Facing the world alone

I wouldn't mind feeling it again, the first time i fell in love. Everyone has her own story, and everyone loses it somewhere down the line in the bottom of a drawer along with several broken keychains. Hard to beleive that it once was the pulsating centre of the known universe, your love, and the energy flew off it like those eruptions on the surface of the sun, spurting thousands of miles into space. But that was so long ago.
There remain buried bits of concrete evidence that i lived such a life, and with a little amateur archeology, i can find what is left after the rains of time have expunged the mass of it.
That is what is left of it all. Of the desire and the drive, of the longing and the dreaming, the months and years in thrall to an animal, such as THE HORSE.
Finding someone to talk to. Do you know what a desperate, aching quest this can be? We are pack animals, like our friends the dogs, and the feeling of being alone is etched into our DNA as a warning of the highest urgency: DO NOT STAY HERE. We scramble and scratch the paint off the door, whining as if our hearts were breaking, which they are. Trying to get wawy from the feeling of being alone in a world full of people.
Its hard to remember that there was someplace better, and there was someone who understood, even though it was an animal that did not speak our language, but rather a superior, deeper one. And then an image of a horse struck my eyes. In it was something that vibrated below the level of hearing, below that of thought. Here was something that could bear me away, and all the outcasts who could find no one to talk to.
They are a stirringly impossible mixture of power and delicacy, size and fragility. They inspire fear even though they are filled with it themselves. They are wild and yet utterly tameable. The fluttering of sensitive ears and nostrils; the artistic curve of the neck and the drapery of the mane; the quickness, the dance; the eyes - great pools of assessment and expression. They are framed with lovely lashes. Best, the eyes call silently. They observe when we want nothing more than to be seen.
So now we are gripped by the desire to get nearer, and it is a desire that is more like a need. Up close we will find more: the large veins roaming over the fine bones of the face, the muzzle like velvet, the transporting scent of sweetness blown through the nostrils. And we talk to the horse, who seems to listen. At least HE doesn't say no.
"Thou shalt fly without wings" The human heart, too, flies on viewing its divine compassion, in awe of this great gift of power so freely given. Tears fall at the sight of such grace.
There is more. Another motif, another part of what we might call the truth. There is the underpriveliged girl for whom HORSES REPRESENT AN UNATTAINABLE, ENTICING DREAM OF FREEDOM, LOVE AND BEAUTY.
There's the cliche - girls and horses, eh? Wink, wink - and then there's the anticliche cliche - no, its really about little girls empowering themselves. You know, they get to steer around thousand pound animals and FEEL ON TOP OF THINGS FOR A CHANGE.
Horses bear freedom titles such as "spirits of the mist".
Looking deep into the eyes of such a sensitive yet loving creature is like seeing something inside yourself - A YEARNING TO BE UNDERSTOOD, A WANTING TO BE REALIZED AS AN INDIVIDUAL, reflecting back in THEIR eyes.
Flying along the earth is a simple pleasure, irreducible without peer, magnetic for that simplicity. To borrow the power of another to acheive something so near to pure freedom - without its becoming final death - is an intoxication.
That's how it all happens, all at once when you don't even want new sight, never asked for it. You can try to push it back to where it came from, but it won't go. And that's how it is, simple and clean.
There are those who must be with horses. They will do anything to be with horses. I am this way. Going through a typically rough adolescence, horses become a buffer to the crashing waves of emotions. To ride off into the hills, bareback, on a creature so close to your heart is a way in which to escape the cruelties of this world. How many times i have done this to cry or think about some deep problem i do not know.
Nothing resembles being in tune with a horse; it's one of lives greatest pleasures. A horse NEVER disappoints. No matter how tough a day you may have had, no matter what problems you think you have, go out and see a horse, any horse, and you cares will vanish.
"No matter what happens that bay mare is there for me"
I always feel good when i am with horses. No matter how tough the day, even very sad, when i am riding all the world goes away.
"A horse is a girl's best friend. So is her mother. They've both been ther for me, carrying me on their backs. I look at them now with aching love. I cannot bear to lose them, but i have and will. They have left and are leaving me"
In acknowledgement of a loving hand, the horse does return at least tenfold to her mistress that which she craves: the banishment of melancholy, that dark demon which occasionally haunts even the most joyous of life, which is overcome and driven back to the dark shades from whence it came. When assailed by sorrow real or fancied, turn to this true, willing friend, whose affectionate neigh of greeting as you approach, and whose pretty little graceful arts, will tend to dispel your gloom, and, once in the saddle, speeding along through the freshening air, fancied griefs are soon forgotton, while strength and nerve are gained to face those troubles of a more serious nature, whose existence cannot be ignored.
"Horses are my gin and therapy"
There is the intoxicating sense of power: Give the sign, and off you go; the wind comes up as if you had willed it to blow, while a powerful being who respects your command enought to run without having any other reason to do so pumps so rhythmically beneath you, it is possible to beleive you are not two but one. There is the gift of concentration and enlightenment - pay attention to wahts around you, what you are doing with body, mind, breath, or else - force you to inhabit the here and the now. There is someone to talk to any hour.
A psycholigist who has studied bereavement in those who have lost horses calls it a symbiotic "partnership relationship" that is marked by "mutual trust, intuitive understanding, and task orientated alliance."
Thus i am connected forever to the child i was; the moment in which i first felt love has been preserved intact inside the pain of learning that it also presumes some loss. Or else it could not matter so much you would give anything, anything, to it. The creature i have become is contained in the craeture i was, and a double strand of longing has been braided into one. For the horse is nothing if not the very emblem of desire, the promise of satiety to the perpetually famished. She stands at the crest of our dreams, proud and noble, since we have no other words by which to call it. And she stands close when we wake, right at the ends of our fingers and their hunger for just this sensation, no ther. Anyway, she stands. Always Other, always somehow resoloutely irreducible; there and not there.
The woman with the horse is the completion of the girl with the desire for the horse. The picture is titled hope - sentimental, to be sure, but precise. In it the big bay mare turns around to look at the person whose hand rests upon her back. Their eyes have met and hold. It is about both past and future, what has been and what could still be. And about the closing of distance. It seems to say: The horse will speak for us, through being voiceless. In turn we must utter paryers for them.

Your suffering shall end soon,

though mine has just begun.

I do not want to let you go,

but i'm told the time has come.

I'll hold you while you go to sleep,

and wish that i could too -

I do not want to say goodbye;

i want to go with you.

I'll think how very blessed i've been

for all the years we've shared,

I'd not trade them for a thing -

though this heartbreak would be spared.

What a complete shame i have to miss our YFC meeting on saturday. I used to suffer from extreme pain when my iron levels got very low (which the Dr's first linked to being on my periods) and the pain was so deep that it caused me just to fall on the ground and want to sleep no matter where i was. my MEF's were supposed to help with this but they aren't having much effect any longer and i'm now having the same pain at different times. So on Saturday afternoon i have to go to the doctors so im not going to have my wits if i go to the meeting. So im not going for i want to tell certain people some hometruths about their selfishness and petiness. And i want the satisfaction of wiping the smirks off of their faces.

If only some of them could read this!!! I wish they would! Maybe they would realise some things. But then again i doubt not.

Other than that thoughts and feelings are still the same

"horses are individuals and unless we understand the individual we cannot expect the individual to understand us"

sorry i just love that quote!!