On being taught

Your comments on my posts have set me thinking: thank you Joanne, Becky, Raven and Amy. It's good to have friends out there. The road is less lonely than sometimes it seems. You are reassuring companions. 

Here's a photo that Kelli left me. I have only a proportion of her Transylvanian photos (and none from our honeymoon in Egypt), however those that I do have speak to me. This particular photo is all about the way ahead, the trail however rough and winding. We didn't ride this stretch too often as it didn't fit into day rides or week-long trips. For some reason long forgotten we needed to take out a half-day ride on the afternoon of 16 July 2004. My goodness, that's almost a decade ago. Suddenly I feel a pang in my heart. I miss those mountains. For all that happened a year later I miss Kelli. 

Raven mentioned animal teachers. I've been fortunate to have owned a succession of horses capable of teaching me, and more fortunate still to have become open to being taught.

Riding in Britain is taught rather mechanically. A horse is a bit like a flesh and blood motorcycle. So my first horse, the big young Irish Draught mare Whitney, was mainly a foil for the craziness of an early rider who did not care for his safety. I didn't learn much from her other than how much a horse could hurt me. The second mare, a Huzul called Nelly, was stout and feisty. She taught me that a horse, in particular a mare, can find the measure of a rider who isn't perceptive. She did her job and rather often showed me just what she thought of it. I forget how many times I was bitten in the back when leading her. But she never really hurt me. 

Then Kelli appeared, and showed me how to ride sensitively on a loose rein. I loosened up, began to listen, in a sense started at last to view horses as powerful creatures that chose to co-operate. 

Marcu was a lovely gelding, clever and wise. For the first time I rode sensitively, and he gave generously in return. He was the first horse that was truly relaxed around me, even lying down to rest at lunch stops. I used to trust Marcu not to roll on his saddle, and he never let me down. 

Then I bought Pintea, and learned that a horse could look out for me, taking account of what he thought might be dangerous. Pintea had a sense of humour too, and I grew to love that unmalicious cheek. 

I rode an old draught horse from time to time, the gelding Gelu. He showed me gentleness despite his size, and nobility too. Gelu was a big horse, yet one could put a small child on him in complete confidence. With me he would canter at the head of a ride, though old and, on reflection, starting to show wear and tear. 

Doru was next, a wise and noble stallion. Perhaps he was the first horse with which I had a true partnership. Finally I was riding as if that was as natural as walking across the room. No terrain was too difficult for Doru, no request unreasonable. But by then I had learned the discretion to ask only for things that were fair and attainable. Doru looked after me very well indeed, and didn't complain even to the end when arthritis attacked. 

Finally there is Brena, the first mare that I have ridden in years. Now I have needed to forge a relationship. Doru was 'one of the lads', Brena is a partner. She will tell me just when something isn't to her liking. Now I communicate, negotiate, treat Brena as a horse-person. We're still growing together, and it is quite an education. Brena is drawing out thoughtfulness and understanding, having broken my back last year when I was insensitive. The odds are higher now than when riding Doru. Perhaps with a mare the odds always are elevated. 

That brings me to people and horses as teachers. A horse reacts to what it perceives, a direct reaction moderated through the character of the horse. It's as if one looks in a mirror, however veiled the image might be. Still the reaction is a product of the initial stimulus. Simply some horses are more sensitive than others. One reacts more vigorously than another. But the reaction is immediate. 

Then there is someone like Kelli. Her reactions were by no means proportionate. Some were downright aggressive. Others did not seem rational at the time. Some kind of filter and magnifier were at work. At the time it didn't make sense. However Kelli's legacy has promoted growth and healing. Like the holy fool she shocked me, shook me up, made me angry. And those emotions drove me to self-examination. Like the shaman she played curve-balls from goodness-knows-where. Sometimes her input came from some place beyond the ordinarily rational. Deep inside Kelli was broken, more so than I realised at the time. She must have sensed how fragmented I was. She needed support, so did I, and neither of us realised us. For us normality was brokenness. We needed help, counselling, therapy. Desperately. But there was none available. We split, and I was heartbroken. And now, finally, however late and slowly, I perceive Kelli's legacy, which is to make me think, assess, finally understand and grow. To grow and move on. I do not think that she gave me this consciously. It was a gift from God. But in that case Kelli was doing God's work, however unknowingly. 

Kelli was gift, frustration and peril. She represented inspiration, catalyst and warning. It was all so much wrapped up together that only now do I begin to understand. 

Besides, the lady who took a succession of beautiful, perceptive photos that thrill me to this day had something special about her.

Only sometimes 'special' is neither gentle nor patient. I felt that I needed an Earth Mother. Instead a Trickster was visited upon me. 

So you can see why I am not blaming Kelli for running away back in 2005. (How long ago that sounds!) You can appreciate why I am not angry, harbour no resentment, and send only my blessings to her. But lighting a candle in church on a Sunday seems so little so late. It feels like next to nothing when I'd like to hug Kelli and tell her all of this. Only, being part-shaman and part-broken healer she might miss the point. Probably she'd have sent me on my way with a shove and a sharp word. Kelli is in God's hands now. I had better trust Him, whose wisdom so infinitely exceeds my own. For both myself and for Kelli. 

 

Comments

[Laura Crum]

Kelli's photographs are really lovely.They seem to reveal the magical side of her personality. Thanks for a very insightful post.

[White Horse Pilgrim]

I think that you have found the word that I was searching for, Laura, which is magical. There was something of the magical to Kelli: unexpected, rarely benign, serving something beyond me, and life changing. With her I was caught up in a strong current that carried me to a distant place before throwing me bedraggled on a strange bank wiser and glad to be alive.

[Joanne]

Beautiful photos and a touching story. I remember the bottom photo from your web site when you were in Transylvania and it was always one of my favorites.

[White Horse Pilgrim]

Joanne, that particular photo was taken at Barsana monastery in the Maramures region, a beautiful place in one of the most rustic parts of Romania. I can look back on those days now with magnanimity. Back then I really didn't understand what was happening.