Monday, March 3, 2014

The right moment



I fell off a horse, and the pain is not in my bones. It penetrates my mind and spreads like a poisonous disease, making things the worse, the better my bones are getting.
People fall off their horses every day. They curse, take a beer and get into the saddle again, joining the others in having fun. I am not people, unfortunately. Just a fucking nerdy drama-queen, who neither curses, nor takes beer and has no company, which in fact is a major part of the problem.

Without curses, beer and company it is essential to be strong. Being a weak person who tries to be brave in order to survive daily life, I guess I made it up to at least 356 days of braveness. However, on 15 days, braveness is out. That's when you are vulnerable, that's when people call you drama-queen, these are the days you want to lay down in the snow and just stop breathing because there is no one to quietly hug you.

A horse prefers a strong leader, but with a weak one with nice ideas, showing braveness in the right moments, it might accept the deal. The horse will always tend to look after himself, because … well, you never know. Usually it works out with him, and usually both are lucky.

On one of the 15 days (that do not reveal themselves automatically in the morning), however, you will look onto your nasty horse, finding your mirror, for its nastiness is nothing but insecurity and self-defense, because you, human, are a threat to him today. And he prefers to not spend time with you.
In my first year here I was told, that really no one wants to know when you are down, so you better hide, until it's over. My horse told me the same today. Although we both met in good shape.

But an agreement between us had been violated last week. She ran home and lost me, so she broke the agreement. No curse, no beer, no company have helped me yet back into the saddle. Instead I came to the result that she had to run because I had not been able to give her enough confidence. Her instincts of survival are stronger than mine, and actually it had been me who spoiled the whole thing.

A horse's mirror goes deeper than any psychotherapy. And it shows all the weaknesses beneath your neat, stupid little braveness. Merciless and straight, and without emotion. It's always you, bringing in emotion, and worsening things.
The horse will also let you know when it's the right moment to make changes to the image in the mirror.
I missed the right moment, and it turned out to be crucial. Like missing the right moment to take a cake from the oven, or the one to jump from a bridge, or to start with a new book. Missing the right moment to tell someone you love him.
I guess I am a bloody expert in missing the right moment.