open reign

He looked back upon hearing my boots through the grass. I waved, a bit nervous since I’d not been out in over two years. Life had a way of going too fast and in a blur. Sometimes I had forgotten whom I could turn to but upon seeing the beautiful, familiar eyes that had greeted me so many times before, I felt as if my soul had come home once more.

“How are you ma petite fille?” His arms wrapped around me and we embraced for what seemed as long as I had been gone. He smelled of thicket, straw and horses. His hair was longer and his voice carried the same husky undertone. Nothing changed for him and he was content the way things were in his world. I longed for the days of contentment again. 

“I am here. Which can only mean one thing right?” I laughed as we unhooked ourselves from our hug and he sighed out loud.

“You want to ride the horses.”

“Just one. I’ve only one ass compared to other women you’ve known.” Laughing at this we headed to the pens adjacent to the mint green barn. Waist high grasses enveloped the two of us and I felt the familiar coolness as I ran my hands over them. Looking back he rolled his eyes at me.

“Nature lover.” I smiled at his poking fun. We could always be honest with each other and it didn’t matter that time passed between us. Events didn’t matter, people didn’t matter, expectations were never dismissed, respect was abundant. It is a true friendship, rare as if too see a dying star.  

“I am a lover of many things.” And saying this I hurried up beside him, linked my arm around his waist and we finished the walk to the pens. Sarah, a white mare with chocolate, brown spots neighed in response and came running. A chocolate horse beside her, named Trina. They are best friends in horse world, though Sarah more dominant. I felt my lungs fill with the smells of pasture and hot summer evening. 

“Sarah is to be bred this fall for her continued stay here, it’s a trade. Trina is still amazing and well tempered as always. I really want to show you how she can spin on a dime but maybe I’ll let you canter for awhile instead.” I put my hand out, allowing dominance to take over and Sarah responded. I took her face in my hands and pet her mane. I could feel the grit of dirt grasp onto the palm of my hands and I was comforted.

“You are to have a baby?” I talked into her face and continued to pet her alongside her face and throat. She was admirable, strong, and friendly. Evan walked up with the bridle and handed it to me as he unlocked the gate. Both horses started to push their way forward. They responded to him with such familiarity I was truly in adoration of their relationship.

“Well … you don’t get to ride unless we work first.” He winked as he said this and he lead Trina to me. I put the bridle over her ears and placed the bit in her mouth. Buckling her up I snuck a few glances in his direction as he shut the gate. Sarah would not be ridden today. I raised my eyebrows as to his decision and lead Trina to him. He shook his head and told me I was hers for the day which made me fill with gratitude. If it was because of the length of time since my last visit, or if it was because he felt I would be more than fine with Trina I was greatly satisfied with his decision. Part of me was unsure as horses and people can be easily upset, on their own parts or with each other. But in the end I was always okay in the company of Evan and horses. I wanted to cry in thanks but knew he would laugh at my girlishness.

We continued down the path to the neighboring pen where he whistled another darker chocolate horse to the gate. He was 38, quite old for a horse and I felt him to be an odd choice. Yet he explained that CJ and Trina rode well together and that it be beneficial for all of us.

Leading the horses to the barn was effortless and we talked more about the horses, how well the birthing season went, if he would indeed move south, why I decided to stop one degree for a more difficult venture. We talked about our families and about the past as well, a subject I hated but one he knew would always be threaded through me.

“In your searches, there are so many good people out there. You have to let the universe in now. What your girl friend spoke of was truth. Whatever shames and fears you had let them go. And she’s also right, you probably aren’t missing out on anything. So embrace new relationships don’t go it alone. Your independence is great, yet at the same time it’s making you lonely.”

We reached the tie up stations and he handed me a bag of brushes and the hoof pick. I took it out and went to Trina’s left side. As he continued talking I pinched the tendon of her front leg and she raised her hoof in response. Looking for the v-shape I methodically scraped the earth and organic matter from her marbled foot. Moving onto the second then the third and still listening to his words. On the fourth I had decided to let him know I was done with the subject. 

“I am living well. Everyday I am learning and pushing myself. I’ve given myself time to sort everything out and I know what my wants and needs are. It’s a simple list really. But it’s a lot of responsibility people are not ready to accept. At least not those who I’ve come across. And why should they? My responsibilities are far more complex than most are ready to acknowledge yet they are quick to judge. Too quick to assume they know me.” Standing up and looking across the backs of Trina and CJ I looked into my friend’s eyes. He knew what I was saying was true.   

“Now as to what I really need  is Trina’s socks so I can bind her front legs.” He pointed to the bag and reaching in I saw he had a package of four pinked wraps. I giggled in delight and as I pulled one out he continued.

“People just care and wonder that’s all. You’re not exactly the divulging details type of person. If anything you’re pretty closed off yourself. Nice and pretty doesn’t count anymore. You have to trust and if you can’t than what’s the point?”

“I trust. I trust this. I trust my children, I trust myself. I trust that everyday the sun will rise and set whether I see it or not. I trust that at night the stars shine and the moon shines whether I see it or not. It’s not my lack of trusting or a lack of honesty. It’s me not being careful and that’s what is frustrating.”  I admired her pink wrapped joints and started to brush her with a curry brush. I made hard circular movements and watched as bits of dirt and detritus came loose from her coat. She was thoroughly enjoying the massage and I talked to her as I finished up and then started with a dandy brush smoothing every inch of her. Once I felt satisfied that she was ready I stepped back to admire her. Shining and dark her chocolate colors seeped through and shimmered in the sun. She was happy and content and made a soft whinny in response.

I headed to the shed and to the back room where the saddle racks were. I had always envied the english saddle Evan used, it was smaller and not so bulky as the western saddles were. Trina was used to the western saddle and it was the one I lifted. It’s weight unfamiliar I gasped as I carried it to her. Looking at her height and acknowledging mine I decided to ask for help putting the saddle on her back. He lifted it up with ease and buckled her around the belly. I measured the stirrup from my wrist to my underarm and adjusted them accordingly. She was ready to ride. 

“Are you boys ready? The girls are.” I petted her side and listened to her finish up her oats. He ducked inside the shed and came out with his saddle, blanket and saddled his horse and both of us looked at each other with a sense of satisfaction. Already an hour had passed and comfort had come between us and the horses. Life moments as these were special, rare and to be cherished. I saved everything to my sensory banks: the smells of the horses, the leathered saddles, the mixture of earth and detritus; the hot sun toasting everything to a perfect temperature. The Creator had been favorable this day and I felt a wave of happiness overcome me.

“No getting sappy let’s go.” Evan started out slow in front of me and I quickly caught up. We walked the horses for quite a ways not saying anything but enjoying the ride. The horses seemed to match our moods and had a delightful cadence. When we reached flatter land we moved to a medium canter which was liberating, freeing, more enjoyable. Trina’s rhythm was superb, her energy and lift inspiring thus giving me great pleasure. Evan and I nodded to each other now and then acknowledging and solidifying a companionship.

We made our way by the trees and then decided to off mount and let the horses graze in the grassy field. Side by side we held loose our reigns and listened to the overlapping of grass ripping from the ground to the smacking and chewing that followed. I ran my hand over Trina’s side and patted her neck. She was calm, experienced and magnificent. Overhead big, poofy, cartoon looking clouds made their way across the skies as a jet stream marked it’s journey as if  to remember the trip for next time.  The sun started to turn her colors from the bright yellow to darker oranges and reds thus signaling our return to the stable.

“You should consider volunteering at the equine center. It’s a program for therapeutic purposes, if one has a disability they can come out and ride with the aide of helpers. You’re comfortable around them, horses and people. We could use another volunteer.” Evan’s proposal made sense and was tempting. I told him I would look into it and think about it. As we made our way back to the barn I felt as if I had undergone a therapy myself.

At the stable we lead the horses to water, fed them more oats and groomed them. The sun started to dip itself into the horizon as we allowed them to graze behind the barn one last time. Trina whinnied as I lead her back to the pen where Evan had the gate already opened and waiting for us. Undoing her bridle I thanked her and rested my forehead on the bridge of her face, petting her neck and smoothing her mane.

“All better.” Evan said this as a statement and partly as a question, he had this way of double entendres when he spoke. I nodded yes and we made our way back to the house. On the porch I gave him a long hug, promised not to stay away so long and make more of an effort to stay in touch.

I thought of Trina and Sarah and their friendship as the sun bid me goodnight on the drive back to the city. I thought of Evan and the distance of time that had lapsed. I thought of the future of my family and my career and my continued struggle with giving my whole self to someone else. In time maybe things would work for now I was just content being free with memories and possibilities in the near future.

 

bonds

“Our hearts are full and our minds are good

Our ancestors come and give us strength

Stand tall, sing, dance and never forget who you are

or where you come from”

“It’s lonely for all of us. Really.” 

Sitting on my bed I stared bleakly at my screen and tried to absorb the words into my soul. She was right, we lived not in the age of Wonder Years but in an age of wasted years, between generations that would never be rebuilt the way they should have been. I knew she was right … she was older, more refined, less ‘prickly’ than I was. Could she have the same feelings I held quiet for so long? Because we’re supposed to be dignified and proper with our emotions. Stoic I believe the term is called.

 Well I had just about had enough of being stoic. I’d had enough of holding everything in and not saying a word when people lied to me since I was little. Even when they told me the damn truth I kept a distance from all of it. I didn’t want to know, I didn’t ask to know … I didn’t want the history and I certainly didn’t want their regrets, mistakes, and hidden horrors. I did’t want any of it. 

The day still hits me right in the chest and I still try to catch my breath every time I hear his voice yelling at me. 

“She had a grade two education, she was a drunk and she didn’t WANT you!”  

Silence. I stared at him full of hate and anger he wasn’t even blood related to me. 

Everything came tumbling down. So that was it! She had made a decision … or maybe someone else had made it for her. Slow, uneducated, and not wanting of her children she would soon give both me and my sister up for adoption. It was for the best in the long run. Maybe? Maybe she thought things would be alright for us, maybe we would have a chance. A better life without her. She wouldn’t know how much I miss her everyday. How much I wonder what she looks like, what she sounds like. If she would recognize the scent of her child like I immediately recognize the scent of my own. If she knew what it was like to run her fingers through a mass of chestnut hair and see a cheery face underneath it or if she knew what it was like to stay up all night after one of them threw up in their beds. Feverish and scared they would look at you with huge doe eyes fearful that you would be upset but you wouldn’t be. Instead you would get the cool cloth, bucket and water; wait until they were sleeping again; if you were lucky; and then throw the laundry in at four thirty on a school night. These are the things I wondered. 

And they ask the best questions. Like why do they call the Milky Way the Milky Way? Or what’s behind the Moon? Or do Smurfs really exist and if they do are they good or evil? Who said eating dirt was really bad for you since vegetables grow in dirt? Questions. Hard questions too like why don’t you and Daddy love each other anymore? Or why can’t you move back in with us? Or why do you live with Uncle Gadget this year but not last year? And the hardest one … when are you and Daddy going to get married? Hard. 

I sit there and have this conversation about children, family and lost generations with my friend. Though she had no children of her own I admire her tenacity. In her naivety she has no clue about the decisions parents make in the safety of their kin. She’s quick to scold, quick to pass judgement and I see where people may have their views. In all fairness I am angry too but it would have been worse to keep them from the other half of their family as well. In this decision it will always always be the mother to blame. No matter what the circumstances. It is always the mother who takes the blame.

So yes the statement is right. It is lonely and no you never get told that it will be the last time, and no we didn’t have great mothers. No we never appreciate the time left by our ancestors. No we never knew, the last time we spent with them, would be the last time. Our last moments slipped away between us.

But like you told me:

“We’re Native and here and now. Nobody told us how to be. Nobody told us how to love. Nobody told us we were loved.” 

 

Indíkon

You can stare fear in the eyes. When you do be sure to explore the indigo peering out from behind pitch blackness you were so familiar with. The recesses of a dark history start to fade as a newness begins it’s eclipse.  Light shines bringing a lighter hue … the comfort of indigo. Wrap yourself in it for it is the color of luxury, the color once wrapped around celebrated bodies of Eyptian folk.  A color of mystical wisdom, self mastery and spiritual realization. Indigo behind blackened eyes is a blessing.

For two cycles around the sun you acknowledged the fears you wrapped yourself in. Now you allow it to fall beneath you. Crumpled in a pile you step over,  it looks so small underneath you. Accepting that it is finished once and for all you are then comforted as the spirit now wrapped in sacred cloth until the next time.

Murmurs from inner workings get louder and now you are paying attention to the signals from tomorrow. As you hold this azurite in your hand you are in  meditation and you are listening to wisdom being whispered to you. Intuition, gnosis is then discovered. More at peace you have become still, you are in the present and you find yourself glinting at the sun bowing to her power.

Wayward and Parliament

It’s so easy to give into temptations. It feels good, it feels good to slip away into a sub form of consciousness. It’s easy to steal away from realities and it’s also so easy to forget what your purpose is. It’s so easy to let responsibility slide and to lay blame on every facet of one’s life, that isn’t adding up to the equations you’ve worked out in your head, on circumstance. So here is the answer … step up and quit blaming the universe for a broken past. 

Laying down on Parliament grounds, staring at the sky, I tallied up a list of  accomplishments and failures. And then I closed my eyes and mentally threw it away. I could lay there and weigh myself as a human being on paper or I could value myself as a human being based on lessons I’ve learned and the wisdom I can impart. 

In a perfect world there would be no strife … at the same time there would be no reason to push yourself. Isn’t that what we’re supposed to do? Push ourselves to be our own personal best no matter what is thrown down on our paths? Isn’t that part of being a logical and smart human being? Isn’t this what separates us from the rest?

There are those of us who will lay down and let our souls die because of a few failed relationships, or the loss of close friends, or the loss of a dream. Then there are those of us who will always give the universe the finger and continue on steadfast on our path. Doesn’t matter what our past has dictated because that’s where it is. In the past. And already we’re the architects of our futures. So why are we going to stare at buildings that are falling down forming rubbles of the broken foundation we tried to build on? We’re going to do what we know how to do best … start over. Work with what is already stable and make it better. 

Always pushing, always fighting … my parents call me resilient though I am sure it’s more of a polite way of saying I am stubborn. I’m sure it could be construed as a character flaw but it’s one that I am okay with. I have something that dna promised me but that my birth parents never knew.

 A desire to be great. 

orange skies

 

The beginnings of a fierce summer storm has produced an alien orange sky. To the north it’s sunny and as your eyesight follows the sky to the south it gets much, much darker. Plumes of cloud formations are making me weary as to their build up. Big, fierce and colored like that of rust colored machinery that has been through way too much neglect. Winds pick up quickly and I am started by the blinds slapping against the bedroom window and as I rush to close the windows throughout the apartment I see the clouds start to swirl in a fury.

Standing there, watching in awe as the colors of the sky turn from orange to black I am convinced that life is enchanting, mystifying, and satisfying in the ways it plays out. The timing of storm systems seem to appear at times of change allowing me a mental note of the ferocity of my own will. It has always been a time of comfort, of recognition of self. And though the lightening flashes seem dramatic it’s like taking a mental shot of moments that one wants to remember. 

The rains that have accompanied the storm aren’t as hard as I had thought they would be. It is a light sprinkle and it’s cathartic in the sounds it makes as it touches the cemented ground below my balcony. It wants to lull me back to sleep though I know I am really ready to embrace another day. 

A friend reminded me of how I used to be thankful for each morning sunrise, back when I remembered that each day is a chance to improve and a chance to give back. So here goes …

the art of acceptance

http://www.iyengar-yoga.com/iyengaryoga/

Stepping into the studio I happened upon two of the Yogi. One was dashing out the door though I recognized him at once as one of the main instructors. The other I became to know as Nanda who quickly informed me that he would be teaching a class in half an hour and invited me to join. I accepted and was grateful in that I was ten minutes late for the Hatha class I had intended to take part in yesterday. 

After changing in the cloth partitioned cubicle, I sat down upon the cushions that lined the wall and chatted with Nanda about occurrences in my life that had coerced me to embrace the practice of Yoga. I first informed him of a dear friend of mine who had graduated from an ashram in Montreal. I had always adored and envied the joy that the practice had brought her. In her troubles she always had yoga to turn to. The meditative properties and the breathing brought her a sense of serenity I had long forgotten. He knew of the ashram I spoke of and informed me of other ashrams around the world that were connected in their partnerships. 

I spoke to him of my injuries and upkeep, so to speak, of my right knee and ankles. Former years of long distance running, a past time I thoroughly enjoyed when I was younger, had taken a toll on my joints thus causing me to endure a period of methotrexate and cortisone injections to both the top of my ankles, a constant draining of the fluid in my knee and an injection to my knee as well. As I went through this period of time my emotional state was in a constant flux of embitterment and frustration. I’ve yet to master the art of accepting that which I can not control when it comes to my body. Having a certain aspect of one’s body fail them is tragic both physically and mentally. Though I am glad it is nothing more serious I still get anxious about the effects on me spiritually.

Nanda was quickly able to provide me with information about the healing effects of yoga and that he was throughly glad I had decided to pursue a new practice in healing myself. I was becoming more and more satisfied with the answers I was receiving and more at peace with my shortfalls. Knowing that I had the option to heal myself and become stronger was a notion I thought out of reach. And yet here it was waiting for me to accept it into my life. I could do away with all the angst and sadness I had let build up in the past few years and focus on meditative properties to calm myself and let go of my ego. 

As we were in midst of starting a new reason to why I was lucky to perchance upon his class another student had appeared in the studio. Jennifer had been practicing for quite some time and was in the middle of a course to become a Yogi herself. Slight and around the same size as me she was an added pleasure to the small group of three. I could tell Nanda was very pleased with the size of his class and that we had 90 minutes to work. 

We entered the back of the studio and I entered a larger studio with lacquered hardwood flooring. Slate grey walls and an industrial burgundy ceiling encompassed us. Already I felt as if I was both in a cocoon and that I had the whole sky above me. Safety was here I could feel it and a calm had already settled upon our shoulders. There are times when one feels a calling in their life and this was one of those times for me. My eyes had softened and my breathe became measured as I settled upon my mat and turned all of my senses over to the teacher and the practice.

 The next ninety minutes we worked together. It was everything I needed, it was a portal to a new extension of self, it was discovery. I had learned more of patience with myself and to focus on breathing. One forgets how to breathe … and yet it is the crux of all life. I’ve become so much more aware of breathing, of spaces, of mind and body connectivity. At the end of the ninety minutes we spent time in solitude with our thoughts and meditation. It was in those minutes that I decided to commit to this. 

Commitment is a word that frightens many of us … yet if important enough one does so without any fear. To me the commitments to write, to practice an instrument, to constantly be physically active and mentally aware is life. It’s what keeps one going when certain failures crop up. 

I know this life is a gift, as is sight, as is hearing, as is breathing. And I’ve come a long way from my beginnings but I’ve so much more to do so much more to accomplish. I am just so grateful for yesterday. As most of my yesterdays and the people that I’ve known I am grateful.