jody9
how now cosmic cow
The cow onto which the universe was painted had a thoughtful, faraway look, because while it had not received much scholarly training or theological education, it knew the significance of its position. It stood elevated above the hubbub of the thoroughfare, out of reach of all the plebeian passersby who gawked and gandered and took its picture—the cow’s, that is—and it looked away, as if in peering hard enough at the distant sky it could attempt to see the very planets that were burned like brands onto its shoulders and flanks. The cow did not smile, or sigh, or chew its cud, even though there were times when it sorely wanted some breakfast. It was dedicated. Consecrated. Righteous, even.
For if devotion and practice had anything to do with it, no one was ever going to be able to say, when it came right down to it, that it was not—the cow, that is—holy.
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