A Horse With No Name

Every man is divinity in disguise.
It is God playing the fool.

~Emerson

“I See You” by MHopkins © 2014

Now I’ve been up close and personal with some animals—dogs, cats, monkeys, raccoons, bears, even some endangered species like the lynx and bobcat that visit my land—but never a horse...in the middle of the road...on a dark and snowy night.

I suppose stranger things have happened.

‘Twas the night before the night before Christmas, and I was on my way home from a holiday musical extravaganza sponsored by the Unity Church of Boulder.

With a new moon rising and snow clouds hanging low in the sky, visibility was limited as I wound my way up the familiar stretch of Boulder Canyon toward my home. Sticking close to the canyon wall, I drove through the snow, all the while contemplating the meaning of “Unity.” What does it really mean—this concept of oneness?

Suddenly, out of nowhere, I came upon a horse running wildly back-and-forth across the narrow, two-lane road, sliding as she maneuvered uphill in the snow. The unexpected sight of her scared me half to death; she was scared, too. So I stopped and turned on my hazard lights, not sure what to do next, but this much I knew: Boulder Canyon is no place for a horse, especially at night when it’s snowing.

For a brief moment I watched her and, she, looking over her shoulder, watched me. And then I did the only thing I could think of to do: I rolled down my window and talked to her.

“Don’t be scared . . . I’m not going to hurt you,” I said softly. “Please, you have to get out of the road before you cause an accident.”

She stopped running, eyeing me suspiciously.

“Please, come here . . . you have to get out of the road,” I pleaded.

Slowly, she turned and walked toward me.

“Come here, girl, I’m not going to hurt you. I want to help you,” I continued, coaxing her with promises of safety while holding out my hand to her through the open window.

She approached my car, towering high above it, and lowered her head to meet me at eye level. As I reached out to touch the side of her face I saw something in her eyes that moved me. In that moment, I caught a glimpse of her spirit and I understood with acute awareness what I had only intellectualized until then—that the same life force that moved through her flowed through me. The same vital energy that animated her form, gave life to mine, albeit in different packages.

It was as if time stood still for me and that horse on the canyon. I whispered, “I see you.”

Just then a car came barreling around the corner and slammed on the brakes. My new friend freaked out and started running around my car. She had no bridle or halter to grab, so there was little I could do but work out a plan with the man in the car behind me to get the horse out of the road. We agreed—he would stay with the horse and warn oncoming cars with flashing lights, and I would drive the remaining three miles up the canyon and get the local police to help us.

The rest of the story played out like a scene from The Andy Griffith Show. I ran into the police station and exclaimed with excitement: “There’s a horse in the middle of the canyon.” To which the officer replied, “Yeah, what does the horse look like?”  

Four legs a tail and a gorgeous mane?  So I described the horse and told them of the man I had left behind on the canyon waiting for help, and I discovered that the officers knew the horse—or at least they knew the horse’s guardian—and they followed me out to remedy the situation. The horse was rescued. Crisis averted. It was surreal.

Later, as I pulled into my driveway, I could not shake the intensity of my experience with that horse—the moment of connection with her living spirit. What a precious gift to see and truly understand the essence of this spiritual principle, which reminds us that we are all unique expressions of the same Creative Source, interconnected with everyone and everything else. Call that Source whatever you like—God, Allah, Great Spirit, Creator, the “Big C”—it matters not, because there is only One from which all things flow.

You are at once a beating heart

and a single heartbeat in the body called humanity.

~Dr. Wayne Dyer

Oneness is a concept emphasized by many, and has been, perhaps, one of the toughest ideas for me to wrap my mind around. It is simple enough in theory to say that we’re all one, but when I see my neighbor in his yard shoveling snow and I’m standing across the street in my own yard—physically separate from him—it’s hard to make the connection. It is especially challenging for me to find the common thread when I look at the most vile criminal offenders—rapists, murderers and child molesters—for it is here that I am most keen to distinguish myself in every conceivable way. It’s even more difficult to conceptualize my oneness with the creek flowing through my back yard or the horse in the middle of the canyon, particularly when I consider the differences in our physical constitutions.

To grasp this concept requires that we open our minds and see beyond our physical limitations. Analogies help. For instance, if I pour wine from a bottle into your glass, what do you have? A glass of wine—the same wine that’s still in the bottle, only now a portion of it has been transferred to another container. The same is true of me, the horse and the vital energy that flows through us, bringing our “containers” to life. True, our containers are quite different and come with unique bells and whistles—in that way, we’re definitely not the same—but we come from One, which makes us all related in a wonderfully abstract way.

Spiritual teachers and mystics across time have urged us to consider that what we do to one we do to all; that we cannot hurt another without also, in some way, hurting ourselves. And while many of us may find it easy to extend that thought pattern and courtesy to a handful of people we're close to (our immediate family and loved ones) how often do we reach out to help strangers or animals or the environment in the spirit of unity and oneness?

And so this was my Gift of the Magi—wisdom and recognition shared between a girl and a horse on a dark canyon road, and now I pass it on to you.

As we begin a new year, may you connect with the peace that comes with understanding your connection to the One.

Still, I Fall

Black is the color

of my true love’s hair

His face is like

A rose so fair

He’s got the sweetest face

And the strongest hands

I love the ground

Whereon he stands…

~ Black is the Color

Irish Folk Song (modified for “him”)

Ah, Amore!  The agony.  The joy!  The blush of new love, the rush of romance; thinking of your beloved each moment of the day, imagining his hands touching every part of your body; anxiously awaiting the next conversation, the next kiss.  Falling in love is the easy part—any fool can do it—but staying in love, I think, calls us to fall in love again and again over the lifetime of our togetherness.   

I want to remember it all—each moment of awareness, each insight into his depth, each time my heart breaks open, just a bit wider, softened by the light of what’s real and true and vulnerable between us.  Like these five moments that pulled me in a little deeper, reminding me why I fell for my sweetheart; f-a-l-l-i-n-g in love all over again.

1. It’s both.  When he met my Grandmother I wasn’t quite sure what to expect.  But there he sat, knee-to-knee with the matriarch of our family, as she fired off question after question in her gentle, southern way.  “What do you do for a living?” “How long have you two been courting?” “Who are your people and will we like them?”  He answered each question with patience and care, and when she asked, “Is this a real thing or a play thing?”  He responded, “It’s both!”  Yes, he was serious about our relationship, he told her, but we also played and had a lot of fun together too.  Hearing this, my 80-something Grandmother took his hands in hers and just laughed and laughed. I. Fell. Madly. Deeply.

2.  Bald for a cause.  A participant with St. Baldrick’s Foundation, my sweetheart has been shaving his head to raise money for child cancer research for more than seven years.  This year he will be anointed a Knight of the Bald Table for his many years of service.  I love his philanthropic nature. I’ve known this about him since we first met while volunteering at Children’s Hospital.  But last spring as I watched him on stage getting his head shaved before a cheering crowd of friends and supporters, he glowed.  In that moment I understood what my friend Jenna meant when she described another as being made of “wind and light.”  He was.  It made me love him more.

3.  Minding the mundane.  We had big snow that day so I worked from home.  But under pressure of a big deadline at work, he ventured down the canyon in the dark of morning where he stayed all day.  Yet, after a tiring day at work, traveling in hazardous conditions, he stopped at the market for groceries and picked up dinner before heading back home.  As he helped me unpack the shopping bags, stocking our fridge with fresh organic produce, my heart melted in adoration for the Man who takes such good care of me. They say, in love, we each feel like we're the lucky one. I knew that I was. He minds the mundane with a patient and glad heart. I will never take that for granted. 

4.  Spooning the Furry.  I heard him in the bedroom one Saturday morning, speaking in low tones.  I thought he might be on the phone.  I had been in the kitchen cleaning up after breakfast and as I started towards the bedroom I saw them together, lying on the floor spooning.  “You’re such a good doggie,” he said, stroking the Furry’s head; “We love you so much.”  The dog was in bliss! I stood there watching them, bathed in sunlight from the open window, just hanging out together, until he saw me in the doorway and gave me a smile. I thought my heart would break.

5.  The brightest light.  For our first married Christmas together, I found a fabulous tree.  I had been busy that day decorating and making the house more festive when he took off for town.  He returned a while later with excitement.  “Look what I found,” he said, unpacking his shopping bags and lining the counter with two-dozen soft white LED candles.  Then he carefully placed one in each window of the house, even the super high windows close to the top of the cathedral ceiling in the living room that required a ladder to reach.  As I watched him move about with enthusiasm, to me, he was the brightest light of all.  I could not have loved him more.  Or could I?

Day by day, in a thousand ways, still, I fall…

Conspiracy of Love

Blessed is the season,

which engages the whole world

in a conspiracy of love. 

~Hamilton Wright Mabie

Can you feel it—the warm fuzzy glow of good cheer building from the first turkey dinner, jingle-belled advertisement and beautifully wrapped vision of holiday bliss, and reaching a crescendo as we join our families and friends to celebrate the season?  Giddy with the holiday spirit, we’re just a little more kind and a little more forgiving as we move through the days filled with anticipation of . . .

Of what?  What are we looking forward to?  What are we expecting?  What do we really want? 

Kids seem to know with surprising clarity.  “I want an American Girl doll!” “I want a new bike!” “I want chocolate chip cookies!” “I WANT MY MOMMY!”  But how many of these wants are truly needs?  Do they even recognize the difference?  Rarely.  In watching kids flit from one toy to the next we see right through their fly-by-night passions, reaching for this and grabbing for that. 

We forget that adults are not so different, except that we use these long, detailed explanations to rationalize our dubious choices, cleverly disguising the pretenses of our decisions even from ourselves sometimes.  We reach for this and long for that then reach for something else.  Sometimes we get what we want.  And sometimes we reach for what we think we really want only to get it and later discover that it wasn’t so great after all.  Maybe things have changed since we began wanting what we want and we find that it’s no longer relevant when it arrives.  And sometimes when we don’t get what we want it makes us want it even more; an unrequited passion not so easily extinguished.  But how much of what we say we want do we truly need?

Perhaps at the root of every desire is a basic longing—to connect, to love, to be at peace; the hunt for comfort and joy.  Remember this as you move through Thanksgiving, Hanukkah, Christmas, and look for ways to connect with the root of your longing.   

Try this: 

1. Volunteer!  Get out of yourself and give back to your community!  As Rumi says, there are a thousand ways to kneel and kiss the ground.

2. Keep it real!  No holiday is perfect and few celebrations rarely resemble the cozy gatherings depicted in commercials and our favorite programs on television.  If your family dynamic has changed or tradition is too hard to satisfy, don’t be afraid to do things a little different each year! Get rid of the pressure!

3. Take some time for yourself!  Give the gift of your presence.  You can’t be there for others in any real way if you’re not there for yourself so slow down, take a nap, read a book, get a massage, and take some time to reflect on where you’ve been, where you’re going and what you’re thankful for.

4. Remember what’s important.  It’s easy to lose sight of why we’re doing what we’re doing when we’re so busy baking and buying and wrapping and coming and going.  Take some time to connect with the real reason for the season.

Succumb to the conspiracy of love and you just might find that what you’re looking for has been with you all along.

P.S.  Thanks for sharing the quote Mom!

Dogs Never Lie

In times of joy, all of us wished we possessed a tail we could wag.

~ W.H. Auden

Madison would be freaking out right now if she were here to see this flood.  She would be tempted to get in the creek but she would hesitate; tuned into the water’s raging energy; connected to the heightened turmoil around her.  She was sensitive like that; dialed in before others even knew. 

 

Like the time she made a big fuss of dragging her blanket and pillow around to my side of the bed so she could sleep next to me.  I noticed the change right away, and I wondered out loud if perhaps I had cancer, or some terrible malaise, because I had heard about dogs that can sense these things.  A few days later I learned that I was pregnant.  She continued to drag her bed around to my side for weeks until one day she didn’t; and, again, I wondered out loud if everything was okay with the baby.  A few days later I miscarried.  She didn’t drag her bed around to my side after that, but she stayed close and loved me through my tears.

 

One time she charged to the edge of the yard and scared the dickens out of our neighbor.  She could be intimidating with her stocky frame—almost 100 pounds and mostly muscle—but Madison just wanted to say hello.  We knew her approach could use some work; still, she went too far that time and she knew better, so when her daddy scolded her bad choice she put herself in time-out; cowering on the little mat in front of the soaking tub in the master bath, shaking and shivering in her remorse.  She wanted to do right, she really wanted to do right, and it killed her to think that she had disappointed us.

 

But she could never really disappoint us, not for long anyway.  No matter the infraction, just one look at her cute little mug and soon we were laughing at her heartfelt expressions.  She could be a real drama queen sometimes.  Mostly, we just loved her and cherished every minute we shared. 

 

Before I came along she was her daddy’s best friend, but she welcomed me with loving paws and big wet kisses.  She even let me paint her toenails in my favorite shades –“Party-in-my-Cabana” pink for the summer and “Fa-La-La-Luscious” for the holidays.  From the way she watched me beautify, I imagined that she secretly wanted to join me in my primping.  And when she walked down the aisle as the honorary ring bearer for our New Year’s Eve nuptials, wearing a big red flower behind her ear, I couldn’t have loved her more if I had given birth to her myself.  I hope she knew that.

 

When she left her condo in the city for mountain dwelling, we teased that she was living the high life in her new retirement home.  More than bacon and eggs—more than anything—she loved being outdoors, and she moved freely between meditations in the sun, chasing sticks and mindless rambling by the creek.  Madison taught me so much about living, about the joy of routine and unconditional love, about seizing each moment and never being afraid to ask for what you want.   I envied her life.

 

Sometimes I still hear the tap of her nails on the hardwood floors and I turn to call her name.  Then I remember.  But like the whispering wind that moves the trees and urges the water downstream, we’ll carry her loving spirit in our hearts forever. 

______________________________

Photos by Lori Kennedy Photography.  (c) 2012 Lori Kennedy.  www.lorikennedy.co

 

COMMUNION

If ever there was a symbiotic relationship . . .

you know, like leaf hoppers and meat ants. . .

each of which thrives because of the existence of the other,

it's me and you, babe.   

Include me in your every thought, as I do you. 

P.S. - You have something in your teeth,
Love,

The Universe

(Mike Dooley, Notes from the Universe)

I’ve been thinking a lot about these symbiotic relationships or, more specifically, the mutualistic type where two organisms of different species “work together” to exist, each benefitting the other in some way and from the relationship as a whole. 

Consider the flower and the bee.  Furry winged friends buzz about from flower to flower, checking things out, gathering nectar, which they make into food, and collecting pollen, the flower’s great sperm, carrying it on their furry little bodies to the next flower.  The bees get yummy nectar to eat and the flowering plants reproduce.  It’s a win-win situation.

Or ponder the relationship between bacteria and humans.  It’s everywhere, really, and kind of gross, I think.  But in many ways this bacteria helps us along, like the intestinal kind, aiding us in digesting food that we couldn’t digest on our own.  The bacteria get to eat and we get help in breaking down the food we’ve already eaten.  Everyone’s happy!

In many environments, in fact, these mutual relationships between animals and plants are critical to the healthy organization of life and its processes.  Still, scientists say, no species acts completely altruistically towards another.  Instead, their relationships evolve when their paths cross and one manipulates the other for its own benefit.  True, both might benefit in the end, but it begins with the selfish motivation. 

We’re not so different, are we? 

My friend’s therapist swears that all of our relationships exist—and the way we operate within them—on some level, because we’re getting something out of it.  I resisted that thought at first. I prefer to believe that I do things like volunteer or help my neighbor because I’m a good person.  But truth be told, I do get something out of volunteering.  It elevates my mood, it gives me perspective and, ultimately, I feel better about my own life.  Not exactly manipulative behavior, I suppose, but not entirely altruistic either.

The same is true when I help my neighbor.  Sure, I extend a hand whenever I can and I’m glad to do it—we have a great relationship with our neighbors—but having helped, it frees me up to ask for help, like on those days when we can’t get home fast enough to let the dog out, or when we’re traveling and want to be notified straight away if someone starts loading our things into a moving van in the driveway.

Then I think of the selfless acts of daring and rescue initiated by people who have no relationship or connection to those they seek to defend.  I dare say that Good Samaritan family who rushed from their restaurant to help injured runners during the Boston Marathon bombings acted from anything other than their desire to help.  They knew nothing of the injured; they owed them nothing.  But they helped them all the same. 

Still, I wonder:  aside from these random acts of kindness, in our day-to-day relationships, do we act from purely altruistic motives?  Giving our time or resources, expecting nothing in return?  Helping even when we don’t benefit in some way?  Extending ourselves to those we love, work or socialize with without etching marks on some mental scorecard to remind us of who did what for whom and when?

As we peel away the winter layers and warm into spring, I challenge you (and myself) to explore those underlying motivations that spur action.  Why do you do what you do?  Why do you commune with certain individuals or groups to the exclusion of others?  Then do one thing each day in May that benefits another without also benefitting yourself. 

Let me know what you discover.  I'd love to hear from you!

From Where I've Been

To journey without being changed

is to be a nomad.

To change without journeying

is to be a chameleon.

To journey and to be transformed by the journey

is to be a pilgrim.

~Mark Nepo

Photo courtesy of Lori Kennedy © 2012.

I read this story once about a woman who called herself “Peace Pilgrim.”  In 1952 she became the first woman to walk the entire length of the Appalachian Trail in one season.  Shortly after that she began her walk for peace, vowing to “remain a wanderer until mankind has learned the way of peace, walking until given shelter and fasting until given food.”  For almost three decades she walked back and forth across the United States, with no money and only the clothes on her back, walking more than 25,000 miles before her death.  She was always fascinated that her needs were met.  “Aren’t people good,” she would say.[1]

She spoke to anyone who would listen about the big peace picture:  peace among nations, peace among groups, and that all too elusive inner peace because she believed that was where peace began.  In the course of her pilgrimage she touched the lives of thousands of people with her message, and many of them inspired her as well. 

I love the story she told about a small, remote village she visited where she found a group of people with a unique way of dealing with conflict.  When a person in the village violated the natural laws or had intense conflict with another, the locals would gather in the town center, form a circle around the offender, and one by one they would recount every good deed, act of kindness and contribution to the community made by that person.  There was no punishment or finger pointing or harsh judgment, only kindness.  And as a result, their community thrived without the need for jails or local police.  Generally, they had very little conflict among them.  

Innovative conflict resolution aside, when I think about the devotion that allowed Peace Pilgrim to live this mission I am overwhelmed by the truth that I have never been so dedicated to any one thing in my life.  Sure, I’ve been interested in things and fascinated by people and places.  I’ve championed a few causes.  I’ve dabbled in this creative endeavor and that; I’ve explored this career path, then that; but never have I devoted myself to any one person or purpose to the exclusion of all others.   In a way, I’ve had one foot out the door; one eye cocked in search of the next great thing, certain that I would miss “it” if I settled on just one.

A curious realization as I prepare to join my beloved at our ceremonial alter this New Year’s Eve and make the single-most significant declaration of love and commitment so far in my lifetime. As I contemplate the vows we will be taking—the vows I will be making on our wedding night—among the most important, I think, will be my vow of happiness, not just for that day or in the weeks and years that follow when the fire of romance burns hot and bright, but everyday no matter the weather.  In so doing, I also choose myself. 

Not that I have been unhappy by nature; to the contrary. Yet I, as you, sometimes feel isolated and unsure even when surrounded by love and beauty, waiting for things to be just so.  But in waiting, I find, my attention to happiness slips and my experience of life and connections with people become obscured.

So as I move from where I’ve been, walking towards a new year, a new chapter, and a whole new life with my sweetheart by my side, I begin this pilgrimage of happiness.  I will not wait for some future moment for all to be right in the world—for countries to quit fighting, for financial markets to stabilize, for the environment to be protected, for everyone to act right and do right and play nice--or for the pieces of my puzzle to fit perfectly in place. From this moment forward I am a pilgrim for the cause, and I will choose those life-affirming friendships and experiences that support my journey to move beyond the pettiness that breeds discontent and that tendency that we all share to change or hide the truth of our hearts so that we may please others or avoid pain.  

In this I honor that sacred place: the deep well of happiness within, always present and waiting to be rediscovered.  

Isn’t that why we’re here?

As we inch closer to 2013, I wish you all safe journeys and a very HAPPY New Year!

 _______________________

[1]  Peace Pilgrim:  Her Life and Work in Her Own Words, © 1992; published by Ocean Tree Books.