rooster

K: Today I was with a pet rooster. It was beeeeautiful! And so plump. It pranced around puffing itself and trying to look bigger than it is, more important than it is, and it pecked you if you didn't pay attention to it. Just like human ego...


Milica: Today I felt quiet. Which is unusual for this cocky rooster! I pranced so much I got hurt. I pranced through fire, over knives, into walls, and I got bruised and injured, and now I am feeling humbled and quiet - and what NOW?

The truth is that Something has grabbed me and pranced me around and smashed me into walls and through fire and scorched my pretty feathers, and made me feel tiny and insignificant and feeble and a lot more respectful. Now I am awaiting for further instructions because it is obvious I have no clue what to do on my own. I need to learn to be something else than the rooster.

Reminds me of "Chickpea and the cook" poem by Rumi.
Chickpea is trying to escape from the boiling pot and the cook smacks it with the laddle and puts it back into the scorching heat. The chickpea complains, but the cook answers: when you cook more fully with fire and spices, you will be so much tastier, so good to eat.