All The Pretty Horses

30 Mar

Reposting this blog entry from long ago. It seems fitting now. Kind of sums up a general feeling of late.

Last night I dreamt of horses grazing in a meadow.

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Beautiful red, black and brown animals standing in Steinbeck’s pastures of heaven.

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And I was on a quest to join them…

I had the afternoon free so in my dream I jumped into a vehicle and headed to find a ranch or venue where I could ride.

The first person I ran into said, “We have horses you can ride,” and then led me to a little ring where I was to ride a saddled pony in a circle. “No! No!” I said in dismay. “I want to be with the horses in the meadow over there,” and pointed to the rolling green hills and ascending mountains. “I want to gallop – not walk around a ring inside a barn.”

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And so I left and resumed my quest to find all the pretty horses under the blue skies.

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When my eyes opened in the middle of the night I remembered the beautiful animals and went back to sleep, eager to return to them and the wide open plains.

On horses Rilke wrote:

Tell me, Orpheus, what offering can I make
to you, who taught the creatures how to listen?
I remember a spring day in Russia;
it was evening, and a horse …

He came up from the village, a gray horse, alone.
With a hobble attached to one leg
he headed to the fields for the night.
How the thick mane beat against his neck

in rhythm with his high spirits
and his impeded, lurching gallop.
How all that was horse in him quickened.

He embraced the distances as if he could sing them,
as if your songs were completed in him.
His image is my offering.

Sonnets to Orpheus I, 20

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