Something happens when we die. There is a moment when a spirit leaves. It’s not obscure. You can feel it, sense it, watch it happen.
Call it what you will. Attribute it to what you will. I call it real and I call it peace.
We approach every harvest of every animal with solemnity, responsibility, and the deepest of gratitude. There is sadness and there is joy. There is discomfort and there is celebration.
It is, as all the toughest of things are, the full richness of being. We could relieve ourselves of the hard parts by avoiding them, but all that we gain would be forever lost, too.
Ease and comfort are sometimes the most expensive things of all.