Reins, Memorial days and truths~A meandering really.
Fables and sirens, midnight rhymes and sweet dreams. We all plow the earth to plant our seeds, our futures and dates grow from what was below. Healthy stocks and strong limbs, we climb on out to live again, the stronger the foundation the further out you can roam. Bending till it breaks, hands and eyes that have lived through and seen it. We’ve become aged like our parents; different ailments come to us, generations have lost fight, reaching hands out to grasp what we haven’t deserved.
Back when nothing was for show, the pure function of it made it a necessity; those days seem too long ago. Fact before fiction, love before hate, family first and friendships that lasted till your ending days. I use apps, and sometimes limit my interaction with public, there is an ebb and flow to when I’m “on” and when I become reclusive and desire to be around things that sooth me without word, filled with the quite noise the pureness makes when we quit fucking with the world and let it be how it is. Not everything needs to be artificially enhanced; we should let the natural depth create the mystique we see in it.
I spend most of my time alone, nights especially. Windshield time, shop visits, sales meetings, laughs, miles, great friends and work intermingle with the hands of a clock. Minutes roll towards hours, and hours to darkness, a full moon broke up the night sky last night and I swung in a hammock for hours. The past be what it may, what’s done is done, but the hours ahead of us loom larger than anything. I had to learn how not to fight, my wiring crossed with frustrations, thoughts of doubt and failure, all that bullshit though seems to have slipped away. I fight now for what I love, and work towards what I want, I have discovered I’m more than worthy of this life I got, and I was always driving it to be this way. I’ve become gracious in praise, that collar no longer itches, what once felt like a noose has been let loose and I only hope to mirror those that are around me.
Reins, everyone has them, some with a greater capacity than others. By definition they are used as subtle commands or cues, signal a turn, ask for slower speed, or request a stop. I grew up around horses and had them for a while and spent time with horsemen before this act in my life. There is something about a pure connection when working with something that doesn’t have a voice. A horse named Pablo taught me patience, when you are aggressively connecting with an animal that weighs over a thousand pounds chasing other animals, nothing is more primal that the cohesion between man and beast. You learn how to move your body and muscle to move theirs, you develop a language with them, and when it begins to work its truly one of the most amazing connection you can have.
The fisherman captain roped and reined and his daughter could out ride us combined. During both of our relationships I developed a language I lacked, frustrated at times but I could see the progress in both animal and myself. For roping you used a looped wax reign, I can still see my hands resting on top of the horn wrapped with rubber, the tanned worn fabric in my hand running through my fingers, coils of rope in the other, easing up on the bit in the horse’s mouth. Feeling them move and rumble beneath you, a bump of the heels a hand forward and you leap to action, a simple word and tension on the line means to stay, their ears careened back waiting for cues, their eyes bent to cows, attentive to everything around, it’s a connection I simply loved.
Most of the time I feel like that head horse, a mix of softness and a pile of trembling muscle, aggressively waiting for an opportunity or chance, with a decently strong bit between my teeth and me trying to gage how much “rein” I give myself. I’m a firm believer in your in or your out, ride out the hardships for what you know will come. Me gauging my own rein affect, it’ll be a work in progress till I die. The ability to talk to anyone, relate to them lends to disingenuous ideas. The problem with being mildly attractive and in my line of work, people assume you’re a “player” of sorts, and that the depth you contain has a purpose other than following your passions, having a lifelong connection with people and a wanting to have a “one”. I can see how I can come across as cocky, but spend a half hour and I’ll prove you wrong every time, and if that isn’t enough, then it’s you not me. I act how my passion dictates, my mouth rarely has a filter and that’s when I wish I knew how when to rein it in, but at the same time the other angel says fuck it, if they can’t hang, then they can’t hang. It’s a spooky dichotomy that is housed by the truth, love and the ability to do anything really, but I know what the soul wants and that’s the queen bee of who we are.
Understanding how we are built, and finding the acceptable levels of madness we all need. Madness isn’t a bad word; everything should have a tint or a full shade of it. I’ve come to realize I was built for pain, for exploring where not too many can, and in a language try to explain it to others, also for love, patience, and housed by gratitude. Knowing how to appropriately fight is a must, and perhaps in years from now I’ll lose that notion altogether. I do believe in a chip, a nudge, knowing how big brings us back to the rein notion. There should be growth until we expire, bottom line. Both interpersonal and those we deem to have around. That fighter also finds comfort in the routine, attentive to details, a touch of someone I love and a quick and knowing smile.
In the rare cool mornings here in the southwest, the clouded sky brings a peace. When the temperature needle breaks the monotony of triple digits it allows us to pursue other mindly interest. Without the pressure of the scorching heat, the soft light of a cool morning bring us a sense of relief, like anything is possible. For me, my mind wonders like the cumulous above, softly moving with the surroundings, giving shade and withholding the sun. Thinking forward about new days, new people and so many others left unsaid and undone. I wonder about my remaining years, what’ll I’ll accomplish, my family and starting my own, and realizing these boyish endeavors.
My bare feet tap to the music, my fingers type a rhythm, there is a pace to living. Allow your eyes to indulge what they want, feel the moisture, heat, and hopefully someone you love on your skin. Feel the wind even when you’re not moving, allow yourself a wide smile for no reason other than being happy. Roll down the windows and put your arms out, feel the force of what we create. Memorial Day shouldn’t be a weekend a year, it’s about being aware of our past, the past of our fathers and mothers, the history of our nation and how we got the privilege to live out loud like we do.
Drop the false fronts we pack around and let the tender parts exposed to this big world.