Impermanence is Bliss
I don’t like permanent shelters for the animals on my ranch. I have movable coops for all my chickens, turkeys, and pigs. I want the animals to always be on fresh ground, so they can naturally maintain fantastic health. Routinely moving animals to new ground also improves the health of the pasture plants, as well as the entire ecosystem. My beef cattle have a permanent barn and its permanence creates additional work for me. I have to clean it out frequently, as the cattle come up to the barn for their mid-day nap, and poop, before they walk back out to pasture. My ideal shelter for beef cattle (and one that is in my near future) would be a mobile shed that I can pull around the pasture with the tractor. It would work the same as my smaller mobile coops for my other animals, in that the poop would be distributed throughout the pasture just by moving the shelter around. The pasture plants would utilize the poop as fertilizer, without the middleman. I’d rather pull a shelter around than clean out a barn or coop.
My distaste for permanent shelters is a metaphor for my life. There was a time when I preferred the predictability of my life. I was terribly unhappy, but I was comfortable. I found comfort in familiarity–knowing the permanency of my job, exercise routines, food, and relationships. But then I learned that comfort kills the soul. Being comfortable in my life meant that I wasn’t moving. I wasn’t learning anything new and exploring the unknown. I wasn’t experimenting with my passions, and growing as a result. I was trying to keep things the same, when they were actually decomposing.
Nothing in nature is permanent. Everything is always changing. Things are either growing or dying. Ripening or rotting. The weather constantly shifts. Climate evolves.
By aligning my life with nature, I move with the flow of life. I bask in impermanence. I remain open to new adventures. I know that everything could change in an instant, but I’d be okay. I could lose my house, but I would know that something better was on its way. Every time something leaves, a space is created for something new to enter. So when you hold onto things, because of the comfort in permanence, you’re really preventing what’s meant for you to come. You’re blocking the flow of life.
It’s a game of trust, really. Because when you’re on the positive path of growth and change, you don’t know what’s ahead of you. You don’t know exactly what’s going to happen. So you have to trust in the force that’s guiding you. And you know you’re on the right path when you’re a bit uncomfortable, but feel fully alive.