Shitty load

Should you carry someone else's shit around?

Good Morning Dear Reader,
Thank you for bringing your heart beat to join mine as we sit here at 5.55am in Wānaka New Zealand with a nearly full moon shining bright from above Mt Roy, shining into my left eye. All else is dark but for a low glow from my laptop. That way I can watch the miraculous unfolding of the day. What a pleasure that is. What a gift every day we are given. 🙏
The birds sing their hearts out in these early morning Spring days as we dip into a wonder full Spring of blossoms and rain and wind and sun and warmth and cold and snow flakes. Everything. ❤️

Photo: Mt Iron, early morning run/jiggle/joggle/pause/photo taking/ heart expanding

I wrote this next piece before coming on to Substack and thought I’d share it with you today.
Enjoy and have a wonderful week.

Do you ever feel that you are carrying someone else's shit around?

Do you take on other people’s crap?

I took some shit yesterday.

It was heavy shit.

It was a man who gave it to me.

I asked for it, I guess.

I have never requested out loud before:

"Give me your shit please."

As I look back at this wonder-ous encounter I contemplate if the Universe is sending me a sign of which I have yet to interpret, a delicious little analogy regarding the taking of and the disposing of shit...

He was young, the man whose shit I received, in the way so many people seem young these days.

He had his hands full.

He had a Big dog on a lead, and a new baby in a back pack.

Dog grinned with tongue dangling, baby cooed and played with Dad's full head of hair. Pulling it in a tiny pink clenched fist. Is that what happens to our hair as we age.... Is that why we don't have much left?

This lovely young man was doing the good thing. He was doing his best to be GOOD.

A good dad, a good husband, a good dog owner.

Photo: Sunrise this week as I approach the summit of Mt Iron.

When suddenly his rosy posy morning walk was interrupted by his Big dog heeding the call of his bowels and doing a BIG shit right on the footpath by the busy main road that runs along the flanks of Mt Iron.

The Good Man did not do that quick furtive 360 degree ever so not so subtle scan of the area checking if anyone saw before ignoring it and moving on. YES, I saw you do that Mrs Poodle and it was on your neighbour's lawn!

The Good Man just did the right thing. It was in his nature.

He had his doggy do doggy poo bags in a sensible easy to reach side pocket.

I watched as he stooped down and for a moment I was petrified the baby would slide out the top of it's baby back pack...

But without a second thought the man did a crouch rather than a lean forward. No doubt he used the correct stomach muscles to get maximum strength and balance from his core. I would not have been surprised if he pulled out a yoga prayer squat right there on the main road. So capable and Good was this man.

Isn't it amazing what I can see in the 30 seconds I approach him? That is the beauty of running SLOWLY. That is the beauty of observing life.

So I offered, to take his shit. He had enough on his hands. My heart was open.

He passed it over.

His shit, his dog's shit, was warm and fresh.

I said to him,

"I have never asked to take someone’s shit before."

He was very appreciative.

He said thank you.

And I wished him a great day.

Then off I trotted holding a swinging green bag with a heavy pile of hot shit in it. As I looked down upon myself from outside of myself I laughed out loud at LIFE in all her beauty and me in my wonderous craziness.

I chucked the poo in the bin that I knew was just ahead.

It landed with a heavy thud.

Farewell shit.

Jo xx