Stepping out of the car I spotted her instantly in the distance. She was a solid black dot amid the sea of a yellow field. From where I stood it looked like she was as far back as possible against the barbwire fence at the edge of my grandfather's property. I walked behind my dad and grandfather through the tall grass overdue for hay baling and found myself lost in daydreaming until my grandfather's hand stopped me. She was just in front of us. I looked up for what seemed to be miles completely stunned by the biggest horse I'd ever seen; my eyes nor my body could move as her big black eyes starred down at me. She gave a warning neigh that almost caused me to bolt from my grandfather's grip and I could feel my heart pounding in a panic.
My dad positioned the rope in his hand and told me that no matter what happened to stay close to my grandfather. Her sharp ears, like sonars, turned side to side trying to anticipate my dad's approach. He took his pipe out of his mouth and secured it in his front shirt pocket. I watched my dad slowly inch toward her. the rhythm of the rope angled in a circular motion at his side gaining momentum. Her eyes fixed on his every move, she neighed again but with much more force and raised up on her back legs tripling her size. I was frozen in my steps. She was majestic and strong, the scariest and most beautiful animal I'd ever seen. My grandfather said that she was full of spirit and wanted her broken but made it clear to my dad not her spirit. Something in that statement felt important but I was too young to understand what he meant.
Three tries and dad had the rope loosely around her neck. He pulled her close to get the bit into her mouth and in what seemed like one motion, my dad grabbed her mane and hopped up on her bare back. Not even a second later his body was flying through the air much like Wile E Coyote's mishaps with the Road Runner minus the explosions and ACME boxes in the background. My dad disappeared in the tall grass. It felt like an eternity as my eyes walked back and forth atop the field searching for movement. Finally, shaking his head and dusting the dirt off of his jeans, my dad appeared. Immediately he felt his front pocket and realized that the casualty of the day was his favorite pipe. After a few minutes of looking for it my dad gave up and walked toward us telling my grandfather that he'd not be trying that again.
Standing in the field with that horse; I had one of my first philosophical epiphanies about the inner dwelling of our essence. The essence of spirit in all things. Too young for words to describe what it was, I was left with the feeling that there was something special in that horse, and, too, whatever that was... it was in me as well. She was not the only horse I had been around; she was the first with her spirit intact. Other horses could be felt by their conscience deep stares and some even seeming inquisitive as I walked among them. This horse was nothing like the stable horses. She was the Joan of Arc among her kind holding an invisible space that kept anyone from getting too close without permission. I felt small and insignificant looking up at her but knew she was aware of me being aware of her. The weight of that ominous feeling was like meeting greatness expectantly.
It was a powerful lesson that gains more depth in me as an adult. Native Americans believe in the Great Spirit housed in all things. It walks among us adding fragrance and meaning to every encounter we have. Feeling it is unforgettable. Knowing it unimaginable. Yet, we touch it each moment that we breathe. I am aware of it being aware of me no matter how insignificant I am in the world, and, yet, one small step on my part in it's direction and it rushes to rise up on its back legs daring me to be as strong, bold and beautiful in my life as it is in the world.
Mona McPherson
Beautiful...
ReplyDeleteThank you.
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