Hens, kicking through grass, pecking at seeds and rivals, as it should be, free to roam beneath an open sky, even if there are limitations.
A bit like a prisoner who has come to terms with lack of choice and a physical life constrained by the constant fixture of boundary; high walls and razor wire, watchtowers, and time.
Time; routine rules everything. Hens take the morning as it comes; prisoners have their day ahead, how easy depends on perspective; if focus is trapped within memory, fear, what’s to come, then life buckles under the strain of the external.
Hens integrate, forage, compete, but in the here and now, no worry about the future, simply because it doesn’t exist. It’s all about now, living the physicality of the moment, through instinctive response; hungry – food; tired – sleep; roost – lay; wellbeing – staying on top by giving the odd peck here and there. All is good because that’s the way things are; no expectations.
We’re all prisoners. Some of us, though, have learnt to step out of the gladiatorial pit, to bypass the conflict zones of self and life.
Even though my choices are limited to my circumstances, I can work within these constraints, and make the best of my situation.
Easier said than done, but it’s the doing that matters; the endeavouring, focusing on the moment, like the hens. I don’t want to compete, knock another aside to gain their space. I’ll share, no problem, once the willingness is there. But I’ll always have my own space, however limited it is.
A 6x8 cell can be as fulfilling as a two up-two down house, or as deadening as a mansion on a hill, full of ghostly memories of that which was, but can never be.
The physical can always be overcome. Just close your eyes and open your heart to