The Centaur

270A8C83-7037-46D9-B11B-032055C930CEThe air was wet with humid this evening. I hoped out of the Highlander, threw on my boots, grabbed my Bridle and then grabbed my mare.

I hopped on Perdu bareback and we made our way into the midsummer evening. Stars and moon and fireflies to light our way to the pasture.

Riding Bareback on a summers night is a return to the center of being. To my most sacred and free place, it is where I am true. There is no time, timelessness as our centaur form moves among the locust trees.

Crickets, the sound of hooves swooshing over wet grass my spine fusing with my horse as my legs become her legs.

This is where I is no more, there is only we. We speak the language of feeling and sound.

We neared the gate I jumped down, removed the bridle and let her rejoin the herd. As I walked back to the barn, I could not help but wonder at the reflection of evening clouds in th puddles, another world right beneath my feet.

Stall cleaned, water buckets dumped, and now I write reclined on a bale of hay in the hay loft. A nicker, solitude, a silence where I can hear everything.

This is where I finally know the meaning of content. Contentment is different for everyone, but I know we must find this place. Without it, we are like uprooted plants, searching for soil. Finding this place,this grounding, this place where I recharge and know…peace. Contentment isn’t in everything being perfect, or there being no troubles, it is in gratitude for what we have, in trusting our true self.

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