It’s like color theory. Well, my own personal soul-based color theory. People I have the closest relationships with are primary colors, like my mom, dad, and brother. Then there are secondary colors: my nearest aunts, uncles, cousins, and my grandparents. Tertiatry colors are those who are related but not in contact with me as much. These two goats showed up in bright primary colors to my soul’s eyes. Even their brother and the other kids born that spring were secondary. I felt like we were heart family. I wanted to know them when they got old. “These little cuties are going to grow up into goats!” warned my logic brain. “Yeah,” replied my heart. “I love goats!” I could honestly say I loved my daily life working with the herd, doing farm chores. They had taught me so much. Even the difficult parts never invoked the dread response I had watched my dad go through every Sunday before another week of work. I knew this dread intimately myself from most jobs I’d had. I learned well: I must be doing something “right” if it’s hard. “That’s why they call it work,” I can hear my dad say. A friend recently pointed out to me that I also use this barometer on my intimate relationships, to stupidly-long-term unsatisfactory results. What a relief it would be if it didn’t have to be that way! (Pause to breathe deeply and let that sink in…) So since my heart was all in, and I’ve been trying to learn to be guided by my heart, there was nothing left for me to do but buckle down and figure out where we were going to live. The sheer terror of having two beloved beings dependent on me with no home, no income, and a huge life transition looming over me was minor compared to the shock and grief I felt at the idea of them riding off in the back of some stranger’s pickup truck, never to see each other again. It tore me up. “OK fear. You’re on. Let’s do this.” Somewhere along the line, my dear friend, teacher, and healer, Deanna, lightly threw out the idea of, “Bring a few goats, come live with us and help us build our house!” I thought, “Does she mean it?” Deanna is a founding member of the Mesa Life Project, an intentional community seed sprouting just over the Grand Mesa from where I live now. They live on a rental property just down hill from the land they own and had just gotten a loan approved to start building a house on their land. At the time they expected to move up onto the land in a year or two. These folks are family of my heart, and the vision they hold for this village-to-be resonates deeply with my own vision for living on the land. I had already been contemplating my place within this tribe for years and participating where I felt called. Mesa Life had felt like a potential future home for Eric and me, especially since I met him at a ceremony on the land there. At one point we considered moving there together. Deanna’s suggestion was not completely out of the blue. Some part of me has always been longing to live with them. It took me awhile to navigate the question of whether I could actually come and bring goats. It was part of the community vision to raise animals, but it was assumed to be sometime down the line once they had the house finished and moved up to the land. I was in the midst of ending my intimate and business partnership with Eric, they were just starting to dig the foundation to build the house, and we all were preparing for a major ritual event on the land. Life was hectic, chaotic and full. Somehow we managed to meet and come up with a proposal for creating a space for the goats at the rental and a plan to house me and explore our relationship moving forward. I felt ready to dive in. These were things I had been craving: creating a foundation with like-minded others to build a life together and a sense of moving forward toward my dream. The pressure of the timing was intense. My deadline for moving the goats was mid-August, but I had to have a bulletproof plan in place by the end of June. The Mesa Life ritual was in early July, and we would all be wrapped up in that for almost two weeks out of contact with the outside world. I didn’t know who would be available to help me and how we would get a home set up for my goats by mid-August. I had to come up with something to tell Jeanne. She was giving me a chance, but her bottom line was firm. Finally I presented her with our proposal. She cried, saying it just wasn’t good enough. I couldn’t connect with her tears. I just kept hearing some inner voice saying, “These are my goats.” I left for ritual space with the uncertainty of ever seeing my goats again. They were posted for sale. Jeanne had exacting standards, but still, they were livestock. Whoever bought them would own them. I prayed for guidance. I prayed for help. I wrote Jeanne a letter pleading my case. I didn’t know what else to do. My prayers were amplified by the ritual that held us. I went in knowing I had done my best. The shortcomings of our situation were obvious. It would take a scramble to get things set up for goats at the rental. I had meager money, resources, and physical strength to do it all myself, and no-one in the community had extra time to help me. The reality of the one couple who wanted goats was raising a three-year-old and starting a school on top of everything else. Even if we could pull it together, we’d be moving to the land in a year or two and have to start over. The land was wild and home to predators. A neighbor had recently lost a goat to a bear, and Jeanne had heard about it. If we were to have them there, we would need some livestock guardians, and I knew next to nothing about that… The prayer shifted to “May these goats find the best home for them, where they will be safe and all their needs will be met. And if possible, may I at least be able to visit them.” I had to surrender them to the hands of Great Spirit. It broke my heart wide open. Returning from the ritual I was scared to learn whether they were still at Jeanne’s....
They were! Jeanne and I had a really good talk — mutual respect and understanding prevailed. No-one had enquired about the goats who met her standards. I still had a chance for a miracle...
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Amber DarkriverI am a collaborative experiential artist residing in Paonia, Colorado. Check out my Artist Manifesto! Archives
January 2020
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