Saturday, November 6, 2010


This little field sits scooped into the earth, steep on one side and flanked in thin woodiness, a stream. The afternoon glows gray with the trees on fire in their funeral best, the leaves shivering in the wind. Crouched on top of the hill, I can feel a horse underneath me, maybe flying a drop fence. 

I wonder if I haven't simply, stupidly backed myself into a corner with all this over-thinking the "why" of horses and being with them. Maybe I'm nothing but a ridiculous and incorrect pseudo-philosopher about all of it. I know for sure that I'm highly skilled at the art of confusing myself into oblivion. I could be totally right, too - but what's changed is that I don't care and I'm not trying to figure it out anymore. 

A simple thought comes to me on the hill. Horses don't naturally gallop over fences set on the crest of a drop, nor do humans naturally run marathons, for example. Both horses and humans in their basic natures live as wanderers, nomads doing nothing more than covering moderate distances at a mild, steady pace and existing along the way. Yet both can intelligently be developed to run, to dance, to fly, to do things they aren't necessarily born doing but are quite often inspired to do and are capable of. 

There is much we are all capable of becoming, given the alchemy of intelligence, heart, desire, and these strange machines called bodies. Much of these latent capabilities are pure beautiful. I'm not suggesting that just because you can, you should - yet, if you can and subsequently you do, then do. There's nothing more to it than that. 

I've seen many a horse mid-flight and utterly at ease in body and eyes. Ears forward, heart open. Something to consider, that's all. 

"He who knows he is a fool is not the biggest fool; he who knows he is confused is not in the worst confusion." - Chuang Tzu

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