A Strange Simpatico.

Tonight the boys had a campout in the yard to the East, not far from my stoop at the Night Altar. There, they set up a tent & made a fire in my mother's beloved cast iron firepot. 

In the firepot: An accidental Bovine Appreciation Fire.

I was trying to take photographs of Little Lad roasting a marshmallow when something occurred to me. This pot, shaped in the image of a cow seemed to have a magick all its own. My mind wandered to my bovine companions who have been moved to open grazeland for the season. I thought about them, such curious beasts & how they would have been drawn to our activity. I remembered how they will stand together, shoulder-to-shoulder in the night, facing inwards & gazing at a pile of embers left behind by our day's brush-burning. (As if scrying?) We have always called this habit their "worship circle."

My mind then wandered to what they give to us -- to humans & our domestic companions. They are not simply my nocturnal breathing partners. They complacently rest in the core of our American life -- at the core of my life. At least as it presently exists.

The Night encroaches on the Bovine Appreciation Fire.

This crappy new medical circumstance of mine has forced me to examine my food consumption in uncomfortable & inconvenient ways. But, it also has had a philosophical edge, the greatest lesson of which (thus far) is that I (perhaps a wee bit less now, but still) live on the labour of these priceless creatures. I am made of milk (mostly) & while I am still making milk, my milk is mostly made with nutrients from their milk. I do not much care for beef. Except perhaps in Bolognese sauce, but even then, I would take elk over beef any day. But Bolognese is also made with milk. This is exactly what I continue to see in my own lifestyle, over & over. Morning = pasture butter & half & half in my coffee = milk. Noontime = Greek yoghurt = milk. Hot afternoons = frozen dairy treats = milk. Dinner = the inevitable cheese = milk. Those cows are supporting, no, furnishing my lifestyle.

Unfortunately, I am not grappling with lactose intolerance. It is more serious than that. Then again, perhaps lactose intolerance would be a very serious thing for someone like me.

Anyway, I started to think about how we could honour all those cattle out there in our world, making all that milk & standing about in feed lots waiting to end up as someone's all-beef patty. How can we still honour the Tribe of the Bovini who feed & clothe us humans all over the Earth? We no longer live closely with them. They are no longer part of our household, our family. Yes, I know we can all stop wearing leather & go vegan, but this is not what I mean. I want to celebrate them. 

How do I/we do this? How do we honour their spirits? How do we give thanks for all that these gentle creatures give to us -- every single day?

I am thinking about a Bovine Appreciation Ceremony. I do not know what it will look like, but I suspect it will involve this firepot, the chill winter air, my Night Altar breathing companions & a fire that burns long into the night...

The Bovini. Let us honour them into the night.