It came to me that in many ways it would be best to quit. This is why I can't:
The drive down certainly doesn't add anything to it. Rather, it forces thoughts left alone: mistakes made at work, issues in the family, drama among friends, losses, failures, impossible goals, and so many things left to do.
Getting ready is more about checking for injuries and broken equipment. Is he limping? Is he ill? Will the leather hold up for another hour? Will I be ready in time? And don't forget to catch up on the gossip and stories of those people seen once a week or once a month or even less than that.
In the ring is always mentally and physically exhausting. The heat is oppressive. The bugs are annoying. The simultaneous adjustments and total body awareness are sometimes overwhelming. Is he forward enough? Is he collected enough? Where are my legs? My hands? My shoulders? Am I on the correct diagonal? Is he on the correct lead? Bend to the left. Shift the legs back. Drop the heel. Collect the reins -- not too much -- more flexibilty in the wrists. Turn the thumbs up. Is he extended enough? Smooth transitions.
The approach is all those things and then some: Is he straight? Is he centered? Too collected? Too extended? Drop the heel. Add more leg. Look ahead. Set up the lead. Keep him straight. And don't. For-get. To count. And three. And two. And one.
And then, just as his front hooves leave the ground, everything goes quiet. For the space of a heartbeat nothing matters. Not the cat that just died, or the cat that's about to give birth. Not the troubles of work. Not the stress of money. Not the drama of family. Not the whole messy reality of life. No internal mantra of outside rein, outside leg, drop the heel, pick up the hands, look to turn. For a moment of muted bliss there is nothing in your head. Arms and legs go where years of training have told them to go, and conscious thought is, briefly, un-necessary. In the amount of time it takes to clear a pole set two and half feet above the ground, my soul is completely free.
The physical shock of landing mirrors the invisible emotional shock of coming back to earth. But five strides down the outside line -- 6 if he's collected -- and the heaven that sits 2'6" above the grey dirt awaits again.
Getting ready is more about checking for injuries and broken equipment. Is he limping? Is he ill? Will the leather hold up for another hour? Will I be ready in time? And don't forget to catch up on the gossip and stories of those people seen once a week or once a month or even less than that.
In the ring is always mentally and physically exhausting. The heat is oppressive. The bugs are annoying. The simultaneous adjustments and total body awareness are sometimes overwhelming. Is he forward enough? Is he collected enough? Where are my legs? My hands? My shoulders? Am I on the correct diagonal? Is he on the correct lead? Bend to the left. Shift the legs back. Drop the heel. Collect the reins -- not too much -- more flexibilty in the wrists. Turn the thumbs up. Is he extended enough? Smooth transitions.
The approach is all those things and then some: Is he straight? Is he centered? Too collected? Too extended? Drop the heel. Add more leg. Look ahead. Set up the lead. Keep him straight. And don't. For-get. To count. And three. And two. And one.
And then, just as his front hooves leave the ground, everything goes quiet. For the space of a heartbeat nothing matters. Not the cat that just died, or the cat that's about to give birth. Not the troubles of work. Not the stress of money. Not the drama of family. Not the whole messy reality of life. No internal mantra of outside rein, outside leg, drop the heel, pick up the hands, look to turn. For a moment of muted bliss there is nothing in your head. Arms and legs go where years of training have told them to go, and conscious thought is, briefly, un-necessary. In the amount of time it takes to clear a pole set two and half feet above the ground, my soul is completely free.
The physical shock of landing mirrors the invisible emotional shock of coming back to earth. But five strides down the outside line -- 6 if he's collected -- and the heaven that sits 2'6" above the grey dirt awaits again.