|
The Horses Are Calling…
Part One
Masquerade
by Michelle Downey
Life takes many turns, and in looking
back, many of those turns I would rather have lived without. One such
U-turn was selling our ranch and literally giving away seven – count
them – seven beautiful Arabian horses. That was 18 years ago. Life and
lifestyle have changed dramatically as a result, and these beautiful
creatures faded into mere memories on my walls and ghosts that haunted
my mind.
.....
Their visits to my memory were consistent
over the years. Thought-pictures that would make my heart jump, but
which would be instantly torn into unidentifiable pieces by the logic of
the day, only to resurface again and again and then again. Recently,
however, these pictures were like a herd of corralled stallions pushing
the full weight of their bodies into the steel gate I had unconsciously
erected. They were sounding an alarm that only I could hear, yet I had
no idea how to respond to their urgent call. How could I discover what
they were trying to say? Where would I look? And what would I be looking
for? I could only be content in the thought that I would know what I was
searching for when I found it. It was this search that dared me to
approach the dark gaping hole in my heart. If I took the dare, would
that hole grow larger or would it finally heal? The horses seemed to be
telling me it was time to take that chance.
My search began by ‘discovering’ some
local horse farms here in Colorado. Upon arrival at the first farm, my
senses were on full alert. As I was warmly greeted and individually
introduced to each horse in its own stall, my eyes were taking pictures
of what I saw. My nose was remembering the sweet smell of hay. My ears
were smiling as they focused on the sounds that had been packed away
long ago. But it was my hands that were most delighted when I was able
to stroke the necks of these striking creatures. How was this dream
possible after being numb for so long? As I was reviving a few of those
old ghosts haunting my mind, I was delighted that the many members of
this herd responded to me, a total stranger, with respectful curiosity
and friendliness. I was sniffed and nudged and accepted in their home.
Thinking my visit complete, I was
ambushed when my host asked if I wanted to see one of their young mares
turned out in the arena. My heart was on hold. As the gate closed behind
her, I could only wonder if her beauty was as breathtaking as I’d
remembered it being in my own horses. In a matter of mere seconds, all
of her senses were now on full alert. She exploded into that
familiar transformation of elegance and grace. From the tips of her
delicately carved ears, through her vivaciously curved neck and
gracefully supple body, to her unrestrained tail hailing like a flag,
she not only shouted the beauty and vitality of her body, but of the
soul that thrives inside her heart and mind. It was truly exhilarating
to again witness such an inspiring spirit.
Over the next many days, my mind
played a continual loop of her ‘dance’, as well as my acceptance from
the herd. Watching. Remembering. Considering. But the stirring inside me
now was somehow different from the stirring of the past. I found myself
seeing with different eyes. The characters in this play seemed to have
an awareness and perception which I could have easily neglected to see,
had I not been searching out why the horses were calling me. Replaying
their intriguing script, I began to glimpse a familiarity to the script
my own life had played out.
The mare and her friends had
reflected back to me an oh-too-familiar ‘housewife’ story. It could be
a ‘business man’ story, or even a ‘children’s’ story. But to me, it was
definitely a ‘housewife’ story. It was the unbalanced tale of my
generously living my life day after day, week after week, dutifully
attending to the living and breathing people all around me, with little
or no regard for the living and breathing person inside of me.
Don’t get me wrong. I love those
living and breathing people around me. We’re our own sort of ‘herd’. We
depend upon each other for love and support, just like horses do.
Mostly, I consider my ‘herd’ to be my immediate family. But I have other
‘herds’ as well: the ‘herd’ at our business, the ‘herd’ with my
friends, etc. A ‘herd’ is a ‘herd’ is a ‘herd’. And, if I lived in a
perfect world, living out my days and weeks with these ‘herds’ in a
beautiful pasture, all would be fine with the world. Unfortunately (or
maybe fortunately), my part of the world wasn’t the ‘perfect
pasture’ I’d expected it to be.
As with any family or herd, structure
comes into play; where each of us takes our place and does our part to
make this whole ‘herd’ thing work. I call this my own personal horse
stall. My space. No one else’s. They each have their own space. I even
have my name branded over my stall door. Inside this very accommodating
stall, I had continued to happily fulfill my ‘housewife’ role day by
day, week after week, month in, month out. Blah. Blah. Blah. Until, one
anonymous day, my brain smacked of the term ‘barn sour’. A sort of
intense, but quiet, desperation. Stall-living was no longer appealing.
My ‘herd role’ had become cookie cutter boring. I was cramped and boxed
in, unable to find my way out. Just like all the latches, locks and
gimmicks we use to contain and confine the horse in its stall, I found
that I was controlling and restraining my own self through my own
creative set of ‘excuses’. Latches, locks. You name it. Everything I
could connive to keep me from that scary thought of actually seeing -
and heaven help me - being the person my heart silently longed to
‘extract’ after all these busy years. I had become a master at acting
one way, while feeling quite intensely the opposite. A game of
masquerade that the horse, thankfully, does not know how to play.
When that beautiful mare was
purposely guided away from the stall and entered that arena, she showed
me how easy it was to reveal her true colors. Every bit of passion was
hers and hers alone. She knew I was watching her every move, as her
energy became explosive and transformative. For this audience of one,
she graciously and purposefully expressed her individuality from the
tips of those sweet ears, through the proud grace of her trot, to her
highly animated tail - all signaling to me, her complete and utter
delight in being true to herself. The herd had not dictated her
movements. She was being her own extraordinarily authentic self. Oh, to
be a horse! This very conscious mare had seamlessly displayed to me the
simple balance between becoming ‘barn sour’ from a deadly, one-sided,
overdose of ‘herdism’, to giving myself permission to be authentic in
order to see my natural beauty flourish.
But that wasn’t the end of their
story... The mare was gracious and confident as she was led back to her
stall. She had attained the balance she required in order to continue
the ‘stalled’ living she’d been accustomed to and until her next
‘outing’. She knows how to find that balance whenever she needs it. It’s
me that needs the practice. And so I have begun, with this very visit,
to remove the mask I wore so tightly, so that I can begin to see my own
natural beauty shine through.
I have a new set of
‘thought-pictures’ now that make my heart jump. As for the ghosts that
continue to haunt my mind, they’re still around, but with a little
better understanding of why they’re haunting. They’ve encouraged me to
take a chance to begin to discover something I never knew, but had
longed to remember: me.
Read more Equus Spirit articles
HOME
|
