The Herd, Results, & the Power Within

by Eric Chaet

Where the road curves away from the river toward town, I stopped the car to observe a herd of cows by an old barn. Their hides were black & white jigsaw cloud mottles, as each of them is a piece in the puzzle of the herd. Pink udders were distended from daily milking, white breath plumed from their nostrils. They stood or shuffled, mixing snow with dirt they'd long ago stripped of every blade of grass.

I seemed to be trying to find something in them not apparent:

Yes, it's admirable, in a way, that they're so well adjusted to their lot, better than I am, that's for sure—but I was looking for some connection to the pure & mighty source of their existence, & everything's existence. Or, maybe, even some reason for a spark of righteous dissatisfaction, something urgent I felt the need of, to use.

Sometimes, I manage some glimpse of meaning. Sometimes, I manage to transmit to you something inspirational—at least, I hope I do. Sometimes with a brief phrase or juxtaposition of two words, I can communicate to you the powerful result of some analysis that's taken years to mature.

But, sometimes, in case I have the influence with you I hope I'm earning, it's best I let you know—so you won't be driven to counter-productive or even self-destructive impulse when you enter into a similar state, a state you fear, as I do, periodically, won't end til death:

How I sighed, & started up the old car. The sky was gray & inconsistent. A few flakes of snow seemed to be trying to decide between vertical & horizontal, linear or swirl. How I proceeded along the road into town, keeping a rein on my fear that the state I'd entered into wouldn't end before death—& entered into the traffic, & among the buildings & rooms, & into commerce—which I required—with my own herd, with my local piece of what some continue to call civilization.

I know men who own herds of cows. I know men who separate calves from cows, feed the calves a special formula, keeping them, each alone, in little heated plastic houses—then gather, & truck them to places near cities where they sell them to other men who butcher them for veal.

What they do is clear to them. It keeps them occupied every day of every year. Their discipline is persevering. Decisions are minimal: mainly prices they can get & prices they must pay, & when to buy or sell, & when to refrain from buying & selling.

Even then, without government subsidies & guarantees; & the great, unexpected, & unearned rise in the value of the land they inherited serving as collateral when they need to borrow from banks, & serving as a pension plan for the time when they are no longer physically capable of continuing—most of them would long ago have been driven out of the only occupation they understand.

When they're not feeding, milking, planting, harvesting, processing, or storing fodder; or deciding whether & when to buy or sell—what they want is diversion: football, gossip, the old days, deer & turkey hunts, tractors, cars, guns. Some are fond of cards or liquor, or both.

They have no patience with talk about the agony of choosing a purpose & developing a method, about evaluating what needs doing in the greater world. You probably know by now that almost everyone hides from knowing about injustices & suffering caused by greedy & foolish, arrogant men. They don't want to hear about suffering now, & worse to come, unless someone manages to counteract what's happening & what's been done.

Certainly not about what one person—I, you—can do. Or about becoming one of the people who can do it.

They want to hear about results. If you have had some kind of victory, they're glad to be glad for you—unless, of course, you get a big head about it. Otherwise, a little silliness & laughter, weather, health, maybe a little verification that they haven't deviated from that which earns their peers' respect, before they go back to what they need to do, yet again.

Only results: becoming one of the people who can do it—& getting it done.

The agony of achieving the results will not survive such a climate—only the results themselves can survive.

From the cows, patience; from the herders, perseverance.

For the rest—the influence of others we discover we can trust, who have useful insights & practices, &, occasionally truly productive, transformative tasks they have embarked on, in which we can cooperate with them, if we are ready & able. And whatever power we have managed to cultivate within ourselves, over time.

Copyright © Eric Chaet 2006