People say cows have no business in horseplay, but who’s ever heard of ‘cowsplay’? And then there’s never been a holy horse or cash horse. We don’t wait until the horses come home, and Seth Godin, didn’t make his millions writing a book called Purple Horse.
And although the idea of spiritual horses carrying the human soul to Valhalla sounds more attractive than a cow clomping to the afterlife, it’s clear our allegiance is still with the beauty of the bovine and the essence of the sacred cow.
As the protectors of the unquestioned, custodians of ideology and institution, the trustees of taboo and sentinels at the shrine of censure; we all have subscriptions to various sacred cow protection groups. Where opinions, theologies, relationships, processes, and paradigms remain immune, preserved, and often reinvigorated. With a “hey diddle diddle”, even in the absence of a fiddle, we’re prepared to “jump over the moon.”
Whilst these cows are the mainstay of much, the keepers of consensus, and oft times rendered valuable, it’s the brumby loitering beyond the paddock luring, that should not be shunned. It won’t be steeped in Hindu blessing, but is chomping to challenge the territory, discover the new and break from the bunch. In ‘Toro Bravo meets Brumby’, the sacred gets a shakedown, shutdown or wake up call. It reaffirms personal conviction to ideals, ideologies, or institutions, or may serve as a realistic reminder that, ‘you can lead a horse to water, but you can’t make it drink’. An abiding by the state of play and enduring of allegiance.
In the line-up of holy heifers, cows, and bulls, amongst the Brahman, Angus, Hereford Holstein Friesians and Texas longhorns; pedigree and heritage often arbitrate our sacred. Pure bread lineages of pre-determined affinities, perceptions, and politics jostle for pole position and preservation. Locked in the corral of complacency or conviction. But relevance requires review. A sweaty, dirty, dusty muster to supplement herd stock, turning out to pasture of the old, or transformation of the obsolete into high-end, overpriced, grass-fed steaks. Sitting in a stable of the unreviewed, sacred leads rapidly to stereotypes, stigmas, and stagnation.
Halo removal isn’t restricted to champion Matadors or bull riders. The red flag necessitates a dismount from high horses. An ominous step into the ring. It behoves a grabbing and control of the bull rope, a reciprocation of flaring nostrils, and a crazy, turbulent ride. In the rodeo of reflection and realignment, it’s time we benchmark our beef and say farewell to our beloved Trojan cows.
