DRINKERS OF THE WIND ARABIANS

by Shannon Paige (Thursday, February 7, 2013)


She is my horse.  She is a soul horse.  She came into my life at the oddest time.  She came into my life when others said she shouldn’t.

They had no idea that something below and beyond words was being shared between this 5 year old Polish Arabian princess and myself. 

I can only say this, that this horse is a miracle.

She is a runner.  She is a runner, not away, not home, but for the love of running, and for the sake of running.  I have never been on a horse this fast.  She runs at a speed I cannot compute and lives to do it.  She meets me, right there, in the run, with her feet thundering under her, my heart beating wildly, and an inner body grin stretched across us both.  I too am a runner, but I have learned, under her tutelage, that I have always run home or away.  I have run on a treadmill and up hills, or for distance, but always for reasons just underneath her level of joy.  She runs accepting life’s greatest invitation, to be alive and to feel alive while being.  Perhaps I ran out of self-perceived obligations.  She is teaching me drop that and to focus.  She has taught me to stay present, in my seat, in the run.  Her young self has taught me to sit down with uncertainty and the currents of transformation as they move beneath me.

She is teaching me to live.

Her preference when we ride is that I stand deeply down in the saddle so that she knows we are in connection.  She has taught me to stand DOWN in myself and hold space for hope and peace and time and trust.  She forces nothing, but she looks back when I am distant or not paying attention and my lack of balance affects hers.  She holds me accountable.

She is a lover.  She is teaching me that love cannot be contained or defined or written or even said.  She teaches me every day that love is something that words cannot enhance or detract from in any way.  She values me in person, in touch and in truth.

She is honest and kind.  She wants what she wants and she loves when she loves, yet knows and respects that she is in connection and relationship.  She makes no gestures to impress me yet holds space for me around trees and waits for my permission to open up to her full speed.  She has an awareness and commitment about her that is beyond her young age. 

She is a servant of the flow.  She is not serving the flow of the day to day because she is ruled, tamed somehow less than, or even merely a domesticated animal.  She does not have a subservient hair on her body.  She knows she is wild and fast.  She loves for the sake of loving.

She is embodied choice.  She is a deeply connected current in the flow and serves the nature of flow itself.  She awakens with the day and sleeps with the night.  She eats when she is hungry and slows when she needs to rest.  She is the ultimate anchor of “normal and natural.”  She is becoming a central teacher, a step forward, and a light in life itself.

I suppose we have these, these unexpected teachers.  I suppose we could turn away from such unvoiced lessons, but why miss a wordless moment?

Into the flow we go, one galloping sense of change at a time. . . 

HER NAME IS ZIFFARAH