Tuesday, January 31, 2012
This piece from Open Salon was sent to me by my buddy Matt Paust, the Hemingway of the Henhouse and third runner-up in the Burl Ives lookalike contest. But its message is no joke.
It's about horses, and it's about acceptance and letting go. I am lousy at that last one. All I know how to do is hang on. I persevere, and persevere, and persevere until everyone else has gone home. Maybe twice in my life, it has paid off.
I don't know if I was damaged into it, or what. Looking at my childhood, well, if that ain't a recipe for insanity then I don't know what is. The twists and turns of truths, half-truths and whole lies was Byzantine. Subterfuge was key, as was gritting hard and . . . holding on.
If you didn't, you did not survive.
If a horse is running away with you, you hold on, right? Sometimes that's all you can do. If you let go at that point, your brains will soon decorate the nearest rock.
If you love someone, you hold on, don't you? I do.
I thought that's what was meant by "I do".
Then I wonder why we are so often exhorted to "let go", to do so gracefully and with a Buddhists' blank-faced, supreme indifference.
I wonder sometimes if God is indifferent. If there is such a thing. Probably not, probably just some rogue energy that somehow got started, and then couldn't get itself to stop.
I love horses, I really do, but I don't have them in my life any more. Steadily, one by one, like falling leaves, the things I care about have all left me and blown away. There are only a few survivors left.
And I do not like it and I will not, EVER, willingly, let go.