April 30, 2020

Devotee 

If you wish to learn devotion, observe
the broody hen. She is dedicated to the
business of bringing forth life, but not
just any life, and certainly not Life in
the abstract. No. She is compelled by an
ineffable urge, moved to stillness, drawn
out of and into herself at the self-same
time, by a force both mute and undeniable:
Sit here, on these eggs. Wait. Guard them
with your very life. Wait. Make yourself a
threat to any that would threaten these
lovely orbs. Wait. Hiss. Squeal. Screech,
if you must. Wait. Puff up at the intruder.
Leak a slow moan that says to the thief,
I have all the patience in the world, but
no acquaintance with reason whatsoever.

And thus she waits, a taut disciple of
instinct, a good and faithful servant of
life-force, unburdened by categories and
concepts and thus by anticipation or fear,
her reward warming, astir beneath her.