Heavenly Father I so grateful You did not answer my prayer yesterday to drop the temperature to freezing so it would snow and not rain first! Thank You for sending me a teacher, Elizabeth Clare Prophet who taught me to how to pray to You, how to ask, but always, always end with the Words of the Messiah she taught me is my Lord and Saviour, “nevertheless, not my will but Thine be done.”

Yesterday I said to Matt, the Beartooth Ranch manager that I was going to pray that we not get rain but that the temperature drop and it just snow so we do not have to have the ice underneath the layer of snow forecast, which as I said to him and others, only benefits the emergency workers. In truth though I am sure they do not need the extra work of accidents from iced roads with slippery snow on top for enhanced treachery.  I added, well, I can only ask. It is the Almighty who answers or not.

In the book “Praying for Miracles” Mike H. was on a Coast Guard cutter with really bad weather and winds and rain and the commanding officer was cursing the weather. Mike said, “I felt a stirring in my spirit to say to the commander, ‘I know the Man personally who controls the weather.’ He responded sarcastically in the presence of several officers. ‘Good, I want less than 10 knots of wind and clear visibility.’ Later in my room I felt the Lord saying. ‘You can have whatever weather you ask for.’

He continues, “the next morning I was scheduled to get the ship underway. I checked the wind and it was less than 10 knots; visibility was unlimited.” The commander remained an unbeliever, he recounts, but his faith skyrocketed from the experience, he witnessed in the book (which is by Father Robert DeGrandis, S.S.J. and is out of print).

The rain began last night and then the snow came. I cancelled a chiropractic appointment I had in Billings because it was not worth getting in an accident and *really* needing an adjustment then.  I live an hour away and the roads can be quite dicey indeed.

I had also hoped to go to pray in front of Planned Parenthood with others as Wednesdays are the days that abortions are performed there in the Heights. Today it dawned upon me that the winter storm warning for the conditions may well discourage women planning to have abortions today from risking the trek from around this large state to come to the abortion facility, as it entails driving many miles for healthcare of any kind in Montana for many. The child was an inconvenience of some sort to the mother but perhaps she would think twice if her own life was in danger.

This was an irony to me, as we all pay for the private decision the women make as we are supporting this taking of life as a society and it is enshrined in our laws by the Supreme Court. We have collective blood on our hands, in our nation. Child sacrifice is a right in America now, a sacrifice upon the altar of convenience. It is big business, too. Just look at the seven figure salary Cecile Richards CEO of Planned Parenthood makes.

Abortion increases the risk of suicide and increases the risk for all death greatly as recent studies confirm. Women also face much higher rates of breast cancer, which many have tried to downplay but the statistics and studies, including ones conducted by the Chinese, bear it out.

So, many people were inconvenienced by the weather today in this area. It may or may not have saved a life of an unborn child. I had to use my spray can of de-icer on the gas hatch which was frozen shut by the ice in order to gas up today. The latch to the pasture where my equine partner usually lives was frozen stuck too, but he was in another area to help his hooves heal. I get to clean his shed in there and haul the manure to the river which is about a half mile up and back, which I enjoy doing even when the windchill is minus 7 as it was when I left. I know how to dress for the weather and it is an adventure to me to deal with the elements. When I gassed up, I was really in a state of joy because it had taken some time to get the hatch open in order fuel it up. I was laughing to myself how some in Oregon were complaining about having to pump their own gas. It amused me because in this area of the country, Mother Nature can be really challenging. I am continually in awe of the men and women at the Beartooth Ranch and how they cope with all the tough conditions Mother Nature hands them. My small efforts are but minor.

My father, who was on the board of Planned Parenthood in the San Francisco Bay Area at one point, was pro-choice, as was my mother. They had their reasons and we disagreed. We do reap what we have sown, whoever we are. No one escapes that reality no matter what you believe or do not believe. In the East, that concept is called karma. In the Bible, we see what happens to nations that practice child sacrifice. They go extinct. They die.

I simply choose to honor the LORD God of Israel and the Spirit of the Prophet Elijah who challenged the Baal worshippers to a contest between his God and theirs. A hint to the ending to that challenge for anyone unfamiliar with the story: God gave a spectacular demonstration.

Today, my Heavenly Father, to whom my Saviour introduced me as a Messianic Jew through the Our Father in the holy rosary, taught me a profound lesson. My Dad on earth asked us at dinnertime what we learned in school today. Today, Our Father answered my prayers with a “no” and I am so grateful for the lesson. May His Kingdom come of an entire Planet Earth as a Blue Zone of health and happiness because we all chose life not death that we and our children could live. Thank You O God for refusing my prayer! Mother Nature delivered a great lesson today for which I will always thank You. I look forward to the many ways that Mother Nature will continue to school us on Earth that we reap what we sow, and I also look forward to many more inconvenient Wednesdays in the Billings area.

 

 

The blessed chalk from last year marked again above my door and also in Mel’s shed. The Epiphany holy water cleansed us both, too. The day before, I had prayed the rosary in his shed as part of my unstructured time with him, just hanging out with him. I left to go feed another and came back to him lying down in the shavings in his shed. I sat down with him and fed him some carrots too. He was completely relaxed and at peace. I took a snapshot and sent it to his race owner so she could see him just chilled out because I think his jockeys made him tense.

That photo of him, just his head from the vantage point of us both lying down together, I prize more than any win picture, any medal, any award. It means he is at peace with me and can relax in my company. I have said that one of my greatest thrills in life is getting an ex-racehorse to relax while being ridden.

Today, Splendid High gave me another truly great gift. I had let him loose in the ring and brushed him afterwards and then put my helmet and riding gear on myself. I then brought his saddle and bridle over and he came over from across the ring to me. I went inside the ring and then he went over to the portal to look outside to his friends. I decided to sit down and wait until he was ready. He then came right over to me and let me tack him up.

The fact that he willingly chose to come to be saddled and ridden was such a treasured gift. It means he is a willing partner in our time together. It touched my heart to no end.

I had some doubts about how he would be today because another at the barn said all the horses were wired today and one rider came off after her horse spooked when some snow crashed down from the roof. I wanted to ask her if she prayed, if we could pray for the rider together, but I decided not to. Instead, I knew that my best prayer partner, Mel, and I would pray while we were a team, mounted for the Lord and praying the rosary while circling the ring.

Mel was calm and relaxed and reaching down for the bit with his head lowered, as I wanted. It was our Epiphany ride for Him.

Afterwards, Mel wanted to go over to one of the empty runs and he went right to the manger. A little hay was left and he munched on it.

The day before, on the actual day of Epiphany, as Mel ate his hay that I had put inside his shed so he would be sheltered from the wind and rest his sore hoof, I ate my dinner that I had thrown into a thermos container. It had brown rice, lentils cooked with carrots and onions and wakame sea veggies, as well as cauliflower. Mel sniffed it and I held out on the spork some of the macrobiotic mixture. Mel ate it off of the spork. I gave him a few more spoonfuls and he liked it.

I knew I had found my healing friend then. In my favorite cookbook, The Self-Healing Cookbook, one page is devoted to writing a letter to an imaginary friend who would share their macrobiotic healing journey with you. I wrote that letter many years ago in response to that assignment. Little did I know that I would have that friend manifest in an equine body!

Mel is my partner-in-grime today as we work through our earthly life together and I get back to muckraking. My aspiration to become a Zen macrobiotic stable nun came true as my way to honor the Faithful and True on His path to the East in His Lost Years.

St. Melchior, the Wise Man, has long been a guiding light for me and he is manifest in the Buddha-nature of Splendid High, who is truly Sir Melchior today, as a knight for our King. The Buddha-nature is a concept that within every living creature is a latent potential to become a Buddha, an enlightened being. St. Francis of Assisi spoke to Brother Wolf and other animals as fellow creatures in Christ and was one of the few who really proclaimed the Gospel to all creatures, literally. Who can say that the donkey the Lord’s Mother rode to Bethlehem and the young donkey colt He rode into Jerusalem are not more enlightened creatures in the Heavenly Kingdom then we who refuse to bear the crosses He gives us?

I had not expected to be able to ride Mel today but his hoof was completely fine as he fully extended his legs in the exuberant extended trot he loves to exhibit loose in the ring. As the blog I used to call MacroBlogInk to chronicle my macrobiotic healing journey is reborn this day, I wonder, was that macro-stew I shared with Mel imbued with healing potential as I cooked it while praying the rosary?

Stay tuned for more on “macrosaries”…and healing stories to come…

 

When I was in a program for the mentally ill homeless in the Los Angeles area–in Panorama City to be precise–I passed on a recovery tip to a fellow patient. She was trying to quit smoking unsuccessfully.

I told her I had heard that if you have an addiction, including to cigarettes, and you pray the Lord’s Prayer when you have a craving and even before you indulge in it and you keep doing that no matter if it does not seem to stop you from giving into the craving, eventually you will be delivered and quit.

I do not know where I heard that and I wished I remembered so I could give credit, but it worked for my fellow sister in recovery. She quit smoking!

That was long before nicotine patches or any of the other tools they now have. It was 1988 and took place at the Harbor, which was a bare-bones type of place in a rough area where my car had gang markings scribbled on it in the dust. That was alright. It was a great place and they really cared there.

I write this in memory of my neighbor Roger, who recently passed away. He was on oxygen and a smoker. Maybe if I had written this sooner, he might still be alive. I keep to myself and have to spend a lot of hours praying in order to maintain any type of recovery. I did not know he had passed and it grieves me that this might have helped him. People do not want to hear me tell them what to do, but maybe if he had been able to read this, it could have saved him. I will never know.

I do know I needed to write this and it may help someone some day–or not. I am not cut out to be an addictions counselor but this is my way of passing on what I have learned. I have been sober from alcohol since the treatment program and for that I am grateful. While I am not an alcoholic, (I requested an in-depth chemical dependency evaluation from a licensed addictions counselor as well as a sponsor in recovery from alcoholism to determine if I was an alcoholic or not and both said I am not) I still have a dual disorder of severe mental illness and addictions and now possibly a brain injury as well from shock treatments back in the 90s.

I have a trifecta of disorders–an unholy trinity of illnesses, so this may be what I can contribute. Sobeit. I am very grateful to be alive and I wish I had been able to help Roger but it may not have been meant to be. I cannot force recovery on anyone and I do not know of anyone who wants to do what I have to do. That, too, is alright. The addictions counselor once said she did not know of anyone who worked harder on her mental health than I. Believe me, it is not because I am a better person–it is because I am forced to or I will be back to lying on the couch all day hoping and praying for energy to get up to go to the bathroom. That is my choice–interspersed with being so wired and out of it that I have to be confined in a psychiatric ward to contain my energy and force me to contend with reality while living in a waking nightmare of illusions.

I have been blessed with a stark choice and by God’s grace I choose to strive for full recovery through my sponsor “Dr. J.” or Dr. Jesus, who administers His path of prayer and meditation as well as working through medication, as needed. I am only on PRN meds now and have been on that basis for some time. My range for the antipsychotic Zyprexa is from 0 to 40 mg., for any professionals who may read this blog to give an idea of how severe my bipolar/PTSD is. If the psychiatrist who administered shock treatments were to ever know that I am not on daily meds of any kind and only take them PRN, he might not believe it. He once said he took me through the whole PDR, trying me on every medication in an attempt to manage my illness.

He did not acknowledge my trauma history but that was not his specialty. He was a Medicine Man. What his M.D. could not accomplish, the Faithful and True can through the hearts of Thoroughbreds, helping me become what I strive to be: a stable nun, and even more precisely, a Zen Macrobiotic stable nun, because my current psychiatrist who is also a psychoanalyst has written a letter stating that he has observed that my adherence to a macrobiotic way of eating has helped me and should be supported. It is also the method of prayer and fasting Dr. J. prescrbes as did the Ancient of Days in the Bible to Daniel the prophet. I am fortunate indeed and He has blessed me with the ability to live and eat that way. All Glory be to God!

As I ran in the indoor ring on this chilly New Year’s Day, I wondered if I can truly run for God this year? I was scheduled to run a virtual 5K last year, but days before I fractured three ribs when another’s horse bolted right after I mounted him. I fell of before I knew it. His saddle did not fit and he had a sore back and a very tender spot from an old injury, none of which I knew at the time. Now I know I will never, ever ride a horse who does not have a properly fitting saddle again. I also know to be on guard even if the horse is a schoolmaster, as he was.

He taught me a great lesson. This one “who would be king” gave me an experience I will never forget. Just days before, Fr. Bart at St. Anthony’s in Laurel, Montana gave a homily on Our Lady of Fatima on the 100th anniversary of her appearance. He emphasized the prayers and while I knew them and used them already, it was a first for me to hear a Catholic priest preach about Fatima at a Mass. I was taught them by Elizabeth Clare Prophet and they are in the prayer book she published, as well as the story of Our Lady’s appearances recounted in books she wrote.

The message of making sacrifices came in extremely handy in the next week when I broke my ribs. After coming off of the 17 Hand Warmblood–about 6 feet from the ground–I led him to the round pen and got back on him there to contain him more in case he tried it again. I have had it drilled into me that if you fall off, you get right back on–even if only for a moment. So, I did. I knew then that I had broken ribs because it hurt to breathe. I did not stay on long because I wasn’t sitting square anyway and I knew I needed to get x-rayed. So, I unsaddled him and led him back to his paddock, up a hill and back and got in my car and drove to the emergency department.

They x-rayed me and wanted to take a urine sample to check to see if my kidneys were damaged. I had a debate with the attending doctor about getting a shot for pain. I did not want it. He said it would help with inflammation. I said, I have a brain disorder I need to best preserve brain functioning and I do not want narcotics. He told me it was not a narcotic but a local anti-inflammatory, so I let him give it to me. He did not try to give me pain meds because I guess he knew I did not want them, but he said that someone would call me the next day to see if I needed anything, including pain relief, I suppose.

He told me I could wear a rib belt when I was caring for horses, including feeding. Other than that, I was not to wear it because restricting breathing can cause pneumonia. That is why they recommend pain management.

Well, I just decided that I would put to use the Fatima prayers of offering up sacrifices for a Higher Good. So, with broken ribs, it hurts every time you breathe. That is just the reality. I practiced deep breathing that I learned originally from a Sister at Sacred Heart High School who taught yoga. I also said the prayer Our Lady gave, “O Jesus, this is for the love of thee, for the conversion of sinners and for reparation for sins committed against the Immaculate Heart of Mary.” I prayed that prayer a whole lot. It did not take the pain away; it just helped me cope with it by believing it could be used for a higher purpose.

When I went to the pharmacy to pick up my rib belt, as I was leaving, a neatly dressed man said to me that he was wearing a rib belt, too. He said he tried not wearing it but he would put it back on because of the pain. Also, he was there for his pain meds which he also tried to go off of but he started to feel the need for them again, so he was back. I could see he was jonesing. He was a dear, respectable man who attended the local evangelical church in the town where I live. I thought to myself, this is how it all begins. This is where the opiate crisis originates. I told myself I cannot afford to go down that road.

For one thing, opiates would be sure to cause my brain to become more disordered. I was sure of that and I also did not want to become addicted. I already have an addict’s brain and it is the last thing I needed.

I knew I could probably legitimately take time off of my job of feeding another’s horse. I had a good excuse. Every step was painful on uneven surfaces and it was an unpaved dirt road I needed to walk on to feed. I just told myself to get through it, and I offered it up, again.

The woman whose horse I had been riding kept trying to get me to take Ibuprofen but I did not want to and I didn’t. I have read about research that even taking that common remedy can decrease empathy, as studied in college students. It also is not ideal for bone regrowth either.

My doctor said I was the only person he knows who has gone through broken ribs without pain medications. I give all glory to God and the intercession of Our Lady of Fatima and great gratitude to Fr. Bart Stevens for his most useful of homilies. I am also grateful to the equine schoolmaster–the first horse who has seriously hurt me–to drive home the lessons I must have needed to learn. I skipped confession that Thursday which is the only day it is offered in the town I live to ride both him and Mel. Mel was a delight that day but it would be many weeks before I could ride him again and be able to sit squarely and evenly and be effective as a rider. I missed a good part of the summer’s riding because I did not go to confession that day. I realized that if I go to confession every week, I may eventually not have to be in therapy. That is my goal.

Now I have a story to tell, as well, about addiction and the opioid crisis. Just as Saul of Tarsus was thrown from his horse and converted to St. Paul, I pray that I be raised up to spread the Good News about bearing one’s cross through Our Lady’s intercession. Her prayers work and they are free and simple and easy. May this message travel far and wide because many are dying needlessly in this epidemic. Karl Marx’s dismissal of religion as the “opiate of the masses” may not be valid; instead, I affirm that at Mass, we can learn to do without opiates.

This is not just religion, though, but a spirituality, as evidenced by the fact that it is used in a church other than the Catholic Church. These prayers are available to anyone and you do not have to be a Catholic, so it is not promoting religion per se, but a spiritual approach to pain management. I remain a Messianic Jew, although I have been re-baptised and confirmed as a Catholic. I prayed the holy rosary before I became a Catholic as well as the Fatima prayers. It does not violate the separation of Church and State because the prayers are not confined to the Catholic Church. Just as the Lord’s Prayer is prayed at the end of every Alcoholics Anonymous meeting, so could these prayers be utilized by those of any faith or none. Here is to Our Lady’s Blue Army of recovery to triumph in this year 2018! May my pain be for Divine gain and may I be able to be a Freedom Rider for the Faithful and True spreading the message of liberation from the enslavement of addictions, the Death Rider that stalks the country…and may this blog on this New Year begin my life as a Freedom Writer, as well, God willing…

 

During the funeral of disgraced Cardinal Law, where will the Lord Christ be? Will He be weeping for the demise of Law or for the victims of Law’s negligence?

Law was welcomed at the Vatican and perhaps he is a perfect soldier for them. He did what they wanted and hid the crimes committed and tried to not subject the Church to scorn. Maybe that is exactly what he was asked to do. Maybe he did it perfectly and was rewarded for it.

The victims are collateral damage, I suppose. Where are they now?

I have to fast and pray–so that I can write about it and so it is finally addressed adequately.

What would Jesus do?

He was a spotless victim Himself. He died so souls could live. What must I do?  I have a duty to report. I was purchased with a huge price. Thirteen years ago on this date, my father passed on. The Mother of Mercy helped me cope and I prayed in Chinese for her intercession.

I bear witness to her love as the Court of Last Resort. She helps me still and she wants me to know that she will help cleanse the house of my father if I agree to write of her and for her as an intercessor for those whose lives have been destroyed by fallen priests. Those souls cannot handle anything even remotely Catholic because it triggers memories of the abuse.

I know what that is like. I haven’t been able to attend Mass regularly because it triggers my post-traumatic stress disorder. I cannot afford to go into a full-blown episode and have to be hospitalized over it. Then, the State will have to pay and how is that fair? The State deserves a return on its investment in me and I intend to deliver.

How will this come about? I will plead at the Supreme Court of Heaven for justice and report to them and for them. They are real and they know how to deal with the Vatican intrangency. They just do. Watch and see, because Kuan Yin has a solution and has answered the Lord’s Prayer, “deliver us from evil.”

She would remind me to pray for forgiveness of the soul and the casting out of the carnal mind of the evil-doer as taught to us by Jesus through His Messengers, the Two Witnesses as described in the Book of Revelations.

Jesus gave those prayers so that the Abels of this world had tools to deal with the Cains of the planet and their lives. I am able today to pray so that no soul has to die–including myself and that justice will be done.

I am also able to write and I will. This is my healing and I will take up the literary cross and follow Him all the way.

ISO the Faithful and True: is Mission Accomplished. I have found Him and He is at the Ranch and now in my heart reborn. There is room for him in that inn and manger and He reigns as King in the kingdom within which is the place where my ego has been dethroned and He sits in judgment of me, as I have asked. He’s made me anew as a stable nun for Him. He’s keeping the vigil with Splendid High tonight in the snowstorm as He helped me blanket him with a warm Turtleneck blanket. The Comforter is real for us both and He lives and reigns in our lives. We are at peace because we have a purpose and that is to be heralds of Him and for Him.

That is what I learned on schoolroom Earth today, Dad. I learned I loved enough to re-blanket Mel in a warmer blanket so he can be comfortable in the frigid windchill tonight. I learned there are great people in Texas who make these blankets with care and give superlative customer service. I learned that He lives in them too and that there are good people helping other people and animals and the planet. I can be at peace because the Prince of Peace rules our world and yet makes me a stable nun who is in the process of discernment to become a Third Order Dominican nun, God willing, to espouse formally the Spirit of Truth–Veritas. It is to this end that this blog site and our lives–Mel’s and mine–are now dedicated, by the power of the most holy rosary. Amen.

The Light of the Divine Presence descended from above in a shower of true Love, washing me clean of my cares and worries during worship at the Salvation Army chapel in Billings. I know I can turn to the Salvation Army in a time of need. They have proven that once more again.

When I was homeless the first time, I went first to the Salvation Army. They gave me a voucher for a meal at a the King’s Table, an all-you-can eat buffet in Redwood City, California. They also gave me a room at a motel for one night in the same town.

I went from living in an Atherton estate to homeless as the locks were changed on the doors to where I grew up. The home that was on the cover of House Beautiful was never to be home to me again.

I was very much out of my mind at the time and I yelled at my mother. She waited until I left for work to have the locks changed and post a typed notice on the door saying I was not welcome there again and if I tried to enter, she would call the police.

She had her reasons and they were undoubtedly what she thought best. I certainly turned into a shrew. After I was sexually abused by a priest, I went mad and no one knew why except that I was now mentally ill  (I told no one and did not even understand myself what happened). I was eventually forbidden to pray while living in their house and while they thought I was made crazier by religiousity, in truth, the prayers were one of the few things that held me together, if tenuously.

My parents did me a favor, as I see it now. I cannot live without praying. It is more important than eating to me. So, I lived with the lady I worked for as a stablehand, on the floor of her place. More importantly, I found that there are people who will help me no matter how sick in the head I am. They are the Salvation Army.

When I was in and out of the psych ward through most of November and December one year, into the New Year, as my psychiatrist sent me to a new shrink, my family did not want to have anything to do with me either. That Christmas, in the psych ward, Santa gave me the one present I received and I still have it. Santa brought me from the Salvation Army a little white bear, which I called my bipolar bear. I hugged it last night tightly, all through the night.

A few month’s back, I went to the Salvation Army sobbing because I was told I had to sell my doctor-prescribed service animal (that is a way-too clinical term for my best friend on earth). I wanted to volunteer for them. They also asked if I wanted to talk to someone. The counselor talked with me and told me about ExperienceWorks, for older people who have not worked for awhile. The kind lady played a recording of the Lord’s Prayer after I asked if we could pray a Lord’s Prayer together. I felt–no, I knew, that something would work out.

Lots has happened in this State as the bottom is falling out of the safety net for the mentally ill and others. I am in far better shape than most. This is an opportunity to learn to trust Him more, for me.

When I read that a homeless man died outside of Mission Dolores in San Francisco recently, I realized that though he took Holy Communion daily there, it could well have been the Salvation Army who fed him meals. I do not know that there is any truth to that thought, but it just seemed like I wanted to donate something to them. I do not have money to do so right now, but today, I expressed a desire to go in the food trucks to help feed the homeless in Billings. One thing I do know is that my abuse at Mission Dolores is not the end. Today is a new chapter and I refuse to write my own tragedy. The Lord is ressurecting my career as a journalist, somehow and I felt it as an absolute reality today. The Faithful and True is alive and well in Billings, Montana, I can report. He is with me here, too, as I am called to “publish abroad” of His vocational rehabilitation of me…Thank You O Faithful and True! I live to embrace and espouse the Spirit of Truth wherever it leads me…

Tonight I began a course on the Sufi Way of the Beloved taught by scholar Andrew Harvey. What brings me there and here on my path?

First and foremost, I long for the mystic depth of Hafiz, who wrote:

“I am a hole in a flute that the Christ’s breath/moves through–listen to this music”

That is the kind of follower of Christ I desire to be and I do not find it elsewhere in my life right now. This blog, ISO: the Faithful and True, came about as a way to chronicle my path to and with Him.

His connection and Oneness with the Source of all is so exemplary and to Him do I turn for guidance. He leadeth me beside the still waters and restoreth my soul through finding this course and the way of the Sufi mystic poets.

In the introductory lesson, Andrew Harvey taught that Sufi poet Rabia was the first known in history to address the Divine as “Beloved.” I looked her up in a book I have called, “Love Poems From God: Twelve Sacred Voices From the East and West.”

Sure enough, she was the first poet in the volume. The book itself I found in a profound way. I had spoken in therapy of my struggles with my desire for God and the psychoanalyst tried his best to help me, but I left with a very heavy and burdened heart. I felt the urge to go to the local Barnes and Noble bookstore and I wandered in and came to that book, “Love Poems From God.” It was very clear to me that He was guiding me and He was and is there for me. It was a Godsend, literally and literarily.

So is this course, as I find those who are kindred spirits on this mystic’s quest. The Sufi way includes sacred dance as a way to worship the Divine and this blog began as my quest for the Faithful and True to teach and train both my equine partner and me. A former trainer used to ask me what my goals were in riding and I used to always answer that my goal was to someday become worthy to ride with the Faithful and True.

When Splendid High aka Mel, my equine partner, was once at the veterinarian being x-rayed, it turned out to be a shoeing issue and the wonderful vet, Dr. Mark Robinson, had to take a shoe spreader and widen his shoes. That relieved the pressure and he then moved perfectly. At the time, Dr. Mark said to me, I do not know any other horse owners who would even pick up that something was amiss as you have with Mel.

Mel was only slightly off and really just not fully extending his front leg, not favoring it. At the time, it came to me very clearly that Mel was a dressage horse. He was and is a dancer in training. How do I do him justice? Perhaps we are yet encountering our Trainer. Tonight was inspirational, and so I will end with the ending of the poem:

“We are a hole in a flute, a moment in space, that/the Christ’s body can move through and sway/all forms–in an exquisite dance–as the wind in a forest.”

from “Listen to this Music” by Hafiz, translated by Daniel Ladinsky in “A Year with Hafiz: Daily Contemplations”