Life lessons and carrots (Part 2)

We ride out under a clear blue sky. The sun is bright, gilding the trees and laying down deep black shadows. Image dances, eager to be gone and free. Eager and excited. There is still a touch of fear, but mostly it is overcome by curiosity. She looks, head turning, ears rotating, taking in the world in enormous gulps.

I am relaxing, letting myself sit easy in the saddle, my back soft. My fingers soften on the reins, I fiddle with the fly whisk in my right hand. My attention wanders as we step out of the cool silent shade of the pines into a warmly lit field of waving grass. And in my moment of inattention Image leaps. Fear pounds through her, panic. I am not there, not listening, not guiding. She wheels, heart pounding. Run! A year ago I would have been in the dirt. A few months ago I would have had a panicked, clinging fight to stay aboard. Now my attention snaps back, I jam my heels toward the ground and my back stops her, my hands become a wall, my whole body pins us to the earth. She stops, trembling. We have only gone a few feet, a few panicked steps. I lean forward, calling her name and stroking her neck. She shakes her mane and shivers.

And now the second lesson: Never stop riding. Those who practice Zen would say; be always mindful.

It is in those still moments of life when everything is going smoothly, when we cannot see any obstacles or evils that we allow our attention to slip. Our minds wander away from the task at hand dreaming or scheming or simply inattentive. And life throws us. Because the danger is rarely visible a long way off. It takes us by surprise, rising from the tall grass, an invisible bogyman that sends our lives spinning away in a terrified scramble.

My trainer once said she did not take her own horse on trail rides with us because to ride him safely she "had to ride every step." There was no time her mind could be focused on us or on teaching. Our lives require us to ride every step.

As we moved off from our startle I firmed my back and sat down properly into the saddle. I closed my fingers gently on the reins, feeling Image in my hands, up my arms, through my back. Not constraining, or punishing but present. She could feel me too now, there with her through the bit, through my seat and legs. She could feel me riding each step, present and aware. She relaxed, the terror forgotten. But I sat alert, and reminded myself: never stop riding.