Friday, September 20

yoga parties, horse poop and enlightenment (in that order)

Where to begin?

Last night our full moon yoga instructor said "Whatever position you find yourself in is right where you are supposed to be." I later reflected: What if your foot is in the crotch of a yogi on the neighboring mat?

Fan of reds?
What's that you say? You thought I was in Connecticut to learn therapeutic riding instruction? Well, as so often happens in life, you set out to learn one thing and find yourself receiving a generous helping of secondary experiences; last night's yoga by moonshine being just one.

And when I say 'moonshine,' I'm talking the light of that celestial orb and the lightness of one too many glasses of wine. Attempting the tree pose after pinot noir, I regretted placing my mat next to the pool. Thankfully the only liquid I encountered was coursing through my digestive tract and later released into a dark corner of the horse paddock.

I do realize I am so far behind in posting that I'm now posting for last week a day late for this week's post. Never mind; at least we're here now.

Things are well under way back at the ranch (and I use that term loosely). If it weren't for all the 'yoga moonshine' opportunities, I might have time for lesson observations, paper writing, presentation planning, curriculum gathering, assessment giving, and sleeping; but I'm fairly sure posting to this bloggity blog of mine would still be late.

My sincerest of apologies. I feel terrible that I'm so busy making a difference in the lives of people with disabilities that I can't keep up with my commitments to posting. Too snarky?

But all snarkyness aside, my time here in the Northeast (a mere three weeks, I think), is making a huge difference in my life. Not only am I learning things about people and horses and therapeutic process, I'm starting to assemble the puzzling pieces of myself that I've collected thus far. Who could have known that a tiny arm, vaulting, scoliosis, aerial dance, and horse manure were all pointing to one vocation? Certainly not I.

I was helping Marcell to groom Smokey the pony. Marcell is about six foot and Smokey is maybe three feet if he lifts up his head, but that wasn't the greatest challenge: Marcell continually yelled out various words or phrases of his choosing in maddening repetitions. We tried to quiet him, asked him to use his 'inside barn voice,' all to no avail as he would pick up the obsession only seconds after he was silenced.

I was on the verge of trying to out-yell him, when Marcell's previously allusive eye contact caught a glimpse of Finneas from beneath my short sleeve. He was immediately quiet as he reached out a hand proportionate to his body size and gently stroked my little arm, a bemused smile resting where theretofore so much noise had emitted.

Before long, a small crowd gathered to take in the fascinating oddity, asking and touching and smiling. I basked in the effortless attention I'd accidentally commanded, wondering if I will ever learn. I was exactly where I was meant to be.

And so it seems that as I've been wandering through the planned and surprising avenues of my life, well-intentioned but mostly clueless, someone else knew exactly where I was headed all along.