Escape into another world. That's my evenings for you. Off with a horse to imagine.
Here's the old trail across the hill. A Roman road, no less. A place to dream, with an ancient trail underfoot and a far horizon to gaze at.
Now I'm back at home exploring another realm. The music that I missed through being born just a few years too late. That I failed to encounter as a result of being brought up in a stultifyingly dull ultra-conservative home. Such an upbringing not only shuts out the creativity outside but stunts the ability to discover. I started to read after leaving home, having found secondhand bookshops. Now I'm listening, delving into the 1960s and '70s. Wasn't that when so much beauty was created? When some wonderfully creative artists began working, a few of whom are still with us? I've just acquired a recording on which Joan Baez asks the audience "shall we sing We shall overcome?" The audience comes to life with palpable enthusiasm. (Oh, how I wish that I had been there.) How many such moments does one have in a lifetime?
Rides spring into life too. Or is it just that I come to life through riding? I guess that it's easy to try and find meaning from this or that influence, whether a guru or a performer - whose works, if more than a little ethical or spiritual in content, will exude a powerful draw. But growth is about not viscerally needing that leader, or at least being able to choose which leader. And then it's about becoming a leader. Brena challenges me to be her leader. On a larger scale work throws up this challenge too.
And then the figureheads become mere inspiration - which is in fact a moral elevation - to be taken or left at will. I can sing along to a CD in my truck because it's fun to do so. And then I'm no longer jealous of the performer's skill, just absorbed by the beauty and creativity of their work. I have my own creative work, I've made something of my own that I love. My writing, a book published, thoughts expressed, guidance given. We're each of us good at what we do according to our own measure.
Back to my reality. Out with a good horse on the hill. Reality in the form of a big coloured mare meets me the person. The way that her feet tread and mine too. How I react to her and everything else that happens.
Now to take it all sufficiently seriously - but not (my usual fault) too seriously.
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