Farmer Mistakes Yoga Retreat for Cult, Ends Up Finding Inner Peace
He wandered in with overalls torn,
Thinking this was goat-birthing morn.
Instead he found folks stretching wide,
And chanting “Om” with rural pride.
They offered tea, he asked for beer,
But soon he cried a healing tear.
“Turns out I had trauma in my plow,”
He wept while downward dogging now.
He faced his fear of vegan stew,
And hugged a stranger named Bamboo.
Now every morn he greets the sun,
In fields where silence used to run.
His cows say “moo” in calmer tones,
And meditate near sacred stones.
He thanks the cult–er, healing space,
For teaching cows to namaste.
Alan Nafzger (editor@bohiney.com)