Getragensein

Seemingly unrelated sequences, wild memories of old times arising from my belly, befitting our churning times. Two weeks ago, I have the urge to find those old paper stills of me standing on my sister-in-law’s horse. My brother Matthias and his wife Ingeborg live in on old farm house in a tiny village called Königshagen, in the middle of Germany. The thin booklet with photos he sent me back then – where is it? For so long it’s been atop my small old wooden desk. Second-hand, the first piece of furniture I ever owned in America. Acquired for $10 from one of the several very good second-hand stores in the Mission on Valencia Street. 43 years ago, I lived in San Francisco, sharing a flat on near-by Capp Street. Life was simple, walkable, affordable. Nowadays whenever I clean up, things disappear – where is the photo booklet? Here, alas, I am relieved to find it. Looking at Bill, the quarter horse, and me standing atop of him, a soft silence opens up in me. An inner strength. Eighteen years later, I can still feel and remember his presence in my body. My butt on his muscular back. Then soles of my feet planted on Bill’s powerful haunches – the wonder of balancing atop this magnificent creature. What an unforgettable experience. How is he? I have never been a horse person, but Ingeborg is a horse master, I trust her. In her words, “Bill is a master, if there is such a thing among the animal beings.”

The next evening, I text Ingeborg about Bill. She answers that he is not well, and that I must be tuned in. I am. He is 30 years old now. Bill is a horse of purpose. Ingeborg tells me of his steadiness. He is so dignified, calm, free, sovereign. She remembers how he carried her safely through the forests and meadows all her life. What an amazing gift he was in her most trying times. Despite my short encounter with him, I still remember his presence in my nerve cells and flesh. Eighteen years have passed since I felt carried by him – Getragensein – unforgettable. It has not vanished. The true strength of a horse.

Since eight-years-old, I have been afraid of horses – triggered by a scary experience with an old pony which was having a bad day, forcefully pressing my legs against the railing in one of those riding circles for kids. But equally, I was always in awe of horses’ sensitivity, power, and grace. On my visit in 2007, Ingeborg guides me on a ride with Bill, out in the meadows near the forest. It’s a cool, slightly wet morning. I know nothing about riding. First, she teaches me how to mount him without a saddle, how to sit, hold the rope lightly, and how to slide off at the end. She explains equine psychology, horses are prey and hence flight animals. They need a benevolent leader, and will mirror our emotions. They need to know our clear intentions in order to follow any directions. They are innately curious. A horse will allow us to mount, ride, trot, gallop, jump, fly… carrying us through the fields and forests… through the world….

 

How much sense this all makes to me. I feel my sit bones melt into Bill’s back and muscles, his movements massaging me, rippling up through my spine. Trust for him and Ingeborg. Riding a horse is like T’ai Chi, at least the way she approaches and teaches it. In T’ai Chi, a well-known meditation stance called the “horse stance” is practiced to accumulate strength. I call it riding the world, and encourage my students to relax and soften into its thigh-burning, mind-blowing intensity.  Internal strength will accumulate, chi will circulate.  We listen, we harmonize. To my big surprise, I am very relaxed atop Bill, and feel utterly safe throughout the ride. This makes me excited and happy. My old “horse-apprehension” is gone, only joyful respect flooding me. My fear of horses is being unlearned. My fear of the world counterbalanced by the sense of Getragensein, and Geborgenheit. Being carried, being held.

Everyone is laughing, maybe Bill, too...

 

Ingeborg re-affirms that Bill is a quarter horse with his origins from America, his distant cousins are the mustangs. Hearing this, wild memories start flooding my body. Twenty-two years ago, my friend John and I are camping under the stars in the Nevada desert, out in in nowhere. Next to a secret wild hot spring pool, known to only the locals. During the day we have seen herds of wild burros nearby. Now in our sleeping bags, we count our blessings before dozing off. In my dream, my ear pressed to the ground, I hear hooves stamping rhythmically, approaching closer and closer. What is going to happen? I am curious. With a sudden jolt, I sit up. At this very moment, horse after horse is jumping right over me, a big herd of wild mustangs galloping at high speed. Now fully awake, this other-worldly encounter stretches out in slow-motion. The horses intimately close – a visceral transference of their wildness, sensitivity, and elegance. Their freedom and exuberance. Indescribable. The herd could have easily trampled us. But instead, the mustangs fly, sail, jump, snorting with exhilaration. It’s their territory. I feel safe, merged with wild horses and wild stars alike – geborgen. The sound of hooves fading, the dust settling, the stars and my listening remain. What a night of mustang blessings. Pure awe.

These past weeks, life has been turning increasingly unbearable, the frequency of American chaos and cruelty being raised by the day. My wild horse nature is asking to be remembered and stay present. Here existence becomes bearable. Looking out for safety. Communing with others. Courage. Offering refuge for those in need. Tentatively, life is shapeshifting into its adventurous, ebullient, mysterious qualities. The fragrance of memories. Connected to my own sensitivity and knowing. To Bill who is not well. In fact, he might die soon. Ingeborg has been lying with him, thanking him, telling him it is ok to go. I talk to him over the ocean. What an unforgettable gift he gave me, how calm, patient, and assuring he was with me. Of course, without Ingeborg this would not have been possible. My gratitude to both.

We are relational beings – we all – are kin.

This truth highlights life’s wonders and miracles.

We are free to give of ourselves abundantly.

Care for others, and about others.

About Soul and Life.

What Joy.

­ - Free -

In Honor of Bill 

May we keep remembering, may we not forget.

(Stills photographed from Matthias’ originals, printed on photo paper, a long time ago)