My friend Michele sent me this picture of Nelson out in his big field. This is new: Nelson relaxing, Nelson settled in the sun.
Today when I went to see him we went into his round pen and he did perfect figure-8 changes of direction in both directions. Slow, fast, near, far. Perfect.
Nelson has taught me more about being clear, being calm and showing up than anyone or any other thing in my life.
Thank you Nelson, my beloved teacher.
Still sitting even in the snow, or maybe especially in the snow. Sitting requires more rigor and devotion when it is cold and windy.
There are days when I do not want to do the work, when I feel that it will take too much from me, or that I do not have enough to give to it. The work could be anything: the writing, the riding, the dancing.
I went to the barn early today to ride because a snowstorm was coming. For me, riding is sitting. Riding is practice. Riding is that combination of rigor and devotion. Today was one of those days when I did not think I had enough to give. My body felt sore and stiff after several days of riding the big, powerful Friesian, Sanne.
At one point in the ride, I wanted to stop and say, “Wait, this is too hard, I cannot do it, I do not know how.” In fact, I think I did stop and say something like that. I could feel how the muscles in my arms were braced, how the pieces of my riding were not flowing together, felt I was coming apart, both mentally and physically.
Here is the thing. It was less my body than my mind. It was that old doubting, questioning, fearful part of my noisy mind, the part that has gotten up and left the meditation hall even when my body is still sitting there (in the saddle, holding the reins.)
Somehow I did recover myself. Here is what I did. I stopped trying the same old thing, and began to improvise my ride. A circle here, a softening there, a change of direction: change, change, change. I shifted my attention to the stiff, unyielding parts of my body and invited suppleness there.
I think this is what it means to be a spiritual athlete. Nurturing an athleticism that is not about big muscles or marathon sitting, but the kind of athleticism that is about endurance and steadfastness. About finding a way in, every day. Offering the best, every day.
A lot of times I will just stand with Nelson and look where he is looking. I want to know more about his point of view, what is interesting to him, and what he sees.
I never really know. But that is the point. We cannot know what another sees or feels unless they tell us directly. We make assumptions (which are fictions) and then pursue a course of action or inaction based on those assumptions. More fiction.
When I am with Nelson, I don’t pretend to know what is interesting to him, or how he sees the world. Sometimes he will be very clear in horse language (movement). A spook generally means something was scary. Coming close means that he feels safe or he wants a treat or both.
I like that things with Nelson are very basic. I spend a great deal of time complicating and elaborating in many other parts of my life. Being with the horses is a chance to step away from all of that, to get clear, and have a conversation in the language of skin, muscle and bone. And heart, and heart.
This was too delightful not to share.
(I wonder if Jon Katz who reads to his beloved donkey Simon, will take up an instrument. . . )