Mortality has always been on my mind. When I was young, I had a recurrent dream where a beautiful black horse came into my bedroom to take me to Heaven. I always wondered why it was black, and if I was, indeed, headed to Heaven. When I met my Friesian years later, I understood the black horse dream.
A pastor two decades ago noted I had an unusual fascination with death. Edgar Allan Poe, Saturday Creature Features, and Dracula, led to The Cure, near death accounts, and Zombies. I have found officiating memorial services to be on the of the most real and powerful works as a pastor. Death is loss and grief, but also mystery, the greatest adventure, battles, dreams, and the hope of everlasting life in a place without suffering, filled with the light of God.
Since turning 50, I've begun to number my days in more intimate ways. "How shall I spend the rest of my life?" "What can I contribute?" "What is something big I'd like to accomplish?" Topmost on the list is experiencing the connection with a new horse. I know this makes me very, very spoiled. But horses are a part of me. I rode before I could walk. I asked for a horse nearly every day of my life from age 3 to 8. We lived on a cattle ranch and horses were all around us. I trained them in high school. They both saved and nearly took my life when I attended Seminary in Pasadena. One of my first parishioners gave us a lovely red mare that taught my kids to ride. But when we moved to the NW, our rides were at the discretion of friends. We moved from a farm to a neighborhood so the kids could meet others. No horses allowed. I didn't allow myself to even consider another horse until twelve years ago when our teacher in a parenting class talked about how important it is for girls to learn her power. Horses, she said, were the perfect solution for those that could afford it. I allowed myself to jump back into the equine world for the sake of my two daughters. My 40th Birthday present was a magnificent Black Gelding. He was way better than the ruby I always thought I wanted. When we galloped, I pictured riding in the Fellowship of the Ring, or some other epic story. The 10 years riding with them, wind in face, laughter peeling throughout the woods as we raced past coyotes and bears, are some of the best memories of my life.
I had to sell my two beauties, the magnificent Friesian,a dream to own and love, and my shimmering welsh cob that could jump through the forest with the Hunt Club, take a child around like a baby-sitter, and perform a second level dressage test with ease. Re-homing them because my hip and knee disintegrated was more painful than my osteo-arthritis, which left me limping like Quasimodo. The Cob retired to green pastures in the Bay Area, and the Friesian is making a lovely young lady in Oregon's dreams come true. I miss them every day.
With a new hip, I've been searching for a horse for the last 4 months. There was a gorgeous copper-sheened beauty in Burbank that I thought was the one, but the pre-purchase exam revealed concerns. A grey near Yosemite (one of my favorite places on earth) kept showing up in my dreams. I booked tickets to fly to Central CA to see this lovely Spanish horse, hopeful that his more narrow back and very smooth gaits would help me to ride long and well. I added time for a long hike in the Wawona Valley. The final, updated video arrived the night before I was to fly down. He was marketed as a 1st level Dressage horse, one that could maintain a comfortable, rhythmic gait at walk, trot, and canter, and respond to leg yields. The video showed something else. Watching him struggle to even walk evenly made me question my sanity.
A fancy palomino caught my eye. Unable to sleep, I arrived early and the owners were not awake. I did the farm chores at their request as I waited for them to get going. The horse was tiny, looking like a pony, totally unsuitable for my 5'11' frame. While leading her around to see her spanish gaits, she reared, bolted at a bird's song twice, and was unsafe for me to sit. The owner didn't even work her long. A message on my machine later revealed her frustration as she complained about the horse to my recording, thinking I was her dear friend rather than a potential buyer.
The next stop was no better. The horse that I planned to see was unsound. Told I was too top heavy, they brought out a "Cob" my idea of a perfect horse. She went well, jumped beautiful, and packed me around the woods for a perfect trot/canter. I couldn't believe my luck, happening upon this treasure. And she was well priced! My joy could not be set to words. As I drove home, I called for further information. The horse was not a cob, was a different age than described, and had a serious injury a few years before. Well, that explained the price. I stayed in my pajamas the next day and ate a pint of ice cream. This is just a small sampling of the emotional roller coaster of imagining a new horse, dreaming of all the adventures you will have, sending tape to your friends to see what they think, finding out some problem, sending info to your vet, and starting all over again. I hate wasting time and I am wasting hundreds of hours chasing rabbits when I have many chores and projects I should be attending. It takes hours and hours of watching video, leaving messages, and trying to spill out all my questions to determine if a horse is as they say, is healthy, and has a good mind. One doesn't want to bring home a dangerous animal. Falling is something I'd like to avoid in this decade of life. A wise friend continually reminds me that each false step teaches me something I will need to get me closer to the right one. She's had to remind me many times.
Do people really believe what they are saying when they are trying to sell something? Horse after horse turns out to be far less than described, or far more trouble. The really nice ones are thousands of dollars, and the bargains have brain or health issues. Watching myself on video is a humbling experience. The two years off and menopause have led to weight gain and zero fitness for riding. It's embarrassing to send these clips to dear friends. They must think me crazy. Horse crazy. Lie after lie has peppered my search. Or maybe you just have to bring up the good points to sell anything. There are plenty of times in this frustrating experience that I tell myself I don't deserve a horse, it's too expensive, and I should use the money to feed or teach children who need it. There are also times when I think about selling my late father's gold watch or my engagement ring to buy a dream. You can't ride a watch. A diamond doesn't make me nearly as happy as riding in the spring flowers, with the puffy clouds and blue sky all around me, bird's singing, and my own whistle as we trot for miles. God is so close on these rides that I can hear the laughter of eternity.
My dream horse is out there, somewhere. Mom used to say that you have to kiss a lot of frogs before you find your prince. My lips are getting sore.
"O God! can I not grasp
Them with a tighter clasp?
O God! can I not save
One from the pitiless wave?
Is all that we see or seem
But a dream within a dream?"
Edgar Allan Poe
from a "Dream Within a Dream"
