The necessity to stop, to be, to take in and simply exist is present all throughout nature, which is exactly why we often fail to notice the miracle of shared life that is all around, all the time, infinite and always. A few days ago, I went out to see the farm cows. There are only two; so happy in their lives, these cows are content to feast on cabbages and squash like little kings. They are given space to mosey, dawdle, wander, and to chew the cud together for as long as they like.
Brian, one of the farm bosses, was reflecting on the standard industrial method of keeping cows. 100 cows? 100 acres. That should be more than enough. The thought is that within these parameters, they get all the space they could need as creatures with no ambition we could understand, at least from a spiritually removed capitalist perspective. After all, what would any cow do with space to roam? Setting aside the age-old link between grazing and soil health, we must consider life at large. Who - or what - needs all that space anyway? Is it cars? I recall the alien in Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy initially believing that cars were the higher life form since it appeared that humans catered to them with the dedication of loyal servants. I'd say no, it's not cars - could it be buildings? What about industry and capital? Does it need all that space? Surely it does, yes. But what grows from it? When do we dawdle? Where is the village? Until we learn to uphold our own dignity as a species, I'm not sure how, collectively, we will learn to uphold the dignity of others.
Philip Berrigan said this from a prison in 1970, and I believe it to be likely true: "…there's not going to be a revolution. There's only going to be ongoing revolutions on the part of individuals and small groups."
Many a project, nonprofit or business venture has begun with the spirit of this notion at their core - and many have done tremendous good. However, for the solitary soul, what if this understanding simply began at stillness and rippled out from there? I never would have noticed the snake, so gracefully wrapped around the boundless blackberry, or the rabbit, or the quail or deer or cloud shaped like a massive double penis had I not truly paused and watched and listened and felt and stopped - stopped everything completely besides the act of simply being - which has become a little revolution against all that is understood to be wrong in a straightforward way, and felt to be wrong in an abstract way. Cows need that space. We do as well. And the snakes, and the rabbits, and the deer. And yes, I suppose the blackberries too.