thoughts on thieves and light

I was summoned to my office yesterday b/c the historic house it's in had been broken into on the first evening of the new year, and every office but one ransacked.

When I got there the CSI had just left. It was eerie walking into my sandplay inner sanctum and finding his business card with contact info lying on the wooden table by my chair.

The break-in was very odd. There was almost no evidence of entry from the outside, but inside, most of the individual office doors had been violently kicked in. The doors were original to the house, solid wood, and seeing deadbolts intact but holes ripped in doorjambs, as well as the splintered oak of the doors was heartbreaking.

With the exception of one office, which had been trashed a bit, the rest were oddly intact, and the things stolen made very little sense. In my sandplay space, which had nothing of commercial value but did have my incredibly valuable-to-me sandplay collection, not a figure was out of place. The thieves opened the closet door and looked inside, and in the inner sanctum they took a lamp and dipped a hand into 2 out of 3 sand trays.

I have a large clean paint brush I use to smooth out the trays between every client, and I always do that right before leaving the office. It's common for clients who don't use the trays to put their hands in - the smooth contained sand seems almost like a blank page that calls out to be marked in some way. But the fact that a thief paused in the act to do so made me wonder about what was going through his/her mind in my little space.

The lamp was a personal favorite that has been in my therapy offices for many years now. It was unusual but absolutely not expensive. Still, it has been the lamp for most of my practice that sits between the client and me during sessions. The light was soft and perfect, and I couldn't help but think "they stole the light that connects me to my clients."

Instead of leaping to anger and wanting justice, which would normally be my next leap in such a scenario, I have been thinking of how the thief might use the lamp, and what will happen when that powerful light shines into *their* space.

I have worked with mostly trauma victims, including many children, and that lamp, and those sandtrays, hold potent energy indeed.

My hope is that the lamp shines some light, for whoever has it right now, on boundaries and violation of such. That all the brave and courageous words and emotions that have been shared in the soft circle of light that little lamp has cast over the years offer invisible but powerful support to someone choosing a different path, and a more honorable one, in this new year.

we are stardust people

I just reprised Joseph Gallo's New Year's post from last year on mystic-lit, and I encourage everyone to head over there right now and read it.

It's one of my favorite blog posts of all time, and that's saying something, considering how many blog posts I've read, and written, and think about writing.

This year as I read it, part of the Eleanor Lerman poem Joseph quoted stood out. In an odd but clear way, it tells the story of my second novel ms, the idea that what we experience and see and think of as distance and separateness is only there because we think it is, or expect it to be.

Everything affects everything else, and although we can't see it, or know it, exactly, when we even think something, imagine it fully in our minds, we impact someone someplace else. And that energy goes on and on, connecting us in a long chain of events we might never know.

I tried to capture some of that in my book, how, among loved ones especially, the connections are strong, and what seem like coincidences are not co-incidents at all, but sequences that got started years before, rippling outward in ways we don't really know how to track.

My hope is that the book will get born between hard covers soon, but either way, it's out there, having its own impact on things, setting off dozens of sequences, the same way we all do, every single moment. I like that idea, and I'm taking it with me into the New Year, as I get the third one ready to sail forth.

If you're reading here for the horsey content, imagine this applied to horsekeeping. And riding. Horses don't draw lines the same way humans do, and that, I believe, is their magic.

May the new year be full of magic for us all.

And this is true: You are a stardust person.
Muons are passing through you as you read this.
Cosmic rays are building you up and breaking you down.
Seas are evaporating, gases are freezing into planets,
planets are spinning off into the void.

Hold out your hand and watch the pions dance,
watch your nuclei exchanging forces with the universe,
watch the miracles ebb and flow as endless joy
folds into endless silence and everything is
everywhere all at once and it goes on and on.

-from Eleanor Lerman's poem Our Post-Soviet History Unfolds

(photo credit to Matthew)

big wind and big dreams as the year rolls out

I woke up this morning to sunshine and big cold wind, a solid 20 mph with gusts up to 40 mph - not my favorite riding weather. Not yet sure if I will ride or not today, but the wind is definitely drying things out.

The herd has hay out in the sunshine and access to shelter if the wind gets to be too much. The barn is situated so no wind is gusting through. That's as good as it gets on these blustery days.

Googling around this morning, I happened quite by accident on a gorgeous 7-year old mare for sale. She is schooling 2nd/3rd level and is - did I mention this already? - absolutely stunning. She also happens to be Salina's daughter!

I have found Salina babies before, and wanted them all, but this one has really captured my fancy. She's only a few hours away. Sadly, she is out of my price range, but I emailed anyway, to see if in this market they might lower the price.

My husband, if he is reading this, is shaking his head. But a girl can dream, can't she?!

I can't help myself - the thought of partnering with Salina's daughter for the next 20 years makes me smile with glee. She looks like Salina, without the tiny white sliver moon on her forehead, and without the white anklet, but she's as big as Keil Bay, and very powerful in the body. You can easily see Salina in her, the perfect carriage, and the sensitivity combined with sensibility.

I think dreaming big on the last day of a year is a good thing. I'd love to hear what everyone else is thinking about today. What dreams do YOU have for '09?

An update: I have been having the most fun today emailing back and forth with both Salina's daughter's trainer/broker and her owner/original trainer, who says she had a very difficult time selling her. (meaning she originally bought the young mare as a project to train and sell, but then fell head over heels in love with her) She wrote that Salina's daughter had a very unique response to training - more like a one-on-one conversation than a "say/do" session, and that what they both had trouble describing to perspective buyers sounded very close to the way I described Salina in my emails.

Salina's daughter is now partnering with a pretty prominent person in the dressage world, so it looks like I can at least keep tabs on her as she goes.

While I would love to have her myself, I have to say it has been a blast today, learning about her, writing about Salina, and feeling excited at being able to watch her progress. A delightful way to end the year.

more sunshine, thank the heavens, and finding balance

It was SO nice to be able to open up the remainder of the round bale and the shavings pile today so they can air out, and equally nice to see horses walk without necessarily doing that little hoof slide in the mud. There are still a few really mucky areas, but much of the ground is drying out a bit.

Keil Bay came up for his ride, later than I had planned, but I was determined to get it in before dark. I made sure to focus while tightening the girth, decided to ride in halter and clip-ons, and then forgot my half chaps.

At the mounting block, Keil did not want to stand again, and he kept looking around at me as if he were concerned I was going to re-enact yesterday's drama. Once again, I followed him with the mounting block until he stood still, which took him backing the entire 6 meters from H to the end of the arena. About the time he realized he couldn't go any further and stood still, a hunter in the hundred-acre wood shot off one huge boom. The Big Bay stood nicely and didn't get silly, and I mounted without incident.

I'm starting to think I really do want to get a bitless bridle and try it out with him, as there is something truly lovely about his head and neck and the way he carries himself without the bit. It's very subtle, but there is a slight lack of tension that may come from no bit, or it may come from me not having mastered consistent contact, but it's enough of a positive change that it makes me want to have it all the time.

He was checking things out beyond the arena again, and it was a nice test to see if he would respond to my gently "sponging" the reins to get an ear flicked back. He did. I remain surprised at how much better lateral work is without the bit. I'm still not sure why, except the lack of tension surely makes it easier for him.

Meanwhile, my legs felt really loose and light, and my pelvic joints felt much looser today too. I didn't realize until after I got off that the lightness of leg was probably not having the half chaps on, and the increased flexibility has to do with getting saddle time in every day for a few days running. Given that, I am hoping to keep this rolling.

I also put a sheepskin seat on my dressage saddle and it feels pretty good. I noticed some difference at the canter yesterday with it.

All that said, the house is a Total Wreck. This is my ongoing challenge. When I write and ride, other things fall apart. When I take care of domestic duties, I don't write or ride as much.

choices

Husband and kids left early to go play laser tag with friends, so I'm here alone with horse chores and the possibility of brilliant rides and novel edits to type in. Looking around the house there are a hundred different things more I could do, all that need doing, but none of which I want to let fill this nice long day.

It reminds me of this photo taken by my husband, Hen Wallow Fall, and all those leaves, the brightly colored ones as well as the drab ones, are the choices I have today. I think I shall pick the brightest ones first and let the others slide on down, out of reach and out of sight.



I have to add the tale of drama from the afternoon.

First, the geldings were down the big hill, closed in so Salina and the donks could have the dirt paddock today. After I fed Salina's lunch I walked out and called Keil Bay to come up and get ready for a ride. I went back in the tack room and got sidetracked until I heard his big whinny. He was standing at the gate to the little barnyard, waiting, and letting me know he was there. What a sweetie!

While grooming Keil Bay, I decided to give him his sport cut, and then decided it was sheath-cleaning time as well. Rafer Johnson turned himself into the big barnyard to join us for the mane and tail trimming, and then followed us into the barn aisle. He stood at my side the entire time I was cleaning the Big Bay's sheath, fascinated with the pail of warm water, the white cotton, the green gel, and the fact that the Big Bay was totally fine with this odd procedure. It was hilarious. Meanwhile, Redford (who will look for escape routes but won't go through a fence or squeeze through a gate) was in the paddock with Salina braying away for his brother to come back. Nothing diverted Rafer from his focus. He so wants to observe and learn.

Once in the arena I got on the mounting block and when I put my weight in the stirrup, the entire saddle slid down with me. To his credit, while my foot was in the stirrup underneath his belly and I was flailing around trying to get it out, Keil took one step back but then stopped when I said whoa.

I don't think that has ever happened to me in my life. I always do the girth up gradually, and somehow must have forgotten to do the last two notches on either side. Once I got the saddle fixed and the girth tightened properly, Keil stepped away when I got back up on the block. He was reasonably skeptical about the whole mounting business, and I realized I had to fix the new issue I had just created.

I shoved the block into position each time he stepped away, until he stopped stepping away. Then I climbed up on the block and repeated a couple times until he stood for that. Finally I put my foot in the stirrup and stopped there. (we learned this technique a year or so ago and I was glad I remembered it today) I put my foot in again, weighted it, and he stood still, so I popped on up.

Whew.

After all that drama the ride itself was nice. My back was a little tight but cantering made that disappear. Then my inner thighs were sore, but that's what happens when I don't ride every day! So... we finished up just in time for Keil Bay to go into a stall with some fresh hay while the rest of the herd came in. Time to get back to yoga stretches and Pilates. Either that or buy a 3-step mounting block!