Ground Tie

I am in the horse ring with a horse.  My Equine therapy teacher is explained another lesson for me to do. 

Holding the lead rope, I drop it.  Inwardly I am giving the horse a hello and a picture of the rope staying put, so she is tied to this point on the earth, not to a fence.  Focusing on the rope to stay put, I slowly walk away and circle around the circumference, not knowing what the horse is doing as my back is to her.

"Wow" my teacher says, " I have never seen a horse do that, the end of the rope stayed, and she walked around the circle following you, usually they don't move.

I am thinking about that before I go to a TBI support Group (Traumatic Brain Injury)  A part of me wants to just get on with life and forget about that I have a TBI - it has been 6+ years.  Yet going to a support group is being able to give hope, strength and support for others and what might I learn?

A few newbies are here, less then 2 years into their new life. I notice, no matter how far along, the issue of getting out of denial and accepting what is, keeps surfacing. That we are not who we were and can't do the things we used to do, this comes in crashing waves or gentle lapping.
To birth the new, not everyone is happy with the new baby they are birthing. How to love this newness? What comes next?  How do we define ourselves beyond the DOing identity of usefulness and societal functionality?  It is a fast lesson and ongoing lesson in deconstructing the survival to I am, and that is enough.  Fears of how we are going to take care of ourselves, the impact on the family life...


Wild Geese

You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
for a hundred miles through the desert repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.
Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on.
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain
are moving across the landscapes,
over the prairies and the deep trees,
the mountains and the rivers.
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,
are heading home again.
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting 
over and over announcing your place
in the family of things.

from Dream Work by Mary Oliver
published by Atlantic Monthly Press
© Mary Oliver