Chapter 173
Here we all are in a brand new year again. It’s cliche after cliche, time flying tempus fugit & all that.
I write this from England. Lovely to be here with my friend, but exhausting and strange. What was once the norm for my existence now feels cramped, damp, dingy and small. Of course, hanging out with an aging hoarder doesn’t help those sensations. I do my thing; cooking good food, bringing healthy meals into a life that does not necessarily embrace those things… she’s currently hiding in her bedroom in her own house to give me respite from the cigarette smoke. It’s a dreadful, horrible addiction. I have known so many who have tried so hard to escape the clutches of this nasty little drug, it destroys lungs, coats the insides of the human in a mess of tar, and coats the insides of said human’s home in an equally revolting mess of tar. I have thus far washed windows and doors inside and out, evacuated the contents of a couple of cupboards, scrubbed cabinet doors and brought a semblance of white back into an orange kitchen. I induced my friend to winnow through drawers, cupboards and piles of mail, thereby building up a stack of giant bags of trash and recycling. Yet to walk into this house, a stranger would never know the impact that has hit it over the past week. I need to ensure the recycling bags are moved as close to the pickup point as possible or my friend will fail, with her numerous health issues, to complete the simple task of moving bags to the curb for the council to collect.
As one ages, the abilities of youth evaporate without warning, bounce and vigor suddenly leave, and their leaving serves to open a gaping hole of depression and frustration. The habitual language of the Londoner is peppered with expletives and derogatory terms that in casual conversation are often seen as endearments, but from the distance of several decades (and I never enjoyed this aspect of English life in the first place), it grates severely on my psyche and I have to practice a lot of meditation and patience techniques to make it through a day. When we drive – I am driven – to the yard to visit the horse, the speed and vehemence of the journey is shocking. The amount of traffic here is alarming, the grey that inhabits the sky, the ground, the majority of the folk around me, is dreary. When I arise and the sun is shining I rush out into the smog-tainted back garden to bask in the few moments of sunny brilliance with which I am gifted, comparing my pleasure to my friend’s resentful description of sunshine “blaring” in her eyes.
As I work with the horse, I am unsurprised that he is full of anxiety and twitchiness, wary of strangers and uncomfortable in his skin. I do some bodywork and his face changes, he begins to yawn and relax, shaking his head and letting loose some of the tension built up in his life. The farrier, a wonderful soul, patient and undemanding, spent an hour with us today. Between the two of us with gentle nudges and quiet requests, we have four hooves trimmed. Afterwards, a turn in the arena, more gentle exercises to make the horse think and learn, his face changes and his eyes take on a different tone. It feels like he’s engaged, absorbing new ideas, realising some confidence in himself. Only one more visit with this lovely and I’m heading off to Spain. I’ll be back for another couple of weeks before returning to Canada – whose blue skies and stunning sunshine are a fantasy that lives inside me right now. I’m sure the Spanish weather over the next couple of months will be a vast improvement on what’s happening here. A timely reminder of why I left.
Keep up the good work. Be happy. Enjoy the sunshine whatever the temperature. Congratulations on making it through to this point.
Kat Dancer
bodymudra@gmail.com 1 415 525 2630 (c)
