The world behind the curtains:
That is my world – the domain wherein
I can be king, where else I would be but
A pauper – a man in the gutter reading
Out passages of Chaucer . . .
That is my world – yet so few ever see it,
Seeing only curtains – taking the hair of
The horse for the gallop of its heart
That horse could gallop along with my heart,
Its hooves trotting in time to the verses of my
Mind, stopping, nobly, humbly, before us,
That white blotch on its face – the last stain of
A sad eye that no longer sees – that longs to see,
But is forbidden sight by the sickness of its skull
That – that is the spot where I place my hand –
Where I receive and give knowledge – sending
Out and taking in parcels of love and empowerment,
The strangest of strange, war-wizened weapons, that
Only make their bearers feel weaker and weaker
I know what it is to be that horse,
To spend my days bathed – by great swathes of space amazed,
To be simple and sad –
Just a horse among horses
Then something happens.
A stranger creeps over a stile.
And the pattern of their legs meanders towards you,
And by the unhorsey beats of their horseness, you are
“Come!” you say, “I am wild and mild.
I am tame and tragic. I am patient and
Waiting, my hooves hardened by keratin,
And the jealous frustration of thunder.
I am all that you are, slender, unhorse-like
“I come to you for comfort,
Because comfort cannot be got from horses;
I come to you for understanding,
Because understanding is not shared among horses;
I come to you for wisdom,
Not because wisdom cannot be got among horses,
Because wisdom IS what a horse IS –
And, as every horse needs a rider,
So doth my wisdom need a non-horse to ride upon.
“But wisdom is pain,” continued the horse,
A tear falling from her face. “Have you not
Seen the saints cry? Have you not heard the
Wise men wailing? Have you not seen mothers
Confined in callousness, yet inside, as crumpled
And broken as the babes that came from them?
“This is why I came to you – why I humbly bow my
Head to you, and strive to let your fingers softly search
For the spirit of my soul; for, though we are divided,
Man and beast, and beastly man – your loneliness is
Still the same species as my own – the burden of wanting
To give out a gift everybody needs, but no one cares to
“For wisdom is not just pain, but the weapon of love,
The dagger that seeks out the sagging point where it
Might carve itself a home.
“And, I can see your searching eye, strange, unhorse-like man.
Even as you stroke me, and we share a connection that transcends
Body and body, I can feel your mistrust – your awe of my power –
You are so afraid I could trample you to death with my hooves,
That you almost wish I would, just to get it out the way.
“From this I know you know how to love:
When you see an oncoming stampede, you do not run,
But lay down and open up your arms, and call out:
“TAKE ME AS I AM – FOR I AM NOT – I AM NOT AT ALL”
And even when the stampede somehow does not come,
And you suddenly find yourself whisked away to a desert
Plain, and see vultures swooping overhead, you do not flee,
But cry out in a Job-like strain: ‘I AM HERE – EAT OF ME AS
“But no beaks come. No greedy, searching talons rend your
Waiting flesh, or carve grooves into that furniture of space
And time you call your skin. Nothing comes. Nothing symphonizes
Your last moments with the desperate flutter of its wings.
“And that is what love is: a sacrifice – an offering –
Not a gift given or taken, because it has no need
For giving and taking – that would be gain or loss –
Love can never diminish, though it be given and
Taken – because you cannot diminish what transcends
And underlies the very notion of diminishment.
“Can a river be said to give more because it’s banks
Are flooded? Can a volcano be said to make a donation
To the world when it vomits lava to harden into magma
From which new lands and continents will be formed?
“No. Because water will always be water,
Though it evaporate and dry up,
And lava will always be lava,
Though it harden into rock.
“So, love will eat up those who give themselves to it,
And to those that don’t, it will seek them out like a
Dangerous flood. But, whether love comes to you,
Or you to it, the outcome is the same – you will be
Burned and drowned. Drowned – but now as vast
As the immeasurable ocean. Burned – but now
Hardened into the hope of a seed-waiting new land.”
We stood there in silence,
She in her hooves,
And we in our shoes.
We had to go soon,
And I could feel the sad tug
Of an aching bond about to be
I had given you my hands,
My small doses of love,
Now it was time for us to go,
And, with that thunderclap of
Envy, you returned to your sentinel –
Back to being a horse among horses,
Until that happy moment when someone
Creeps over your stile, perhaps to understand
You all over again.
I can no sooner leave my field than you can, horse,
Unless farmers come to cart me away, and turn my
Idiosyncrasies into glue. For my life is my field, its
Demarcations and boundaries; and, I too, stand within
Its confines, just a being among beings, until that fleeting
Moment when someone reaches out their hand, and I can
Feel they understand – and I stand then in patient ferocity,
And drink in all that I can, because I know they will go soon,
And I will return to being misunderstood – a horseless,
But it will not always be such.
One day I will build a home
Upon the making of such
And I will be happy.
And my happiness will stride out,
Clumsy and sticky, like a newborn foal;
All that is inchoate and formless will be
As palpable and beautiful as a magical
And my house!
What a house!
I can see it.
I can feel its masonry growing upon me,
But I cannot yet describe it.
So, I can walk away from that field now with my friend,
Knowing that, as I leave behind timelessness to commit myself
To the future, I am somehow, magnificently, walking towards
The home where happiness will have its day,
And then have it all over again.