Side by Side: a Story of Presence

The morning air was crisp as it caught me, a gentle slap reminding me I should’ve checked the forecast before stepping out jacketless. Still, I felt a warmth that had nothing to do with the weather.

Turning, I found the source — Ryan.

An almost-toothless, sixteen-year-old, black-and-white bundle of caprine brilliance. He was standing there, wearing his jacket and his years like a quiet badge of honour.

And I loved him for both.

There’s a certain way Ryan sidles up to me with that look in his eyes. It’s both deliberate and knowing and it’s a wisdom that takes my gaze and lands it in the distance. And though we stare at nothing, we do so with intention, like a shared meditation. We look past skin and story, into the space where stillness lives.

If he were to take human form, he surely would be a savant.

And with our gaze now shared, our hearts are one. Bound not by species, but by time. Ryan wants nothing from me, only my presence. And, as always, I offer it freely.

I call to mind the first time we met. He was rescued from the notorious, now mercifully closed, Mernda Market. A place that belonged to the dark pages of centuries long ago and should never have cast its shadow on the modern world. A mere two days old and little Ryan was still crusted in amniotic fluid, a sad testimony to a mother who never got the chance to finish her maternal job. Lice swarmed his head like it was a racetrack and I swear their removal reduced his body weight by half.

And yet, I cradled him nonetheless. All he wanted was his mumma, warmth and reassurance. My heart broke, knowing two out of three would have to do.

Day by day, the little kid grew, not just in size but in soul. Ryan became a stellar ambassador for his kind. His gaze and his presence were mesmerising as he softened even the hardest among us. Ryan showed them what words often cannot: that their kindness is not a weakness and that in gentleness we find our strength.

He became a lantern for others as his light reached into the dimmest of corners of space, time and the human heart. He showed, and still shows us, what it means to live without hurry, harm or hatred.

Even when that scourge of male goats, urinary calculi, came for him, he won out. A snip to the tip of his penis saw him escape surgery as daily supplements guide his care. Now in his twilight years, he lives with grace and other equally senior citizen goats. Though his step is slower and his bones creak, his energy? It is still there.

Just different now.

No longer the bounding of youth, but the kind that humbly hums low and true. It is a deep and quiet energy that doesn’t demand attention but simply invites our reflection.

As we stand side by side, looking out onto the paddocks bathed in the morning light, I realise what it is.

Ryan reminds me that energy doesn’t always have to move fast to be profound. And sometimes, the most powerful thing we can do is simply be present — with another being, with the world and with ourselves.

That’s the energy Ryan carries. And it’s the very kind the world needs more of right now.