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Our life is like a bullfight, only we are the bull.

Are you the Bull, the Matador or the Picador?
The bull in the ring sees the man with the red cape.
He snorts and paws the ground. He has been trained for a long time - since he was just a calf - to charge the red cape. He has been rewarded to charge the red cape. It feels good. It gives him purpose. He is good at it.

He lowers his head and charges only to find the cape has slipped his horns. Again he charges and the cape slips across his back. The crowd roars their approval and the bulls thinks the honor is his. The man again leads the bull into the cape and the bull again finds his horns empty.

But this time there is a sharp stinging in his back and a long brightly colored spear is hanging from the top of his neck. He feels warm blood running down. The crowd roars. The bull tosses his horns in pain and confusion. It must have been that tormenting cape! He charges again and another sharp sting goes through his neck. Three more times he tries to capture the cape on his horns but fails...and the stinging increased each time.

He is breathing hard now. His nose runs and the fluid drips to the dusty earth. He attacks the cape with fury, tossing his horns to the sky and the man with the cape dances away and the crowd gasps. This is when the bull sees a man on the horse approaching.

The man stabs at the bulls neck where the neck joins the shoulders and the pain is intense and warm blood now flows down his shoulders, legs and splashes into the dirt. The cape comes again and he charges but is unable to raise his head as high this time. The man on the horse stabs his neck again. He charges the horse and gets him, but the heavy padding allows no damage.

The cape comes again but the bull is very tired. His breath is coming in great gasps, his neck is on fire! He doesn't understand what is happening. He stands still trying to recover. Sweat and blood pour off his body and he glistens in the sun. The cape approaches. He must charge the cape. It is his duty. But this time his head is barely off the ground and he can only can run a few steps. The cape and the man are almost one now and the crowd roars and gasps at the bravery of the man with the cape.

Now the man draws a bright and shining sword and flourishes it proudly for the crowd...dazzling them, while at the same time swirling the cape in front of the bull to coax just one last charge. The bull staggers one step or maybe two...his head just inches off the ground and feels the sweet caress of the cape as it sweeps across his nose and along his long broad head. And at that moment, the man with the cape stands on his toes, raises the sword, leans in over the cape and plunges the sword deeply into a soft spot between the shoulds of the bull..deeply all the way to his heart.
The crowd roars approval. The bulls slumps to the ground while his heart pumps it's last.

The volume and tone allow the man to take ears and tail of the bull...before his carcass is dragged from the ring. The end.

My story is an attempt to illustrate as a parallel how we as people are trained and tricked like the bull. It starts young. We think training is intelligence. But like the bull we don't charge the real tormentors. We get distracted by everything else and fail to realize that we can charge through the cape and gore the Matador in the first charge.

We fall for words from the same matador over and over. He promises action, but the words are empty. Yet we keep charging the cape and allow the Matador to stand. We continue to believe his words. We continue to elect the man.
We learn our words and feelings and opinions and actions from the man in the tube and we think they are our own. He only lets us see on the tube what he wants us to see. It is for our own good. He is protecting us.

We continue to believe his magic words...and the magic words of his friends who all dress in the same room and who all dress the same.
And our blood and our sweat continue to flow into the desert.

And next time it will be a new man and a new cape...all capes work for the man. We will again charge the cape and our blood will again spill into the dirt of a black jungle this time...and the man will cut off our ears and our tail and drag our carcass from the ring...and call our death honorable.

I hope some of you see what I'm trying to say. Who are the people in our leadership who use the cape. Who are the matadors? Who are the Picadors? What is the cape? How many capes are there? How can you tell?
How can you stop being a bull?