The cow of Dharma stood on 7 legs, clinging to the side of the rock with hooves more suited to the grassy plains below, chewing its meaty cud. Despite the thin air, the bright sun, and the cold breeze, the cow had not moved anything but its mouth all morning. Clambering around the ridge above and below, the cow’s hosts went about their goats’ dance (hopping, hooting, licking piss off of rocks, staring silently into the sun with black eyes).
It did not belong, but it had been invited expressly by the Mother of All Goats, who now lazed inside of the stone mansion, smoking marijuana and eating cherries from a human skull. The cow had been invited in, but refused. Opulence made the cow nervous, especially in the face of desolation.
“Oh but come now and enjoy yourself. You have been such a busy cow, crawling through the cosmic muck, reforming this universe by your own will, watching the fires of the night heat the factories of tomorrow’s existence. Come. Have a cherry. Relax. You are a guest in this place,” said the Mother of All Goats as a four humans bathed her rich, ebony fur and gently brought her to yet another orgasm. “It is our time. The hoof shall replace the monkey hand, just as those fools dared write in the last age.”
The cow of Dharma paid no heed to the goat’s temptation. It had climbed from the fields to these high hills to test itself. And now it stood, and the test was not over. To give in now, to bathe itself in drugs and sweets and fleshly pleasures, would be to undo every hard step up the mountain. There was no rest. There was no shelter. The journey would not end here. The journey would never end.