The Stalking Horse

So, this phrase came to mind & I Googled it. “A concept to mount a challenge to a third party.” Sounds gobbledygook to me. I prefer my idea of a horse emerging from the mist, a moment ago only a sound of hooves hitting dry ground, vaguely menacing, altogether alerting…

I feel like I’m on some sliding board & when I reach bottom, the playground will be entirely changed. What was real will no longer be so. What was mine to do will have slipped from my shoulders, a forgotten coat of many colors, found by another & exclaimed over with joy.

I finally had a Human Design chart which I’ve carried around for at least a decade analyzed. I didn’t understand it & now have a nodding acquaintance to with a definition. This system is touted as one which gives you your entire life just beyond 3D – the coulda, woulda, shoulda’s of it all. It provides a panorama of where life dried up or watered down, a glimpse of roads not taken but still kind of available.

OH! This is what  happened! The upper area designating the head is unfinished – even after all these years, thoughts fleet on after touching down. But this is what’s made me who I am – a chronicler of life & times, a note-taker, an observer from the edges of the page, where it curls & wears out, where the ink runs down & off, where no tape can repair the fringe: paper quietly curls onto itself, any earth-shaking formulas of life faint & blurring. A new, white-write page emerges.

At first, I was dismayed. But in having no, or few “fixed thoughts,” I realize there’s a whole Universe to be fingered through & decided upon. All my decisions were windblown & changeable, all my relationships subject to abrupt endings…I pursued until I did no longer. Then I discovered I couldn’t even remember why I’d done that. Here I thought it was a flaw as I watched others cling to poor decisions & illogic in the face of proof. Hubris or humanity? What I now perceive as a flaw in them, I pursued earnestly & simply could not anchor into. And I tried.

I have no memories I much care to hold closely anymore, even the humorous ones.

I read years ago after the official business of life – school, kids, houses, relationships – are past tense, the looking glass becomes transparent & the future holds next steps: a Good Death. I am idly packing stuff into the suitcase of TakeAlong – an experience, an expression, a talent to preserve, for later study & development.

I let go of ideas & relationships like breadcrumbs in the forest thinking I’ll find my way back. But you & I know about what happens to those. My memories are devoured by dragons looking for gems to hoard & belched out aflame later on. I am a zephyr on the winds of change, savored for a moment – what’s that sweet-sweet smell? Then forgotten or bemused over as life moves on.

It’s too late or too early to get into Carol’s Theory of Life here. I only know that which it’s been for me. I watch friends stop along the way & become mired or fixed in expectations not coming into being. I tug a bit, “Come on,” I say, “Just look at it this way! See how easy it is to change?”  But their heads are full. Their Stalking Horses have walked into the barn & await grooming.

“Bye,” I say over my shoulder, pursuing the next thought eagerly. Time to study something else. Time to poke around in this corner & see what’s in the boxes. Time to unpack the unfamiliar, the divine, & explore the next life when I won’t be this corporeal.

What will it be like to be air? Nothing holds onto this me, it could be a ton of fun to just fly off! I’m onto the Next Best Thing. “Move along,” as they say, “nothing to see here.”

When growing up in Jersey, we treated people from Florida as lower class citizens. Of course I was a child then – or as much of a child as I’ve ever been in this life. These refugees from the southernmost peninsula never drove over 25 mph, always wore sun visors the size of umbrellas, donned cardigans if a breeze passed over the ocean and So Much More. I remember renting a car trailer once & being mightily relieved it had a Florida plate since that meant everyone would be passing me to get out of my way.

They all seemed to have big teeth & sported off-color tans. Their clothes were too bright, voices too loud & everything they said was either a whine or a demand. They wore shoes with no socks – not sandals, but real shoes. And they wore these in church.

Their cars were capacious, always occupying more than one parking space at a time – Chrysler Newports or Country Squire Station Wagons that got 4 miles to the gallon. They uniformly frowned on smokers. The women had frizzy hair & the men had sunburned bald spots.

Oh, I was such a bad kid.

Now I myself am an F.O.F. – a Florida Old Fart. I drive a white SUV that looks like 97.4% of all other cars on the road. I uniformly drive under the limit – an apology for all the zoomers driving cars 5″ off the road without mufflers. I drive in the Granny Lane – now don’t get hot under the collar here, it’s called that for a reason. I do have grandchildren, yeh?

I draw the line on visors & floppy sun hats but I have one of each hanging on over-the-door hook behind my bedroom door. I bray when I laugh. I leave outsize tips & have trouble chewing my food. I kvetch for no reason & have hair in my ears. My bathing suit is too big in the crotch so I have to wear shorts that clash with its bright floral pattern. My closet looks like the Hagley Museum Garden Tour Photo. I seldom wear closed-toe shoes & will do a lot for a good grilled cheese sandwich.

This all goes to show you how you can live to be mocked by your own self for early-onset prejudice against tourists from a tourist state visiting a different tourist state. I do recall what it was like to drive a car you could fit your kitchen into, but I was married at the time & it was my husband’s work wagon.

Karma is a burden to bear. I’m doing my level best.

I read that the history being taught today is shockingly lacking. Students are not learning about wars (my first school years are full of dates of wars, memorized at the rubber tip of a pointer against my throat.)

Haven’t I said lately tho, that we need to let all of this history go? We need to “forget” the conflicts, the hatreds, the terrible lack of love shown to so many & especially the most helpless among us – children, animals & the environment. Until we can lay down the conflicts & the big sticks we all carry in case of conflicts, we will never find the grace to forgive others or ourselves. We will carry genetically our guilt & our shame for doing what’s been done in the world – regardless of how & why.

Granted, it all seemed necessary to stop some ideology or another. It almost didn’t matter what, if it mattered that we did not like it / approve of it / value it as our own. Until we release trauma & the emotional effects of trauma, it will ride us to our knees. It’s really difficult to make progress from that position.

I read the new children are the “Adam Kadmom” race come to be incarnate – brand new souls never before in a body. No wonder they refuse to accept war & the effects of hatred. No wonder they simply cannot retain this much “awful” in their burgeoning worlds. How could they, fresh to a body so ready to experience & dwell in healing, light, love, betterment, even consider there might be an underside so black?

I still find it so difficult that what society says it loves it is so eager to repossess with a snarl. A caress becomes claws out, blood drawn over the smallest provocation. Where is our ready peace? Why doesn’t nature reflect love back at us? How are we on that score?

And of course, I’m writing to those already knowing better & not necessarily practicing these habits. But the topics just keep coming up & repeating.

I put my money on the “new folk” pushing their way into the limelight of the world. I bet the newest harmonies will take over the field of classics in the shortest time ever, influencing Light to dance & move out among the rest of the races & the world in a startling eagerness to display, to disport, to dismantle what was for what will be & is now & can.

Let us place our energetic bodies squarely behind this movement, push as though tomorrow does not exist in the same way it forever has. All of time itself, is new & moving through the Earth like bells carrying a Sunday morning to the neighbors.

We are all called to make change. Let us allow this new change to flourish & fulfill & pry us from the narrow boundaries within which we now function. Let us finally embrace universality as the fascinating topic it is – discovering how it fits in at this time as we eliminate evil & reverse the darkness by revealing the light of the Within.

Today I thought again how much I miss saying, “I love you.” I say it to nothing, to no one. Sometimes alone is all there is but who wants to go there … live there? I am an orphan by circumstance & alone b/c I can’t love myself enough to let others partake. It was not always like this but I opted for justification, not extension.

I turn on the Radio Lottery to see what’s being sung to me. “Not a puppet on a string.” All those simple lyrics from a less fraught time now seem so appealing. I once felt every song I heard is God singing to me. I still feel that. It started with ‘If You’re Still Within the Sound of My Voice’ by Linda Rondstadt.

I heard this one day & realized God was singing to me. That my life was music & there was always a song to tell my story. It was something in the song, something about a train calling from faraway that put the thought in mind. But to love you until I no longer have a will.

I realize all that’s wanted from me is this love I have so much trouble giving & receiving. I tell people I’m really mean on the bottom, underneath the nice. People scoff. Do I know a truth they do not? Yes. I am less than worthy. I am unjustified.

But I get things done, so I’m worthwhile.