I listened to this as I wrote this post, play it to understand.
It's been so long...so long since I dared touch the keys and let their rhythmic clicks empty my thoughts upon a silver screen. Days have come and gone in a whirl of of early morning and late nights, filled with sore backs and blessed sunlight, they were leaving my pockets full and my emotions empty and grasping. Each little red cherry would roll toward me in a deep monotony still asking for my full attention. I would count the hours in segments by a clock five hours behind that was strung high upon the wall as though it dared anyone to correct it and I have heard the chatter of foreign tongues, and never ending clash of machines, smelt the heavy stench of chlorine water and felt the freezing artificial cold and another's livelihood in own your hands.
Any pain was slight and physical - dealt with by an hours rest in a darkened room or a little facebook sympathy. I enjoyed it - the challenge to do your best, the game, and of course the money. But, in those last days it was many completely different things that my senses remembered - I heard the deep throaty nicker of an old grey giant, felt warm, grass scented muscles moving under my tender hands, and smelt warm summer nights, Darrell Lea's Batch 37 licorice and the rich scent of a horse combining into a fragrance that I wish I could but smell again once. The grave that I stood alone by just a few days ago I was unable to see through my tears. I cried so deep that there was no more to be cried. As the whole world seemed to weep that misty evening, I sprinkled rose petals and placed bouquets on a fresh grave that I never expected to see so soon.
The physical embodiment of my greatest dreams is now buried in the ground, the result of a long, well-lived life and a sudden chronic lameness, but the dreams themselves are not there. They will live on, in the back of my mind, giving me both pain and pleasure as I remember the one glorious year in which I might have for-filled them.
I know that when a few months -weeks, even - have passed, I will dig them out and dust them off and say that there is so much life left to be lived and let the pain die. But that doesn't stop my soul from often just wanting to fly - fly far away, fly back to the last time I found earthly flight on him, so that I could have realised and cherished for all that it was worth.
Nothing works like that. We have joy and we have pain and we have deep unhappiness and they shape and mold us like we could never be in just joy alone. No matter how much we think we had more then our fair share, there are always others who had so much more.
"The pain now is part of the happiness then. That's the deal."
So I thankful that it was twelve months, not six, that it was short and quick, not long and painful and that he loved me by the end. : ) It doesn't stop the longing for a soft whiskery muzzle in your hand, but it comforts the fears and soothes the grief. The pain is always the same but the knowledge that this was meant to be makes all the difference. Because, you see, He makes all the difference.
I know this will make little sense to most of you, but to write out your feelings when you don't know how to express them is a great blessing. Some of you may know that my precious lease horse Min was put down a few days ago - he was one of my best friends, and I loved him very much. I just felt like writing this out. To those of you understand and identify, thank you for reading.
P.S. If you're wondering why my private blog 'Behind the Wall' has disappeared to, I decided to delete it after getting a facebook account. I just don't need so many different accounts online, and that seemed the smartest thing to so.