History floods a brain suddenly

upon the hearing of old tunes.

That’s how this tale began

dancing to The Farmer in the Dell.

One day I woke to find myself

in grammar school

in front of the room

but centered within the group’s consciousness

attached, as to a womb

with many brothers, sisters

crowding, floating round.

One droning hum of learning

that bore no quality nor distinction, no fun.

Assigned a task to draw a cow

I copied fervently and well

and was rewarded loud and hearty

which took me from the spell

of sameness.

I was now “other”

different from the rest

better, I guessed

and a hefty ego stormed.

One step further to the wall

where I was told to draw

more cows and such from memory.

I stood then on my chair

to reach the heights

of physical and mental hierarchy.

I rose to the command, looking down

on rows of children stuck

in ordered mediocrity.

Prematurely celebrating my escape, I drew

but not a cow came through my crayoned hand.

I was drained of accuracy

alarmed at nullity

and the void where previously

I was kinged.

Shocked from sleep

into separation

into confused disappointment

I thought I was through

but shock became chagrin

as the very same admirer

who had such lengthy praise

one wide-eyed smile ago

now scolded in an angry tone.

It was too late for that

as this second birth

could not be taken back.

I would never be

an ordered row of mediocrity again

for I had witnessed self.

“A Cow Woke Me Up” initially reminds me of time spent in the early years of grade school where praise was easy to get from teachers and friends. You were treated special for a while because you colored inside the lines or because of your penmanship or your propensity with numbers, but like everything else, fame from such things didn’t last, and soon admirers became detractors if you kept pushing your popularity. Some people get a taste of that and always want more; “[they] would never be/an ordered row of mediocrity again/for [they] had witnessed self.”

On a different note, it also reminds me of the Lonely Hero archetype you see in literature and movies like, for example, the Harry Potter franchise and “The Matrix” trilogy. For example, “One day I woke to find myself/in grammar school/in front of the room/but centered within the group’s consciousness … ” The Hero wakes up from the dream life he had been living, whether idyllic, abused, or ineffectual, sometimes numerous times throughout the course of the series, but they’re always the object of (often unwanted) attention. Harry wakes up from the ten-year waking dream that he’s a “normal” person when Hagrid shows up at the cottage on the sea to deliver his acceptance letter from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Neo literally wakes up from several dreams, dreams of him being implanted with a tracking device by the Agents, and literally waking up from the Matrix in the first film, waking up from his uncertainty of his Messianic status in the second film, and waking up from the illusion of safety and “everything will be alright” in the third film.

“I was now ‘other’/different from the rest/better, I guessed/and a hefty ego stormed.” The Hero is always different, either by ability, family ties, or just by being cursed with a specific destiny. Harry and Neo are “other,” which is the source of all their attention, but while Harry develops a bit of a Hero Complex without letting his ego completely storm off with him and make him into a holier-than-thou jerk, Neo remains more unsure about whether or not he actually is better than anyone, hence the “ better, I guessed” line. Neither he nor Harry is really sure they’re better than anyone, but Harry takes to his Chosen One destiny sooner than Neo.