OF COWS AND MEN

Kevyn Bashore
Mar 6, 2020
5 min read

Updated: Oct 19

Photo by Kevyn Bashore. Barnett Ranch Preserve, Ramona, California.

Today I was visited by a longtime foe. Again. He likes to visit me at the most inopportune times. Especially when I think he’s gone for good. He knows just how to spar and jab a knife into my weak spot. He shows no mercy.

His name is Loneliness.

Today he visited when I thought I’d be safe: at the home of friends who live nestled in mountains of the Southern California desert. His surprise visit came because it’s easy to believe we’ll never feel alone when we’re with loved ones. But we all know: that’s a lie. Whether young, old, single, dating, married, divorced -- anyone at anytime, anywhere, can be visited by Loneliness.

My friends had an understandably busy weekend, so they left me to fend for myself. Not how I had hoped to spend the weekend with them. But expectations, as we’ve all experienced, usually lead to a need for adjustments in our thinking and focus. So late Saturday afternoon I went for my usual wilderness run. It’s how I meditate and clear my head, body, and spirit. I chose a path I’d never taken in the mountains behind their home. The trail led me to a stunning outlook from a bouldered peak overlooking cobbled pastures and steep ravines. Standing in such settings in the late afternoon golden sun -- is the closest I get to experiencing Heaven on earth. Pure Joy. And it’s during such moments that there’s also a deep longing to share this joy and beauty with others. Or a special someone. These are the moments I want to capture in a bottle and take home with me. But I can’t. No one can. They are the fleeting moments of the mountain peak ecstasy. The rest of our days can be laden with a propensity of daily humdrum commitments and activities. C. S. Lewis noted that such longings for eternal Joy can’t be fully satiated on earth because they are meant to be filled somewhere else beyond this earth. In Heaven. I believe he is right.

When I descended the mountain I came across a herd of about 150 cows. Several came trotting towards me. This could have been daunting, but I learned early on as a young artist, while sitting and drawing on a canvas in a pasture, the innate nature of cows. They surrounded me that day like a group of bovine thugs, or terrorists, appearing to nearly trample me underfoot. But when I calmed down I realized they were simply curious. It’s their nature. And it’s good.

So when the cows started running towards me today, I welcomed them. I sat on a rock and allowed them to surround me. They just stared. Curious. And took a few steps closer. Cows from all over the hollow and hillside where watching to see what would happen next with this stranger on their land. After a minute, since they wouldn’t leave, I began running again, attempting to bypass the herd so I wouldn’t disrupt their evening routine, for it appeared as if I had interrupted their return to the barn for the night. But that didn’t stop them. They trotted along with me down the hill -- away from the barn. And now more cows were galloping to join in with our growing party. My joy was now turning to concern: what if they wouldn’t stop following me through the rocky, dangerous mountain and got stranded in the dark where mountain lions could attack them? Or what if the farmer saw me and misinterpreted my actions as belligerent towards his stock? So I stopped again and sat down on another rock, lowering myself to make them all at ease.

The entire herd ran to observe this encounter.

I just sat there. And began speaking to them as they came closer and closer. I told them they are beautiful. And that they have a purpose to fulfill in this life. And that God created them. And loves them. They listened. One brave cow hesitantly scuttled all the way up to where I could’ve touched his dripping nostrils. He was special. The most adventurous of the them all. The biggest risk taker. Others just pissed and shat, staring with wet muzzles and black eyes. Standing in mud and sludge and stench and unaffected by it all. And me in mine. And they accepted me. The herd was my bovine brethren for the evening. The only ones to share this moment. I was preaching. And they were listening. And they were preaching. And I was listening.

And I was preaching to myself.

For when Loneliness visits He brings along his best friend: Unloved. And when we feel unloved by humans, it’s an inch across the border to believe we are unloved by God. That’s the biggest lie of all. God loves us beyond our wildest expectations and dreams. And yet the hardness of life can blunt the sharpness of our spiritual connection with the One who made us. That is how we learn to unlove ourselves. And without self-love we cannot love others -- or even God.

"God loves us beyond our wildest expectations and dreams. And yet the hardness of life can blunt the sharpness of our spiritual connection with the One who made us. That is how we learn to unlove ourselves. And without self-love we cannot love others -- or even God."

Extracting myself from this curious herd took some maneuvering and wit. But I eventually escaped without them following me all the way back home. By this time it was magic hour. Dusk. My favorite time of day. As I rounded the final bouldered hill I saw my friends, husband and wife, sitting on a tractor together, plowing and prepping a field for planting hay. It was a sacred moment. Shared between two lovers, together now for more than 20 years. Somehow they have traversed the difficult terrain of marriage, raising three daughters, business failures and successes, despair, pain, happiness, and joy. And this evening they stopped the whirling world around them to share the quiet tilling of the earth. Quiet, save for the rumble of the tractor. To smell the organic, pungent, sweet aroma of black soil turned over in the evening light. To share this activity of work, which is usually part of the daily humdrum grind, and make it sacred moment.

I would have missed two sacred moments: the meeting of the cows and my friends plowing the earth in silence, had I chosen to wallow in self-pity, or stayed inside to watch television.

Standing alone in this volatile landscape of rock, sand, and poisonous snake holes, rendered me both melancholic and deeply gratified. It brought closure to my visitation with Loneliness, the Mountain, and the Cows. Here, in the shadows of the dusty trail, running alone in the chilled twilight, I could celebrate the love of two good people. Two dear friends. Two beautiful souls. Their bond brought me joy. And it directed my eyes away from my own piss and shat I had been standing in: Self-Pity and Despair. To be the sole witness of this couple plowing the good earth with only the song of the tractor accompanying their silence, gave me a vivid picture of sacrifice, love, and enduring togetherness. And it took the sting out of the poisonous dart of Loneliness.

Though I know Loneliness will return, attempting to cause me to despair yet again, I will never really be Alone.