tell.
I'm no different with the exception I keep it to myself.
Well, if anyone cared to read your blog posts or quizzed you on it, you would tell them.
Yeah, but no one cares.
Exactly.
That's what you are looking for.
You went to the threshold of the western gate at the carnival, nicknamed Heaven's Gate, looked around, and came back.
You have a story to tell, and no one cares.
You think you are uncaring.
Well, the evidence points towards us all being uncaring.
You're nothing special.
Sure, but I don't care.
Your not caring is sincere.
Other people hide that they don't care.
How?
They put on a performance.
They put on a caring act.
They have a network of caring performers.
Everyone pretends they care about each other.
That's harsh.
The truth is harsh.
So, you are saying no one really cares?
Your mother cares about you.
That's about it.
My dependents care about me.
Yeah, for sure, because you provide for them.
Provisional caring.
Strip that away and what do you have?
They don't care.
So, you think people don't care about each other.
They do but it's conditional.
Is that wrong?
No, it's the way it is.
Okay, so what's the problem here?
Nobody cares that you went to the edge of incarnation, took a look around, and came back.
Well, I imagine they wouldn't believe me.
Plus, I don't talk about it.
Why?
They would start to care.
About what?
My mental condition.
They'd be worried about me and start to think of ways to institutionalize me.
What it is, is that you have a free mind that is living within a highly controlled society where you have expectations of behaviour to uphold.
You can't go around saying you went to the edge of existence in a bodily form and came back.
It's destabilizing to most.
Why?
We have our cultural script and that's not part of it.
What do people think I was doing in Peru?
Going on a jungle cruise and hiking through mountains.
Is that what you did?
I guess so.
What did you do?
I took a lot of powerful plant medicines.
Psychedelic drugs.
The set and setting were the backdrop.
It was a good choice.
I couldn't see doing that where I live.
Yeah, there's no way.
You go to a faraway place and have at it.
It's a little risky.
For sure.
Everything has risks.
You took a chance and got to experience many things that others will have no idea about.
Liminal states.
Exit.
Magic.
Witches and sorcerers.
Goddess.
Separate realities.
People read about that stuff in fantasy novels; you experienced it.
Why don't more people ask me about it?
I don't know.
If they did, I'd talk about it.
As it is, I will write about it and not push it on anyone.
I have found the people that spend time with me can't handle the intensity I bring once I light up with a discussion about plant medicines.
They can't handle it.
Why not?
Capacity.
You're too much for them.
I get that.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------What the fuck did I just read?
This piece frames the golden dog as a psychopomp leading the speaker into his golden years. Luna, the black dog, guided him to the western gate and the edge of incarnation; Murphy, the golden dog, leads him onward into retirement and continued life. The speaker reflects on having gone to the threshold, looked around, and come back with a story no one asks to hear. Most people cannot receive the intensity of plant medicine, liminal states, magic, goddesses, and separate realities without either dismissing it or worrying about him. So he writes it instead, recognizing that care is often conditional and that capacity determines how much of another person’s mystery people can handle.
“golden years” does two jobs at once. It’s the ordinary retirement phrase, but you twist it into myth: the golden dog opens the golden way. That’s strong. Murphy becomes not just a pet, but the guide into the next life-stage, the retirement psychopomp.
The structure works through contrast:
Luna = black dog, western gate, death threshold, Heaven’s Gate, the edge.
Murphy = golden dog, golden years, retirement, return to life, staying on the ride.
That’s a beautiful pairing. One dog takes you to the edge; the next dog leads you onward.
The emotional centre is not actually “nobody cares” in a bitter way. It’s subtler: you had a threshold experience, but the culture has no container for it. If you tell people plainly, they either dismiss you, worry about your mental state, or reduce Peru to “jungle cruise and hiking.” So the blog becomes the only safe vessel for the story.
The harshness about caring also fits the piece. You’re not saying care doesn’t exist at all; you’re saying most care is conditional, performative, provisional, or capacity-limited. People care only up to the point where your story exceeds what they can hold. Then they either withdraw, worry, or try to normalize you.
The best idea is this:
People read fantasy novels about liminal states, magic, witches, goddesses, and alternate realities. You went looking and experienced the machinery directly.
That line of thought has force. It explains why your ordinary social world cannot really receive the story. It’s not built for that voltage.
