Beginnings

I was brushing Lakota’s mane. It had been a seemingly endless winter and her long tresses were rolled into tight little spirals and knots. A mist of detangler, some finger pulling and finally the wide toothed comb. I actually enjoy this process – it is a mindless task that allows my brain to wander and relax. As each tangle unfolds I feel my being settle; my breathing quiets. The scent of her filles me, her munching soothes my soul. I know that I love her completely. Then why was I grooming her and preparing her for a potential new owner?

When I thought of losing her or giving up my dreams of us becoming old ladies together, my heart would clench. Tears would well. I could feel anxiety rush over me. It felt like death – sudden, irreparable, final.

The word beginning hit me out of the blue. In an instant, I saw Lakota taking a young girl to the state horse show. I saw her being doted on and fussed over. Lakota would be a best friend and ally as this young lady traversed the pinnacles and canyons of high school. Her life was just entering a new chapter as was mine. When Lakota and I began our story, I envisioned joining folks exploring the Bob Marshall Wilderness and Glacier National Park, going camping on weekends, driving cattle, and possibly learning western dressage. I had only owned her 10 days when I had a serious accident and fractured my sacrum. Lakota waited for me for a year until I could ride again. The next two years we rode around the farm and the forests nearby. I came to realize without a truck and trailer we weren’t able to meet up with groups who were traveling with their horses. All the assurances I had been given that you could just jump in a trailer going by, had been unrealistic. Our third year, Lakota suffered a traumatic injury and sat on the sidelines for over eight months. I have come to a point where I understand I either have to go big, by purchasing a truck and trailer, or find Lakota a new home. Riding around the farm alone has lost its appeal.

My beginning will be to invest in property and put down roots. My choice is financing a home instead of a truck and trailer. If I allow myself to feel the love I have for Lakota and still move forward, allowing us our new beginnings, I feel at peace.

Why do I feel I am losing something? Why do I hang on so desperately to the past? Why do I cling to old dreams even though I can see fresh ideas pouring into my mind? Change can be scary. Change is continual. When I look at my life, the biggest changes have brought the biggest rewards. Getting married, having children, going to college, moving, even dating and buying a horse. Every change has allowed me to grow and become more of the person I am. Change has never made me less.

I am only afraid when I think I am doing it alone, when I forget I have a higher power. At those times, I feel inadequate and not able to face the challenge. When I remember we are all one, we are all connected, that there is a force supporting me – I find the courage. Change is an opportunity for life to get even better.

I am talking to myself here. I saw that the man I care about has moved on with someone else. I put an offer on a “fixer-upper” house and wonder if I have what it takes to pull this off. I am at a workshop for writers because this is my dream. Should I stay with the job I can do with my eyes closed for the security? We all have doubts. All we can do is face them one at a time and keep walking through. I ask each day to see my life the way Spirit sees it. Use me to help others. Let me see me as the loving, perfect soul that the Divine sees. My judgments of myself and my lack of trust in my decisions, perpetuates my fear of change. I ask to see these changes as the new beginnings that they are. Jumping into the void is easier if you go with me. Come on, let’s go.

Beginnings and Endings

I realized this morning that I am on the last page of my leather bound journal. There is always a bittersweet feeling at this time. Each book holds roughly two years of events, experiences and emotions. Some of these books I have titled because a single circumstance has so dominated the writings. The stack gets higher and higher as the years march by. I laugh to myself when I think of my daughters reading these notes and knowing more about me than I ever intended. As I feel the handmade paper and lovingly handle the buffalo hide cover, I think of how many nights I have allowed my mind to wander over situations and attempted to make sense of it all. Somehow if I could just write it and see it, I might understand what alluded me.  I had an advisor once tell me that I was trying to make logic out of the illogical and maybe that is so. Is writing cathartic? Is it releasing pent up energy? Is it settling spinning emotions and getting a handle on them? Whatever it is to me is a mystery and yet it is a process that I have followed since childhood.


Tragedy struck when a spurned lover destroyed a set of my journals when I was in my late teens. He was able to land a blow that hurt worse than any slap or insult. The dreams and contemplations of my youth went up in smoke. But I remember. I remember the poetry I wrote at the time. I remember sitting with my journal among the stones in an old cemetery. It was serene, a stream rambled past and I felt the beings there were glad to have my company. The chaotic feelings of an adolescent were cooled by the ancient pines. The poetry was inspired by the beautifully hand carved epitaphs on the granite markers; many of these predated the Civil War. Numerous were the graves of children, often several with the same date. These stones were engraved with sheep, dogs, willow trees and baskets of flowers. This was the only place I wrote poem after poem. I haven’t done that since. They are gone, destroyed by someone’s anger and intent to cause pain. If the poems were meant to be here they would have survived. It is the writing that mattered. It was the process that soothed my soul. That could not be halted.

If tomorrow all of my journals were turned to ash, it would not be important. There are always more words, more thoughts, more dreams. I have considered going back and reading past entries to find the wisdom, but I am not sure I will find it. Yes, I would now see the situation from a vantage point I could not have then. I have changed. I am not the person I was. I hope that each year I become more.

I end this journal with gratitude and tenderness. Now to choose anew. There is excitement at the beginning of a new story, a tribute to the life I am leading. New adventures to explore, new love to share, new people to meet, new dreams to set in motion. My life is forever unfolding and building. I set the intention that all I desire is coming to me. True love, abundance and joy. I am fulfilled and find peace in my everyday activities. My work is rewarding and beneficial to the whole. This fresh, untouched journal will reflect one more chapter in the continuing saga of Patty McGlynn from Cow Turd Alley. I am excited to see where she will go this time and what she will learn along the way. The little girl that just keeps writing.