Why it’s worth being: Here.

You know that feeling.

The one you’ve had since touching the Very. First. One? Which, at the time, was the very same thing as being touched by him – maybe her – to you … which, of course, you were – in one or two (probably not more) ways. I digress.

It’s a moment you’re about to recall in such detail, it will surprise even you. Even now … even though now, you won’t want to recall it, because you’ve been predicted. I’ve already “told you so”. And usually that’s a thing that only happens when people you wish were right were wrong. And they’re not. Or, when you are being manipulated. Which you are not. Really. Yet. At least to no malicious end, I swear it. Yet.

The Moment happened soon after there was enough of you in there to make anything (at all) very much worth recording. At all.

Stay with me.

If you’d had any idea what the name of “love” was at the time, you would have described it as a vaguely similar thing: an equally obvious and sudden attachment to an other thing. Yes. Anything. Sweeping. Beyond your control.

(But this was before that. That that (’s) not the ‘that’ I mean). The thing I mean, you didn’t call “love”. Or anything. Because you didn’t call any’thing’ anything. Not even “anything.” You didn’t. Stay.

For everyone who feels the way you do (which, I do not need to tell you, does not describe everyone who has a horse), it happened this way for them, too. The very best feelings don’t come in inches or degrees. Most often.

It isn’t there for nothing – this feeling you had then, and have. It’s a marker.  It marks you. Such that you may be identified with ease by others of your kind, and with little risk of imposition. Because the Truth of any true passion is on the one hand self-evident; and, on the other: hard to fake.

Hard to fake in person, certainly. But even vicariously through letters … or, really, in any way that there could be, as an old dead friend of mine would put it.  If he could.

Newcastle was a marked man. That’s the Truth.

And now you and I have a common understanding of what ‘marked’ means, and know it the same way. If you are here, this can only be True now.

And this is how I teach horses exactly what I mean. And they know it.

Stay with me.

harmony cross

Henry Fleming is a connoisseur of high school equitation theory and promotes ideals and methods described by the Duke of Newcastle and Francois Baucher.

Leave a Reply