Last night I dreamt of horses. Horses and horses and hoof-thunder all around and my thighs are gripping the bare back of some chestnut stallion. I am knee-deep in a surging sea of power, electric charges packaged in glossy fur coats. Flashes of shimmering earth-toned bodies all engulfing me, flowing like a single wave yet shifting like a hundred tree canopies in a violent wind. One but many; many to make up a breathtaking whole.
They bob in and out and around one another, undulating miniature hills of black and gray and brown and white and buckskin and bay and spots, and out of control they all seem to roll wildly over the open terrain. I’m not afraid; it’s wild and free but normal, too.
Routine ecstasy.
I can feel the chorded muscles bunch and stretch beneath me like the arm of some Olympian god, flexing to showcase his strength. My muscles tighten and wave; stiff and loose to mold to the movements of my mount. Lean back for every stride; sway and lift my body to absorb the jarring hoofbeats of the stampede-galloper beneath me.
Horses brush and push against my legs on either side, trapping them briefly, and for a moment I feel the hot pressure of being caught between two great wild beasts. But I’m never crushed. My balance is threatened, but I never fall.
I am a part of this sacred herd-rite. I am one with this tribe of rugged creatures and drowned in their raw beauty and rough, ragged grace. Terrifying power and deafening sound and wind that whips my hair and I feel it’s sting on my face; tears in my eyes from the speed. And I am unaware of myself, unaware of whatever it is that makes me human; that separates my psyche from that of the equine’s. I am unaware of anything, besides my belonging, melded into this band of horses.
I'd tell them, you know, if they wanted to know. I'd tell them all sorts of things.
No comments:
Post a Comment