Animal Consciousness

Are humans the only dreamers on Earth? What goes on in the minds of animals when they sleep? When Animals Dream brings together behavioral and neuroscientific research on animal sleep with philosophical theories of dreaming. It shows that dreams provide an invaluable window into the cognitive and emotional lives of nonhuman animals, giving us access to a seemingly inaccessible realm of animal experience. The book carries profound implications for debates about animal cognition, animal ethics, and animal rights, challenging us to regard animals as beings who matter.

alk to the Animals by Gary M. Douglas & Dr. Dain Heer gives you pragmatic tools and techniques to actually talk to the animals and contribute to the earth! What if peace was a natural state for animals? When you create or tap into a place of peace for your horse, dog or cat, then everything becomes calm, cool and collected...you're in the zone. Did you know that every animal, plant and structure on this planet has consciousness and desires to gift to you? If you are unwilling to receive, then you miss out on what they wish to give you. You also limit your ability to receive in every area of life...the money you can have, what you can experience and what is possible for you! Did you know animals can talk? It's interesting to observe animals misbehaving when we don't listen to them.

I drop walnuts on roads to crack them open. Wheels are tools when you are too small; timing is a muscle; memory smells like your hand. If I could speak, I would not recite facts. I would hand you a broken shell and watch whether you understood why. This book is that hand—close, blunt, and exact. It follows the small acts that add up to a mind: the walnut, the wait, the face remembered across seasons, the dusk meeting where a thousand silent signals sort friend from threat. Read me if you want a map of cognition that never learned words. You will find tool-use stripped of wonder and recast...

"If a lion could talk, we could not understand him." That warning holds double for me. I live in twilight and vibration, not your sentences: body pressed into grass, ears narrowing to a mouse's heartbeat, whiskers reading the gap before my paws. I am not a metaphor. I am a predator with a grammar of light, air, and scent—practical, urgent, and all of it felt. If a cat could teach you anything, it wouldn't teach kindness. It would teach attention. This book moves through the instruments of that attention—twilight sight, ears of silk, whiskers as touch-lidar, layered scent-maps, purrs and...

If a spider could speak, its sentences would be silk and vibration—and you would need new ears. I wait on threads. Wind, footfall, a breath across a leaf: each tremor names something. My eight eyes reduce the world to shadow and motion; my leg hairs and slit sensilla translate gravity and breath into decisions. I do not weave webs for beauty. I build instruments that listen, records that remember, traps that teach me what to trust. This book speaks from that listening. Short, sharp chapters move from waiting to sensing to thinking: how silk becomes an external mind, how plucked threads ...

If a lion could speak, you could not understand him; if I spoke, you'd understand even less. Still, I will try—not to moralize, not to soften, but to map how a life like mine measures the world. I trace heat like a painter traces shadow, taste the air with a tongue that reads history, listen to the earth like a radio for footsteps, and make stillness into a practiced economy. This book is seven small dissections of those faculties—pit-sight, wind-taste, ground-voice, patience as muscle, the choreography of the strike, shelter and camouflage, the ledger of scars—offered in plain, spare...

If a salmon could speak, you still wouldn't understand me. You would hear vowels and miss the cold tug of current, the taste of gravel between my gills, the humming magnet under my skin that points me home. I don't tell stories; I register chemistry, pressure, and direction. I leave the ocean because my body remembers a river the way a clock remembers midnight. This book takes you inside that body. Sparse, sensory chapters—birth in gravel, the slow remapping to salt, the rumble of magnetism, the naming of home by smell—trace a life driven by appetite, physics, and place, not meaning. ...

"If a lion could speak, we would not understand him." I take that not as a wry thought but as a task: to live in a throat, to map life by scent, muscle, and the bookkeeping of hunger. I speak from the geometry of the hunt — the rasp of grass, the grunt of a falling hoof, the way blood rewrites the night — and I refuse your moral vocabulary. This book is not elegy or sermon. It is a field report written inside a body that measures everything by appetite, endurance, and the slow calculus of survival. Nine lean chapters move from the roar outward and back again: presence, hunger, pride, ...

"If a lion could talk, we could not understand him." So listen instead to what does speak: the ant under your shoe, writing life in scent. I lay a trail that reads like a sentence, press my antennae to a sister for grammar, taste sugar and grit as punctuation. I do not speak; I broadcast maps, alarms, and care with chemicals and touch. In plain, unsentimental scenes I narrate how a single path becomes a mind — how food, brood, and danger are solved by bodies obeying small rules until they look like decisions. This is natural history pried open at the seam where science meets sensation. ...

If a fox could speak, you would not get a confession or a joke. You would get a map: the wind as road, whiskers as instruments, the hush under snow as a ledger of who lives and who is hungry. I move by ear and scent, not by right and wrong. These pages are my short reports—winter dives for voles, the geometry of an alley after midnight, the den that keeps memory warm—written to make you feel how a mind built on smell and motion understands the world. This is not nature romanticism. It is candid fieldwork from a creature that plans with hunger and hears the city the way you hear a radio ...

“If a lion could talk, we could not understand him.” Imagine that, sharpened, and no larger than your thumb. I do not chase. I wait—head turning twice, sight folding the world into distances you don't see, forelegs cocked not as limbs but as death's trigger. Heat and shadow choose when I move; hunger is a ledger, not a grief. If I could speak, I'd hand you a different grammar of being: precise, impatient, economical. This is my translation. A first‑person mantis narrates vision, strike, thermals, hunger, and the grim bookkeeping that makes cannibalism a practical choice. Natural ...

If a vulture could speak, it would tell you it keeps you alive. I circle thermals and read chemical clouds; I taste death and render it harmless. Bald head, acid stomach, and a willingness to do the work you refuse—this is not drama, it is service. I speak in wind and carrion and the small, exact mechanics of sanitation that stop anthrax, rabies, botulism from walking a road you use. Listen close: what you call ugliness, I call efficiency. This book is a close, sensory monologue that strips away superstition and shows how scavengers think, move, and cooperate—how a bird’s biology ...

Dip below the ocean’s surface and you are soon confronted by forms of life that could not seem more foreign to our own: sea sponges, soft corals, and serpulid worms, whose rooted bodies, intricate geometry, and flower-like appendages are more reminiscent of plant life or even architecture than anything recognizably animal. Yet these creatures are our cousins. As fellow members of the animal kingdom — the Metazoa— they can teach us much about the evolutionary origins of not only our bodies, but also our minds.

If you have spent any part of your life with a dog, you may have found certain questions popping, unbidden, into your mind: Is my dog living a fulfilled life? Is my dog a good dog? Does my dog love me? Addressing these questions compels you to confront not just your dog's life but yours as well—to think about what fulfillment, and meaning, in life really is. In The Word of Dog, philosopher Mark Rowlands explores these questions and suggests that in dogs we can see hints—faint, shrouded, but discernible—of what a better way of living might look like.

How can science teach us that animals feel no pain when our common sense observations tell us otherwise? Bernard Rollin offers welcome insight into questions like this in his ground-breaking account of the difficult and controversial issues surrounding the use of animals. He demonstrates that the denial of animal consciousness and animal suffering is not an essential feature of a scientific approach, but rather a contingent, historical aberration that can and must be changed if science is to be both coherent and morally responsible.

You will receive many blessings from the Animal Kingdoms from reading this book. Some awesome blessings include: Blessings of Multidimensional Awareness, Blessings for Joy and Humor, Blessings for Gentleness, Blessings of Holographic Knowledge and Inner Knowing, Blessings for Becoming the Dreamer and the Dream, and Blessings for Entering Tao Based Time and Cycles. Blessings for Multidimensional Awareness: Eagle holds links to one’s multidimensional awareness. For Earth, we provide the necessary keys for Earth to link up and clear karma that is related to other dimensions of experience. ...

The scuba-diving philosopher and best-selling author of Other Minds explores the origins of animal consciousness. Dip below the ocean’s surface and you are soon confronted by forms of life that could not seem more foreign to our own: sea sponges, soft corals and flower-like worms, whose rooted bodies and intricate geometry are more reminiscent of plant life than anything recognisably animal. Yet these creatures are our cousins.

Recent years have seen rapid advances in 'artificial' intelligence, which increasingly appears to be something stranger than we ever imagined. At the same time, we are becoming more aware of the other intelligences which have been with us all along, unrecognised. These other beings are the animals, plants and natural systems that surround us, and are slowly revealing their complexity and knowledge - just as the new technologies we've built are threatening to cause their extinction, and ours.

ANGELS IN NATURE BRINGING "TOUGH LOVE" AND A MESSAGE OF HOPE This is The Great Reveal — arranged by the Planetmates for the benefit of humans on the eve of the biggest challenge ever to face humans or even the planet at any time of its existence. Planetmates are the beings with whom we share this planet, our fellow Earth Citizens. This revelation comes in the form of prasads, a Sanskrit term, meaning a blessing from a divine being. The Planetmates explain who they are, who we are, what we think of ourselves … and why it is wrong, has always been wrong … and why it is now of dire ...

“Crook delves deftly into a broad spectrum of themes, gifting the reader with not just seven stories, but seven experiences.” Jason Camelio, Global Education Professional Author Hal Crook returns after his “masterful” psychological thriller—A Brief Madness: New Identity—with this “expertly crafted” collection of stories. In Windborne Tales you’ll visit seven not-quite-fully-upright worlds, inhabited by hampered beings who haven’t yet given up the quest. Whether it’s a widowed animal lover who says “Enough” to loss; a precocious teen who squares off with a cruel ...