So
sorry there has been no blog lately. I’ve been in a maelstrom of work, dealing
with a sick horse, keeping up with my HorseBack work, and adjusting to a very
new daily routine. In times like this, something always has to give. Just at
the moment, it is this poor old blog.
There
has been sunshine in Scotland lately, and the dogs race around with joy in the
light, and Darwin the Dog hurls himself into the burn for his morning swim. The
swimming is a new thing, and he is vastly proud of his moves. Stanley, who is
not a water dog, watches with maiden aunt disapproval.
As
I learn to school my emotions, to deal with the fact that my mother’s house now
has someone else in it, to face the absence of my dear stepfather, I pour all
my energy into my book and my horse. I write thousands of words, my fingers
bashing over the keys like crazy things. Words will keep me safe, says the
magical thinking part of my brain. As long as I have words, everything will be
all right. Words are my totem, my touchstone, my church.
The
good red mare, who remains ruthlessly healthy as her little friend is fighting
ailments on every front, is my other touchstone. I work her and teach her and
learn from her and pour all my heart into her. I realise, as I ride, that she
produces what the clever psychologists call Flow. This is that mental state
when you are doing something which is just on the edge of your capabilities,
something that stretches every sinew and every neurone, something demanding and
meaningful. The idea is that when you are in Flow, you are as close to human
happiness as it is possible to be. All the frets and sorrows fall away, because
your mind is concentrated on this one grand thing. It’s a slight paradox:
happiness is not the object, yet happiness is the result.
I
get that, for two hours, every day. I sometimes laugh, thinking of the
brilliant Hungarian who invented the notion of Flow. I’m not certain that, when
he came up with the idea, Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi would have imagined that his theory might end up in a green Scottish field on
the back of a thoroughbred mare. But so it has.
In my human life, I’m bashing about trying to
find balance. Honest emotions must be honoured, but sometimes one simply has to
let things go. Absence must be marked, but self-indulgence is the very devil.
Present loveliness must be seen and appreciated and felt, but the missed voices
of the past must be heard and cherished. It’s all balance. Sometimes I find
the fulcrum I seek, and stand tall. Sometimes I topple over with a crash. I suppose
that’s as good a description of being human as any other.
One of the Dear Readers asked where she would
find the red mare, who has been officially banished from these pages, although,
as you can see, she sometimes does gallop in for an unscheduled guest
appearance. (She is very grand, and has ideas of her own, and cannot always be
corralled.) She is the beat of my heart, but I understand that not every heart
beats in time to mine. And there is only so much beating that the poor reader
can take.
Anyway, to answer that question, she now
lives here, in a quiet corner of the internet, where those humans who choose to
may come to her paddock and feed her metaphorical carrots.
https://www.facebook.com/RedTheMare/?ref=bookmarks
I'm going to take a few more days off, and normal, horse-free service will be resumed next week.
