Chicken shit or chicken soup for the soul.
Every morning when I get up to use the long drop, the night is still in the air and the only thing making a noise is, are the chickens.
I bought these very cheap but incredibly warm pairs of white socks. (Not allowed to wear colors other than red. Black and white). Since shoes are a no go unless you leave the yard, I was quite pleased with the purchase.
It would appear that these socks have magnetic ability to trace the location of the chicken shit and ensure that I step in it.
Not once do I step in it barefooted. But low and behold. Within 20 min op putting on these socks, I step in it… and I am like, but why. Really but why.
Respect for the things in my environment around me is one of the core elements of this training process. I am on my knees every 5 seconds. When some one speaks to me. When I want to eat. When I am training. Even in the bath. On my knees. This lead me large feelings of gratitude. Unfortunately, none left for the chicken shit. Instead, its met with large scale irritation as it’s just one more thing that is so unnecessary.
Pondering on my chicken shit situation I realised that this happens everyday in our lives.
We take our soft well cared for feet. Place them snuggly into our protective gear and head out into the world with little to no regard what we step on. Our protection gives us the false sense of security that somehow leads to complete disregard. But with barefeet, we carefully consider our steps. Protecting our livelihood during the daunting task.
What if, we were brave enough to remove the armour we wore daily. What if we entered barefeet into every situation we ever encountered? Would we still step on chicken shit?
Probably, but we wouldn’t have to scrub our socks with our hands to get it out.
With barefeet, we look deeper more intensely at our situation, our options. We consider the shit bit also the soft smooth sand, heated by the sun.With barefeet we notice the shit alot faster anyway and can navigate around it.
I was also witness to a whole chicken being cooked for lunch. When I say a whole chicken I mean it. One phone call and the huku is dropped with in minutes. Starts pekking around the yard eating sand (factory huku’s don’t actually eat anything other than the swill they are fed and can live for 7 days without food). Suddenly, the huku makes it inside a plastic bag, just its head sticking out and with one smooth hit, its heads off and the blood squirts out like in the movies. The huku still kicking, gets a whole bucket of boiling water for softening. Its feathers get plucked and the cutting and cleaning process is started.
As I stand with my mouth hanging open in total disbelieve I watch how everything makes it way into a pot. Feet, drumsticks, wings and breast meat. The heart, the lungs and the stomach with its lining removed. I watch how the intestines are emptied out washed and added to the pot before its placed on a lovely fire. Everything but the head and the gall bladder.
Lunch is served.
There is something emotional about looking an animal in the eye when taking its life and then eating it. You cannot help but know that’s a life you are consuming. The plucking process revealed that the huku actualy broke a wing during the capturing process. It was fighting for its life.
They say if you eat meat, you should kill it yourself. Have the respect to look it in the eye.
To be thankful for its suffering and its life that now nourishes your existence.
Then I ask you my friend. When you go out into this world, do so with “barefeet” and look it straight in the eye. See the suffering around you see how the need for survival will leave broken bones. Humble yourself and be thankful for your nourishment. Sometimes shit happens but make sure you don’t have to wash it off your hands.