"Don't stop the bull from enjoying their workday."
This sentence often plays out in my mind while at the farm. It serves as a perfect excuse to sneak a few sungolds here and there, or to stop the clock and marvel at whatever show might be on at any given time in the sky. It could be the transfixing migration of the sandhill cranes, rainclouds rolling in over the woodlands like slow melting butter, or just the run-of-the-mill sugarblue backdrop dolloped with milky cumulus clouds. This sentiment that I've come to hold so dear is a paraphrase of scripture shared with me by my co-worker. I'd never heard it before but instantly loved it. As 1 Timothy 5:18 reads, "Do not muzzle an ox while it is treading out the grain." This statement highlights the potential of a kind of casual everyday delight for both animals and humans alike when engaging in our common tasks. It also serves as a clear call to reciprocity and curative exchange.
We are not meant to simply work the earth, or work ourselves. We are meant, as we have been from the start, to engage in a reality of co-creation. I remember learning from the words of Robin Wall Kimmerer that sweetgrass doesn't grow too well when it's unharvested and left alone. This plant like many others grows best in conscious engagement, with us humans specifically. Joel Salatin is also often caught stating in his palatably comedic tone that the biggest mistake we've made as caring humans for a sick planet is to abandon it, thinking that earth is better off without us. In fact, we are made to participate. I'd go so far as to say it's an unavoidable requirement. We are involved whether we like it or not, hurting or helping. The great symbol of success according to the current prevalent myth is to take what is wanted no matter the cost, then abandon the giver - until going back for more. It is horrific. Even in death we have left the earth behind, reserving the most comfortable beds for empty shells while others live and breathe and sleep on sidewalks. What an upside down place.
I believe that the annual ritual of streaming a fireplace to our screens is proof of our desire for closeness with nature. While fire gazing is in the blood of every human alive, being one of those primordial golden threads that connects us all, most of us don't rely upon fire as we once did so we settle for the comforting crackle of wood being slowly enveloped by flames on our TV. The sound alone is medicine, and easily acquired with a monthly streaming subscription. The same goes for saline pools or the popularity of salt bath soaks. Yes, the ocean has the same salt-water ratio as a womb, but why care when the benefits can be packaged, controlled, and enjoyed at home? We know these things are healing, but somewhere along the way we severed the sacred ties with the giver.
Prophetess Nina Simone sang that there's a new world coming, and she has always been right. Her revelation echoes in the wind and rain and sun and moon. It is reflected in the groaning of the earth, and the melodies of the birds. She sang out a story of rebirth for our species. Like all birthing, this cannot happen alone. It must be midwived. Again we are called away from our conveniences to do something very important. Will we answer? Can we hear? I have a funny suspicion that if we do, we may find joy in the task. We may find purpose and meaning and gratitude as we push, pull. Inhale, exhale. Push. Pull. Inhale. Exhale.