Tag: horses

Letting Go of the Reins

One day I will be taken. I don’t know how or when, of course. All I know is that leaving Earth – the only home I am familiar with – is inevitable.

It is a mildly discomfiting feeling but doesn’t consume my daily thoughts. Except some days, it does.

Does death scare me? I suppose so, yes, on some level. In the same way going on a trip to any unknown destination scares me. More nervousness than fear. Traveling is a hassle. There are bound to be nerves. Any trip causes internal and external upheaval. What do I pack for starters?

I have lived long enough and traveled often enough to know that wherever I go, there I am. Exotic destinations and white sandy beaches stretching off into the distance are alluring. I appreciate them in direct correlation to the vantage point of the mood and headspace I am in. Over my lifetime, positive and negative internal states have been many and various. My internal state always mattered in my recollection of the experience more than any external situation I was in. I could appreciate or adapt myself to the degree that I was capable of reacting to or appreciating it.

One stunning travel memory was the beach at Hikkaduwa, Sri Lanka. Local boys brought us freshly cut spears of pineapple that dripped with juice and had the mouth feel of biting into heavy whipped cream. I snorkeled in shallow waters off the beaches there. I nearly inhaled water amazed and distracted by the orderly kaleidoscope of colors among fish wending their way through equally colorful coral reefs.

When I think of travel experiences that stayed with me, I think about the synchronicity between my inner self and what was going on outside me. Often nothing. Standing at a rock cairn in the Himalayas, I watched clouds gambol across the peak of Mt. Everest in the distance. No hurry, no drama. Just mountains and clouds being mountains and clouds. Just being.

I often try to reconcile the disparity between growth and stagnation. It is said life on Earth is largely for spiritual education. Damned if I know exactly how that works. Damned if I have ever been able to fully recognize and internalize graduation markers from one “grade” to the next.

I only know by comparison that my values, hopes, and ambitions are radically different than those of a younger me. Younger me was largely consumed by the drive for survival. Older me wonders more often what survival’s end will be like. I often reflect on the enduring shame and distress certain actions or situations created in me as a youth. Those situations would never happen now and the memories cause me pain and pause. Maybe that is the point. That feels like learning.

I have often said, however, that many life lessons I learned I would rather have read in a book. Were the lessons of devastation of loss, humiliation, upheaval and searing emotional pain really necessary for the ultimate good of my eternal soul? That seems doubtful. I spent a lot of time wondering if those crushing lessons were simply a case of me being the a—hole. The uncomfortable answer was often yes.

Life for me has been like some talented, untrained filly full of spirit and energy and bumping into its mother and the paddock rails out of sheer, unbridled enthusiasm. The filly needed to grow up, become trained, focus that energy and spirit in a controlled way to be of any value to the herd or its owner. And protect its mother’s ribs. Otherwise it would simply grow bigger and continue to be an unruly, undisciplined horsehole that outgrew its cute phase and was eventually labeled delinquent and dangerous. At which point, it would become isolated and avoided. I’ve been there.

As a child in Pony Club being trained myself, I would often let go of the reins. It signaled the end of the lesson. It was the moment where riders relaxed and the horse relaxed, too. We often caught flak from instructors if we let the reins go in a field where the first thing the horse did was start grazing. That seemed to bother the instructors terribly but I never really got that. I always thought it was a nice treat and reward for a horse that has just worked hard and put up with your childish incompetence for the preceding hour.

On a horse trek across the Andes, I relaxed the reins at certain points when I couldn’t possibly imagine what my instructions to the horse could constructively add to the situation. The group of fellow riders edged along narrow mountain trails within way too close proximity and clear sight of cliffs plunging thousands of feet down the mountain. If the horse took any misstep whatsoever, we would both free fall to our deaths.

It finally occurred to me that the horse did not want to die either. It had crossed these pathways many more times than I had, after all. It needed to be sure – and was likely very sure – of its own footing. Self-preservation is not confined to the human species. I had utterly no control over this animal in that moment. I loosened the reins and gave over my trust to this steady, wordless equine. It worked out, of course, or you wouldn’t be reading this blog post!

Facing death with an attitude of peace would seem to mean arriving at that portal having come to terms with most of the problems and relationships life threw at you. Combined with surrender for what you could not and cannot control any longer, which is a form of grace. I have lately been learning that lesson in real time.

When facing a situation where you have explored every option, you have given a project or person your all, you have asked all the questions, done all the readings, shaken the curtains for every last remaining bit of insight until, one day, for no discernible reason, you let go of any control over the outcome. Where the illusion of control was deployed as a survival strategy, it becomes obvious you have little to no control whatsoever. Control over getting the dishes done, yes, of course. But not for the ultimate outcome of life’s trajectory.

In the vernacular and wisdom of the 12 step groups, one ultimately decides to “Let go and let god.” I assume and hope that will be my conclusion on my deathbed, or death sidewalk, or death seashore or airplane wherever I happen to be at the time I cross “the great divide.”

While it causes anxiety to let go of control, it also comes with a certain sense of relief. There are burdens worth setting down along the journey of life. To surrender to forces greater than you are. Surrender undoubtedly comes at no more important or impactful time than at the end of that journey.

Sounds like relief to me. At the end of the ride, let the damn horse eat all the fresh grass he wants, say I. He’s earned it.

Playing for Change

I watched a music video tonight. It suddenly opened my eyes to something I’d never quite understood before. (Ironically, the song was called “Doctor My Eyes.”) I instantly understood why music (and art) generally is so threatening to power.

Playing for Change (https://www.playingforchange.com/home2) is a movement created to inspire and connect the world through music. Though separated by geography, countries and culture, music is a common language that can be shared by everyone.

Last night, a new Playing for Change video popped up. I watched in amazement as American singer Jackson Browne sat in his California studio accompanied by about fifteen accomplished musicians from around the world.

As Browne sat at his piano and sang his 1972 hit song, Doctor My Eyes, he was joined by video links with singers and musicians from around the world playing on sitars, an African grass piano, rain sticks, electric guitars and their own voices. The music was amazing as is the PFC message. “No matter where we come from, music helps us overcome our differences.”

The insight I had is that power is maintained in this world through deliberate separation and compartmentalization. Op. cit. apartheid. It’s easy to understand why that appeals to power. Smaller groups are easier to control.

Staying small and disconnected from each other diminishes the ability for members of different groups to get to know and understand one other. “Fear of the other” kicks in and defines many inter-group relationships.

Simple miscommunication and misunderstanding underpin many interpersonal and global conflicts. Even social conflicts: think racism and anti-Semitism. The more disconnected and separate groups remain, the more isolated and vulnerable they are.

I think back to how naive I was working in a government bureaucracy.

They sentenced me to twenty years of boredom, trying to change the system from within … Leonard Cohen https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/First_We_Take_Manhattan

I was appalled by the redundancy and waste in so many different branches and divisions. They were often devoted to many of the same tasks without communicating between themselves. This frequently caused problems when one group’s findings or directives or priorities conflicted with another. Yet it went on all the time.

How much more sensible and efficient it would be, I reasoned, if these groups worked together toward a common goal. And that was when I learned about “silos.”

These disparate bureaucratic groups between departments or in departments were called “silos.” Each “silo” is headed up by someone like a director or manager. The hierarchy is fixed. How much time and energy did I waste creating organizational charts!

Silos exist in organizations like a government bureaucracy and they will always be there for a simple reason. There are those who like to be in control. There are others who like to be controlled. They are two distinct personality types.

The two are attracted to each other like moths to a flame. Their respective positions are distinct and well-defined. It gives both of them a sense of certainty and security. The thinking seems to go: “I am the boss and you are my underling. As we both agree on that, we will both get our needs met and contribute to our mutual well-being and security.” As long as we both obey the rules….

But life isn’t like a carefully constructed organizational chart. There is no absolute fixed hierarchy in nature, for example, in which roles remain rigid and inflexible. Roles fluctuate with age and death and the local geography and weather conditions and supply and demand.

Life is actually messy and surprising and random. Usually only as we get older do we come to understand and accept that. There is never going to be an immutable, safe haven. At best, we have all agreed to a tacit and self-serving civility to maintain our stability and security as we know and expect.

From years of travel, I became familiar and comfortable within many different cultures. The rukle was pretty simple: “Treat others as you would want to be treated.” That worked around the world for the most part.

For many years, I eagerly sought out foreign culture and experiences. I have met people for whom this is the very definition of a nightmare.

People regularly travel to foreign countries, but usually in ways that support and mirror the standards and expectations of their own culture. Bus tours. Cruises. Biking adventures. All with people “just like them” and amenities “just like home.” Super structured. Super safe. And sorry, but super boring.

I have happily travelled the rough and ready way. Slept on a dirt floor in a Nepali hut. Camped on the open tundra in the high Arctic. And, my favorite, in a life preserver box on a ferry crossing across the Atlantic. In smelly canvas tents on a horse trek across the Andes. Once had to sleep in those smelly tents in the middle of a snowstorm.

Each of those experiences changed me in ways I don’t suppose I’ve even yet fully realized. I only know I remain open and curious.

Playing for Change seeks to expose viewers to different cultures in less immersive ways than actually being where the musicians are. But this is not a Carnegie Hall concert experience.

Sitar players sit and play on rattan chairs on the edge of a jungle. Black Jamaicans play guitars on the side of a street with broken pavement. In Argentina, an accordionist plays to the rapt attention of two little girls sitting on and looking up from two tiny, little chairs.

Unstructured. Messy. Unpredictable. Each and every one different.

All beautiful. Such a gift to be able to share in that experience.

Play on, Playing For Change. You are doing such a good thing.