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Silent Language

 Several years ago I had taken on a rescue horse that a friend had fostered for 6 years. I made a commitment to step in and foster him because she was moving and wanted a safe haven for him to go. Well he had come with a little baggage… to put it lightly.  I called him Joey, a war pony coming home.

20170309_155742-1 I am reminded of Buck Brannaman and his words… “There is only so much they can take.”

As I had begun to spend time with this little horse, I realized he had spent those six years stewing or soaking in his memory.  And with quiet effort I wanted to soften those memories by creating new ones. There was no corral to work with Joey in, just an acre and a half  of juniper and sage. Here is where I made a promise, I would not put a rope on him until he would willingly follow me.   So we began at the fifty yard line, which was where he had drawn his line to my approach. We worked together by silent gestures, to narrow down the distance inch by inch, the hours ticked by. 

I allowed him to tell me, the best he could of what he would allow. I don’t know how to write out the attempts and the reattempts of communicating a silent language of a horse to a verbal species of a human, without thinking of judgment, failure and quitting in the mix. which are words that have a vast negative meaning in the human language,  but the meanings of these words go much deeper and stronger and more pure in the horse language.

As a student in school we are taught to pass or fail. We are rewarded for winning and shun ourselves at failure.  We are taught to judge and critique others around us without knowing their story and holding them accountable for their actions, by discussing our judgment and thoughts to others. For instance, what do you think of Benjamin Franklin?  What comes to your mind? Some might think a fifty dollar bill, while others think of a kite and key. Some might think of his chubby face while others think of his knowledge.

We were taught all these things about Benjamin Franklin but these are remnants, we don’t know the man, because we never met him. We never talked to him. And if we had, there would be different evaluations of who he is by our impression. What am I getting at?

The horse is the same. We have to get to know, evaluate and work with what we perceive.  Although just like reading a book, you read the words, but to truly understand you must move off of the page of words and feel the impact. 

When I met up with Joey he told me right off… “go to hell!”

As I stood with him without any emotion he began to allow me in closer but it was like a wolf pacing a band of sheep. A wolf will mirror the sheep and wear down their emotion down before the kill.

Joey look at me like I was the wolf, he knew I would come in,  but he was not going to wear himself out over it. He knew all to well the routine of push me- pull you. He knew all the tricks, the of apply pressure and release. He had it memorized.  Although I thought I was humble with good intentions… Joey read me like a book.  I have to be honest here, it was more about my ego, more of a challenge to me on what I could accomplish, how can I make this happen.  As I realized he was silently waiting, waiting for me to see him as he was, not at what I expected him to be.  His radar was on high alert, and responded with  resistance. I had to reevaluate what he was doing and think of what he was saying, I sensed, how hard Joey was trying, how hard it was for him to keep all four feet on the ground when every ounce of him was screaming for him to run, move, disappear, hide.  In that moment it wasn’t about what I could accomplish… it was about Joey.

I realized he was as keen as a deer and could read my emotion and intentions, faster than I could think them. He made me stay true to my intentions and honest in my silent language.  And you know, I needed that. I thought I was a horseman until, Joey gave me a new definition of what horse man meant. A  way deeper meaning.  

I softened my approach and entered into his world of view and interpretation. In a world of noise and chaos, I began to listen to his awareness, with a little practice turned into silent language we could both could understand.

Although we lost Joey in the summer of 2019, I will always be grateful for what he taught me on his Joeys Journey 

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A Small Town Girl

These last few days I have struggled with my commitment to fulfill all of my obligations that I have promised…I have been feeling like 6 squirrels all chasing each other tails and not gaining any ground. Last night I woke with the thought of who am I kidding…? I am just a small town girl with big dreams who writes. I will be no more or no less than that… I am not a Baxter Black or Rudyard Kipling… Or Stephen King for that matter.
I am just a small town girl… trying to make ends meet and keep my head above water, sharing hoping and dreaming. When do I let that little girl go? What would I be without her?
Last night I fought with myself on all I thought I was, and faced the reality that I am all I have ever been, that in the beginning I was a small town girl, I tried on the big girl pants, I tried the being brave, I tried being what I thought society wanted me to be. I found Society is nothing more than the expectations I put on myself because of someone elses’ expectations and the rules. Voices in the head, that say “you can’t do that” or “Who are you kidding…”  I have to blame it somewhere because I feel like such a victim, and I certainly wouldn’t say that to myself, it has to be society!  I felt wrong, awkward or maybe even stupid. While other times society would tell me the truth, a truth that hurts, hurts so deep that anger would bring a lash of resentment and blame. That anger would hold me until I couldn’t breathe, until I couldn’t think … a day, a week, a year… 5 years… it would hold me until I had the courage to release that hold, to bring to light the thought that I am here on this earth to feel, not own. I think I was created to feel, pain, pity, love, resentment. I am here to feel, jealousy, rage, passion, sickness, health, and all in between. I am here to feel what that little small town girl feels and the journey between my first breath until the last. Those that I look up to, that I call my teachers are only people that are doing what they do because they too are making ends meet, hoping and dreaming. Finding their techniques are ones that I can associate with, grow with, yet also understanding that they are just as I am people, right, wrong or otherwise judged in my eyes to being more than myself.20171012_174928_40031
One person in my life had said that I live with a beginners mind, a childish mind, a mind that can not comprehend the pain of this world, a mind that I imagine good, a mind that tries to balance the positive and negatives in life for the betterment of my self. One that some thinks lives in fantasy…
At first I thought that as an insult… I thought it as weak, meager, or non committal … But in reality it was more a complement.  The courage, the challenge to give one more moment to taste an apple for the first time, again… To feel a horse breathe and appreciate the living being it is. To witness a sunrise one more time and know the true beauty in the color, shape, feel and experience.charles sunriseTo feel the key board as I tap out one word at a time to try to capture an emotion, a feeling, a sight, and bring it to life.
Yes I am a small town girl, I am a woman, I am a daughter, I am a person who loves life and looks, searches and believes in the best… No blame, no excuses of past or future, no excuses of age or youth, just a small town girl with big dreams and a beginners mind.

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A Student

 

“Who are you?” A woman asked me on a snowy February morning in Washington. “Are you a horse whisperer?”

I had to pause for a moment, hadn’t heard that term in several years. “Ha,ha,ha, no.” I replied halfheartedly. But I noticed the woman was serious. To her this was not a joking matter.

She was direct, insistent and rushed, “I have a horse I can’t handle.”

Who are you? echoed again in my mind. I was quiet a moment, how do I answer that?

Claim to train…claim to fame… not so much anymore, used to think I was a horse breaker… trainer… handler, hahaha, again I had to chuckle to myself, heaven forbid I get the word for the description wrong… for judgement sets in fast in society today, and the word that comes out of my mouth is how this woman will judge me. Dare I tell her I am a Student?

As I have been raised on a ranch most all of my life, started my first mule at age ten, being raised by a horse trader and handling more horses than I can count. Studying them, analyzing movement, patterns and their silent language. We had saved hundreds from the slaughter pen just. What ever it was that we did it made a difference to a troubled horse. Seemed like we could find a connection and work with them from there.

No degree sits on my wall, no  recorded hours of studying from books. Just never ending hours with horses.

Dare I tell her I had worked with, Mustangs fresh off the desert,  draft horses, ranch horses, pony’s, mules, cutting horses. do I say something to impress her, or do I tell her the truth? I am a student.FB_IMG_1555266424914

She looked directly at me waiting for an answer.

Knowing at that moment I had my hands full, with a little mare struggling to be heard.”Give me a minute.” I replied, “let me finish with her.” Referring to the little bay who seemed to be wanting to jump out of her skin.

This particular mare had been raised on a bottle in the house the first few months of its life, then moved out to the barn in a stall, then turned out with the other horses who proceeded to put her in a pecking order as to who she was to them.

Should I explain the parts of a horses brain and how they learn by memory. That this horse had no idea who she was, that she was a horse and not a people, abandoned. Could I explain, that the anger and frustration she had, maybe an identity crisis of not belonging, not knowing how to fit in, and a language barrier that is mumbled in braille.

If I had the facts right and the ability and awareness to help her along she might figure some of that out, right now consistency is what she needed. As a baby she was pampered and cute, bucking, kicking, striking, nibbling, pushing. With all of that she thought she was people. Now as a full grown mare, she couldn’t do anything right as a people or a horse, her life was a confused mess of rules and stipulations she did not understand. And it was getting worse. This was her third and final owner, and with all the trainers trying different techniques…the out come was looking bleak. I had watched her in the pasture with the other horses when I first pulled up. She stayed by herself, content to be alone, her confusion started as she started to mingle with horses and people.

The owner again speaks up with more information that helps me connect with her as the mare kicks her hind feet out toward me, as she rushes past. I shake the lead request her to turn, request again. She is having non of it, she bolts past me again, dropping her shoulder toward me.  Lack of communication and response, is screaming, screaming from her, and I want her to try, just try, but she didn’t know what that meant. instead it was defiance and frustration.  I wanted her to respond with understanding with a little give and take, but she is still pressing forward. So I allowed the motion with a little impulsion to keep going, so she was doing something right, instead of the stop and turn I had first requested.

If there was anything I could offer this troubled mare was that she needed heard. I waited for a sign so that I might hear. Wanting something that was going to make us both connect with the only language this mare knew, body language. She went to stop, dropped her head and put on the breaks. There it was, she was ready! Now to ask her for it. I asked her to keep going one more round, she pinned her ears and surged forward again, frustrated and tired. I dropped all emotion, all energy, and asked her to stop.

The mare stopped immediately and looked at me. She didn’t know what to do. But she had done right! I let her stand, I just waited, waited for her to quiet the chatter in her frazzled mind. She had to work this out for herself, I didn’t need to do anything, if I could just stand long enough for her to connect. She had worked herself into a sweat, not of physical but of emotional exhaustion of uncertainty. She had not let her guard down before. She was beginning a new language that was actually natural to her… instinctual maybe, yet unfamiliar, uncertain. She had no mom to teach her horse language, she had people that took good care of her so she never wanted for anything, If she pinned back her ears she got fed and left alone, if she stomped her hind foot, people walked away. Then she was turned out with horses who thought she should know how to be a horse. She didn’t know who she was or what she was capable, she just existed every day.

Now here she was learning to try,  succeed and accomplish. She bobbed her head and licked her lips. I responded with walking toward her shoulder and just being there. She needed to do nothing but be. And for the first time in her life, she was willing… She shook her head and took a deep sigh again releasing all the she used to be.  FB_IMG_1582113655017

All of the busyness, attempts, right, wrong, anxiety, push me- pull you, go, stop…all of that was lifting from the mare and she again released and accepted my hands on her body with no resistance just uncertainty.

We had connected to accept each other as we were, with all the faults we might have, and forgiveness was just around the corner.

As we rested a minute I looked over at the woman. I was honest, and for what ever it was going to mean to her I said “I am a Student… a Student of the horse.”

 

 

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A Reason to Believe

I hadn’t caught my horse Hitch since I had put down my little mustang Joey a few months ago, mid summer.

It is funny what death does to a person, the expectation or the familiar thoughts and actions go awry in hidden patterns of subconscious motion and emotion.

Thinking I had everything in control only realizing several months later I was spiraling , I dont want to say out of control, but definitely out of subconscious control.

Here I am getting ready to step in a new year, my mind full of accomplishments and trials I have faced, yet my horse stands out there alone…Christmas came and went, I wanted for nothing I asked for nothing, I was kind of hollow i guess, no other way to describe it. Then today, i walk out and Hitchie comes trotting up to me.  Not the confident ambitious guy he usually had been. Timid, reserved, shy… I feed and water him and touch his nose but I did not realize I had become as distant as he was. A flinch, a flicker, a sidestep of awkwardness. Who was this woman catching this strange horse? This horse I had for the last six years. 1015

The last time he had a halter on was the day Joey  died.  And for the first few moments of haltering we now were two lonely strangers just wanting a little company. I hadn’t realized how much I felt I had let him down.

Once halter was on and gate open my long time friend had a lot to express an it was not positive. Flipping his head, jittering around me and almost pushing me…I usually would of corrected that behavior swiftly and assuredly but instead I walked on with no emotion or frustration for his actions. I lead him out the gate, he squealed and jumped around in a babble of emotion. This was not my horse at all, but I felt no fear or need to “set him straight on who is boss.” He jogged around me a couple of times, i asked him to continue his jog, then extended it to a lope. He kicked up his heels made a couple of bucking squalls ragging his head from side to side. I reversed his lunging motion to the opposite direction and he responded with slight hand and motion. He never hit the end of the 18 foot lead, never pulled on me.

I felt a tear run down my cheek. At that time I felt like I understood. He had questions and concerns that were unanswered, and I left him high and dry to figure it out on his own . While i did my own soul searching in the loss of three horses in a year and a half. Anger, frustration,  resentment?… maybe… confusion, uncertainty,  and loss? I am leaning toward that more as I watched him circle around me… in another moment he stopped abruptly and faced me off. I guided him again to change direction with a lift of hand. He walked off with the suggestion.

I felt like he had no idea where he fit with me anymore. I offered him to stop, he dropped his head, stood took a deep sigh and as if a light switched on, we were almost back like before. I leaned on his withers for a moment and just stood with him.  Yes change had happened, death is permanent and we were with kid, Deacon and Joey when they died and nothing was going to be the same after them. But we were here now and we had each other and that was all we needed for today. We walked off and headed down 12th street as if old times. Sometimes we just have to believe, knowing there is no stopping, old age, cancer or severe colic and no promises for tomorrow. It all gives reason to believe in today.

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A Girl and Shovel

Fourteen thousand pounds of gravel equals ten yards. That seems to be a lot of weight when it comes to a girl, a shovel and holes to fill. But to me it almost seems symbolic as to my life…

20190312_102245I started shoveling to fill one hole from an iceberg of gravel. Pressing myself every time I thought the hole filled to find out I had more to go. So I kept shoveling.

But I noticed another hole and more gravel and more shoveling. As I got about half way down the mound I found my mind wondering to where I am in my life.

Lately I have had to say goodbye to a lot of things and animals that have been with me fifteen to twenty years. Horses that have been my dads, to dreams that have plagued my insignificance as to what I thought I wanted in my life. These are holes that need filled, tended and leveled.

And here I stand on top of a gravel pile looking at it, digging at it one shovel full at a time, lifting it into the truck bed. Building another mound to carry to a hole that needs mended, filled, or excavated to be of equal value or levelness as the ground around it. Shifting, allowing and persuading the ground to accept and adjust to the new material I offer it.

If the ground is to dry or ridged the material will be pushed away and rejected. If the ground is to wet the gravel will be swallowed up into the murky mud of the hole… so I must ask myself, when is enough enough.

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Some would say, “get an excavator and a front loader your job will be done in no time…”

From my history as a kid we used to do physical labor, by spade, horse or hand. As I became an adult I found easier ways to do many things and it seems I have taken for granted to very concept of achievement.

I remember my dad watching us in his later years, “ah to be young again”  he was 75 when he go bucked off his last horse… “should of warmed him up a little.” Was his comment in the hospital bed with bruised ribs and a knot on his head.

It brings a smile to my face just thinking of his voice and the ease of his words when things went south. With no pressure on getting things done but the feel of accomplishment that he had. Even when he brought in the wood.

Knowing I could do it in half the time. He would say ” that’s alright Sis I got it.”

“But Pop, why cant I do it for you?” I had asked feeling sorry for his slowness, and my busyness to get things done.

“Because I can, and I want to.” Was his reply.

I look at the mound of gravel that used to be an iceberg of fourteen thousand pounds of rock and dirt, it is now just a mound as I chisel away one shovel full at a time. And I realize the words of my father go deeper to the core now more than before.

There is a groundedness, a fulfillment and a soreness of achievement and of letting go.

“Why am I doing this?” you ask.

“Well, because I can and I want to.”

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Silence Between Words

I am a story teller, of history, experience and of humor.  But what makes a person want to listen to my story, my poetry, or some fabricated tale that I conjured up in my imagination?

I was asked once, “who are you?” After a life time of trying to establish a word for self discription, or a reason of identity.  Something that I could offer as verbage to what I do…so someone who meets me might have an idea by that description, an author, a poet, a wife… blah, blah, blah… I am a story teller…20190103_151426

I have heard it said, “it’s all in the telling…”? But I think it goes beyond that, maybe it’s not about the telling as much as how we listen and why?

A song can draw you in with music, drums, a melody, something that actually plays on emotion before a word is spoken. With our forever busy lifestyle and our short attention span in a world of seconds and minutes… how can we bring to life spoken word enough to stop someone for a few minutes to join us? To connect to a moment, an emotion or a story.

Within the wind a whisper, can you hear the cattle bawl?

Can we change the perception  just by a pause, a moment, a entire second?

Within the wind…         a whisper…                  can you hear the cattle bawl?

I can hear a story a thousand times, then all of the sudden one thousand and one… “HOLLY CATS BATMAN! THAT IS GOOD!” Why didn’t I hear it the first time? What changed?

Is it sight of the word, sound effects, is it memory, or ownership of the listener? Or is it the silence between the word that draws pictures of imagination?  Can we tease the ears into imagination or do we sound like a drum beat that dulls the senses in to a rhythmic pattern of oblivion?

I don’t actually have the answer but I have ideas…

I think for the most part to capture the imagination, setting is the beginning, we cannot play rock n roll in a church setting with  people sitting in pughes with bibles in their hand. As story tellers we must be able to be diverse, animated but most of all I think make the words count, descriptive, colorful and unexpected.20171012_174928_40031

As a story teller, cowboy poet and western writer, for me it’s a challenge to bring words of texture of our lifestyle to life for our society of listeners, to learn and understand our passion. And so I will keep writing and telling my story until my book is full. Leaving behind a trail of history that might spark the imagination of those who come after. And I will leave a pause for those who might listen.

 

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Western Women ll

Her goal is not look good, but to do good.  She traded beauty for experience and turns that experience into wisdom… She is a Western Women…2016-11-06-13-55-34

These elusive  women are found in the remote parts, where she can see both the sunrise and sunset on the horizon.  She is self-reliant, self resilient, and independent.

Mother nature gave her tremendous inner strength, a sense of humor and tears for a broken heart that she sheds when she is alone, to regain her strength once more.. A western woman is a mother to the land, animals and babies of all species. She is a wife to the man beside her, and to the horses that she rides. For she takes care of both with an unyielding devotion, a commitment that does not falter. Unless she has been stepped on or dumped to many times, then she removes herself from that picture and is strong enough to begin again. She is a friend who will offer, challenge and fight for what is right. She is a woman, a giver of life.

No self description, she is busy living life.  Her strength first comes from the heart, to her mind and then extends down into her hands. She find the strength within herself to do what needs done, and builds a life from there.

When she is faced with fear, there is determination that passes through her eyes and disappears into action, stepping forward with no thought of self or pride.  For she is not doing anything for recognition, she does it because it needs done.

Her heart holds a silent compassion and respect for those around her. For she is taught and steeped in tradition by her elders, looking for the strength that had been past down through the years. The knowledge is not taught by books or by political process. It is taught by stories told and experience which shapes and molds her character and influences her survival by the techniques she learned.

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She won’t  invest much in a mirror, for it wastes time and effort in needless things. She can be seen in town with her hair pulled back, over boots, and a Levi jacket. Her goal is not to look good but to do good.  The extra money will be spent on something of value, like feed for her animals, dinner for a friend, or a family in need. She might glance at her calloused hands from time to time, but mainly when driving down the road and only for a moment before she starts to feed. She has traded beauty for experience, and that experience into wisdom.

When you meet her, there is a groundedness about her, a wisdom of earthly things. A deepness few will ever know because they can’t see it from the road. Society judges her on what she don’t have and admires her for what she does. This elusive woman that I talk about, is our neighbor, our friend, a stranger passing by. 

For me I quietly listen and learn, gather strength from what she has to offer, as I steep in her traditions.

I am a western woman.

 

http://www.akmossbooks.com

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To Think I Know

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There are challenges that face us every day, that at times drive us close to insanity. Yet I think one of the biggest challenges is letting go of what we think is right for other people and focus on what is right in our own life.

I got to thinking of a few years ago how I thought I had a lot of things figured out in my life. I thought I needed to help all of those around me, almost render them helpless, giving advise on what I thought might help them achieve goals,  then offering advice of how I would do it different…

Then wonder why  I felt no one respected my ideas, when they were as plain as day to me. If they would only do it as I said…

Sound familiar?

Have you ever looked at a picture, and judged it by the shot. We have a tendancy to look at that picure and create a story.

Sometimes we can look at a snap shot of an issue and make a snap opinion,  just from knowing what we know… but what do we really know?  Are we judging from personal experience, or something that we heard? Do we have any idea how many opinions out there that think that they are right?

Let’s take public speaking for example… how many can walk on stage and give an ten minute impromptu speach?  Yes or no?  Or one of the hot topics in the horse world… to shoe or not to shoe that is the question. Who is right and why?  I personally love a barefooted horse… but I have also rode in some very tough country, that had my horses not had shoes on, thier feet would of been sanded down to raw stubs.

I am not going to get into which way is right or wrong, my point is, we all have opinions on what we think is right by the experience we have had, that has created the law within our own mind, we now believe to be the truth, because we got through it. Ten different people have ten different truths and each person wants to express why their truth is the right one.

An example is I heard a friend had lied to another friend about feeding a horse…  oh let’s say Maj and Bertha, so Maj feeds her horse every day at the same time, usually Bertha does too. But lately Bertha is not there to feed her horse and Maj notices for a week that Berthas horse has no feed when she is there.  She even stayed an hour later to see if Birtha would show. Maj with boubt in her mind asks Bertha if she is feeding her horse. Bertha says “every day”. Maj doesnt believe it and thinks Bertha is lieing, she has proof… And tells me and a couple of friends what she noticed, pretty quick, things get out of hand and doubt about Bertha has escalated.  Maj mind goes in overdrive on how unfair Bertha is to her horse.  What would be your reaction the next time you see Bertha?

Well I see Bertha, I casually ask her how things are are going. “Good” Bertha said she got moved to temperary swing shift and feeds her horse before she goes home at midnight. She rides and feeds again just before work which is four hours earlier than she used to.. She actually is relieved for swing because she gets to ride in the cool of the morning .

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What I have noticed is it seems that we get so busy jumping to conclusions and judging other people for things we think are right. Things we “think” we know,  not nessisarily  for the right reasons. Do you notice you keep yourself busy with other people, friends, because your own life is a mess and you don’t want to clean it up. You know…, kind of like it is a lot more fun spending other people’s money.

I think we have been taught to help others in need, but when we do so without facing the fact that we can assist but not do for them and render them helpless. I’ll ride that horse for you… basically you are saying… you can do it better, or, they can’t do it at all. I find it seems easier to help clean a friend’s house than clean up my own mess. Running from what I know I should do and focusing on others weakness or dilemma take my focus off myself and puts off what needs done in other areas

Finding ourself in situations of “did I ask for your opinion?”.

As we become more knowledgable about something we have a tendancy to want to share that knowledge even though we just learned it.

When you look at a judgement, call for what it really is.  if we were to be honest, it would be to make sure to fulfill our own obligations to ourself and support those around us without judgement or enabling them. It can make a friendship stand true and solid. Or   respect they have the strength to overcome the same obsticals that you have. If there are questions we can support and answer in a respectful way.

I think it is hard to stand back and watch someone stuggle to make a change in their life… I feel there is a fine line of facing challenges with support , or having someone do it for you because it is easier and it gets the job done.. I counted on my sister for her decisions and had her opinion make up my mind, then told her it didn’ work out to my expectation. Hmmm wonder why, but wait I wasn’ done with her, I then preceeded to tell her why it didn’ work.

What?! I told her, that I looked it up on line and…

Hmmm! Two months later we laugh about it!

Usually I get my best information from those who are more reserved, ones that make me search for the answer. For when I find it, I know I have truly found what works for me.

I weigh out my options and listen to what fits me without judgement on the person who gave me infornation. Well I try… Sometimes I only hear what I want to or what I understand, then make that my new knowledg with different insight. To make that knowledg become habit… well that’ another story.

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Beyond the Moments of Living

A thought that crossed my mind,  that thought I would put on paper and share. Life is living, beyond the reaches of time. We do it everyday. Each day for us is a new beginning of life and our choice among the moments of living.

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Death on the other hand is an instant, a moment without breath or living. Death does not exist without life. Value, memories,  change or appreciation is not fully understood without death. That moment, that tweak of an instant, that release of living, of  not being in control of that instant is humbling.

The question I have in my mind, is not fear based or of tragedy or bliss, but the question I have… is death permanent? Or is it a transcending moment into the unknown energy beyond God as we know in the bible, written in interpretation of assumption? Beyond the belief of sin? Beyond weakness and decisions of right and wrong?

That final delema, that final question, that only one species in the world, seeks to answer through the ages of time and knowledge of ancient writing, the interpretation of that knowledge,  has brought question, frustration, death, war, and confusion and enlightenment. It has divided the seekers and believers, divided the word from the truth. And can be studied and judged an entire lifetime, it seems like our species wants to  demand someone is right and someone is wrong.

So with this thought for the day, as change, uncertainty,  and confusion that has fallen upon us, I have one absolute that rings true for me in my mind, that I will hold true in my heart. With the belief of God, love,  and a prayer of understand the creators definition of the above.

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Death cannot exist without life. Life is beyond time, for it does not count seconds, minutes or years, it exists to exist for all the moments that exist. Life is emotion of all living things to feel and experience.  Death is the immediate silence after life and the living we create. And death awaites, it does not descrimate by color of skin, or fur or scale, not by belief of religion or species of blood or plant of the earth. Death is  the evidence that life is living.

2017-06-17 11.07.09

Now back to my horses and the life I live. Enjoy the little things

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Moonshadow

I had a dream, that for a few days people gathered together and enjoyed one sunset, and at that moment of darkness, a ring of light appeared. Without being  prompted, or without hesitation everyone cheered!.20170821_102241

As we stared at that ring of light with our cellphones, smart phones and cameras all clicking images of one moment, one shadow, one vision. While shy Venus show her face in the darkness of the moons shadow. In the few moments of darkness on the morning, across the US, we were happy., we were together, all differences aside, we were united in ah and wonder.

Within our little rural community , people gathered together, enjoyed eachs diversities  from across the globe. It did not matter education, job or race. What a beautiful moment it was. For those that visited our little corner of the world for those few days. I have to say thank you for sharing that moment with us.

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When it was done and the light came back on us, slowly drifting reality into our midst, we all knew we were going to return to our daily lives, of schedules, appointments and hurried honeydos.

We stay for a few more minutes, as we watch a new dawn together. When shadows dims and heat returns, reality sets in. We begin to claim our space once again. Our place on the road, a parking spot our place in line at the grocery store, yet after we are gone realizing it never was ours to claim. Just a moment, a hesitation, maybe a frustration  that things didn’t work out to our own expectation,  but things worked out all the same.

As I see the images shared across the internet, and I see the same image over and over again I will think of that quiet moment before and the cheers of strangers, unprompted,sounding together as one voice.

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I will choose to hold on to that dream as if it were real. Thinking and, hoping others had the same dream. That little spark of light as a new dawn reaches past the moonshadow and sheds a little beacon of warmth and new light.

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