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March 11, 2004

Getting Dirty

I love dirt. Dirt has always been a part of my life, since horses love dirt, too. Horses roll in the dirt, they roll in the grass, they roll in whatever they can roll in. They get hay in their mane and tail and forelock. They have dirt from head to toe and don't mind. I have not rolled in dirt since I was a child, but horses keep telling me dirt is good.

Horses also say food is good and they embody the simple, yet profound, question, "What's the big deal?" Humans are very serious about stuff that does not even exist. Humans function in imaginary worlds, making up stories by which to live, that have nothing to do with what is really happening. Horses may not live as long as we do, but they seem to be happier and healthier just the same. Even horses who are abused seem happier than humans who are not. Horses do not hold grudges. Horses do not judge. I like to hang out with horses, hoping someday what they know will rub off on me completely. How fortunate I am to have had a lifetime with such creatures.

For me it is horses, perhaps for others it is plants or dogs or trees or bugs. There is a message, built into life, not special to anyone on this planet. I know I have heard this message, but I have not been able to get out of my imaginary world for long enough to entirely shift my living to match this message. I believe this message is repeated constantly and is not going away. It is the real thing. It is the breath of life. It is the language of the soul! The message is about rhythm and dancing and belonging. It is about trust and love. When I think of this message I get a vision of the forest on my property and of the individual trunks of the trees as I look into the forest. There is a breath of wind and a scent of earth. I can feel the aliveness of the moment and see the patterns within the course of life. I can feel it in my center and then it is gone again.

I feel sometimes as if I am in a deep coma. Sometimes I come close to waking from this coma and can hear voices. I understand them, even though I realize the language is not the language I usually speak. I understand it even so. I reach for it and it is gone from my grasp. I know I just need to wake from this coma. The horse is my ride out of the coma, perhaps. It is when I coach or hang out with the horses that I come the closest to waking. However, I eat and sleep and go to class in a coma. I raise my children in this coma and pee and bath in this coma. I am tired of being in this coma, though. All the people I know are in the coma with me, but they remain in their own bed, so their coma is all theirs. We just share similar dreams. Most everyone appears to be happy enough being in their coma and I am not. I want to be closer to the woods and I want to find myself in the earth and leaves. I want to be closer to the sky and find myself in the clouds and wings of birds. I want to be closer to the rivers and oceans and find myself in the salty brine and scales of fish. The horses are happy where they are and they wait to speak with me when I awake, which I know I can do. All I need to do is bring myself back to the dirt for a good roll.