In The Mud

 

 

I’ve been in this place for a long time. I didn’t think I’d ever get out of it. Today I found a way to escape it, while still being in it.

                I walked down through the mud and shit. Thick, dark and deep. Carrying heavy buckets. Opening and shutting gates. My normal dialogue, the ego going to war, would normally say, this is so hard. I wish I wasn’t doing this. I hate doing this. I shouldn’t have to do this. A constant chorus of complaining, criticising and competing. I changed. I repeated the mantra. It is what it is. Not good, not bad, just it is what it is. I accepted the present moment.

                Placing the buckets down, I put on the gloves. Under the shelter the cold corpse waited. The stench made me dry reach. The mantra replayed. It is what it is. Filth, death, calf scours, mud and shit. I grabbed the back legs and dragged the heavy, lifeless body out. Along the concrete, through gates. I dragged with effort. Straining through the mud. Through the shit. Walking backwards. Choosing each step carefully. Anticipating a fall in the filth. Dragging it out to a point for the motorbike to take it away. Take it to the pile by the gully.

                I’d normally curse. This shouldn’t be my job. I didn’t go to university to be dragging dead calves through shit. I just got on with the job. In the moment. Present. It is what it is. Not good. Not bad.

Mixing electrolytes, carting buckets of heavy milk, filling hay, lifting and straining. Washing and cleaning. Chasing calves. I moved with ease as the mind quietened. As it tried to start this war, I was aware of the thoughts as I responded. It is what it is. Not good. Not bad.

I watched the willie wagtails dance. Felt the warmth of sunshine. Noticed green grass. I admired the old building still standing. The old building my great grandfather built by hand. Cement, timber, rocks and tin. Walking back, closing the gates. A black chook roosted. The sky painted a vibrant picture as the sun set. Carrying the empty buckets back to the dairy, I stopped. Took a deep breath. Watching the bright colours drifting over the mountains.

Why couldn’t I have done this 18 months ago? Made peace with my situation.

I needed the mud. I needed to be in the mud. I have needed the journey to get to this point of understanding and acceptance.

 

‘There is the mud, and there is the lotus that grows out of the mud. We need the mud in order to make the lotus.’

-          Thich Nhat Hanh