Horse comes to me before I wake after a nervous night tossing and turning
Thick coated horse kneels down before me
Horse muzzle nuzzles me in my neck, deep in
Shall I Climb on his back, let him take me
Wild traveller of the plains?
Shall I awake to his mysteries?
I am learning how to ski on curved skis.
It is different from the straight, hard edged skis I learned on. Curved skis turn naturally into the fall line of the slope. Curved skis ask for trust and sensual relationship. Instead of carving the turn I must relinquish control and let the skis carve. I am learning to trust the moment of the fall line, trusting the ski will take me through the turn.
Tom the teacher says, 'Press into your right toe. That pressure on the ski is enough to initiate a turn towards the fall line.' I tell him I can't trust the moment of turning down the hill, towards death. It requires surrender and trust.
He says he can't help me. He can teach me the skill and the principle but he can't give me faith and trust.
I have to commit to the process, despite all me cranky resistance to skiing, to the mountain, the cold, the rigor of all the gear, the schlepping with all the gear. I could go on and on.
I won't!
I am just afraid of facing the moment, dying into the fall line, trusting the ski and the desire of my right toe to make a turn, through the fall line.
The Chilean ski instructor Roberto, is more charming than our man's man Tom, the laconic Clint Eastwood of Sugarbush North. He tells me it's about exhilaration, the moment of death. Turn towards the exhilaration of the unknown. I go, reluctantly, with Marc to Sugarbush both Saturday and Sunday, holding onto Roberto's philosophical take, remembering Tom's instructions, 'First four edges, then two edges, then four.' Four become two becomes four. Why does everything seem to have to do with alchemy?
My breakthrough is subtle. I start to feel the to relate to the hill. I begin to let the ski turn me. I do not feel exhilaration but I do see the potential for joyous surrender. I resist because it is difficult, because facing into what is difficult will change me. The performance artist Marina Abramovic says we do not change unless it is difficult. Why leave the Shire, says the Hobbit? It is cosy and comfortable and easy. The nature of the journey is hard. Change is hard. We say we want change but when it means giving up what is easy and cosy we balk. I like to drink tea on Saturday afternoon and putter around my house. Going out to the mountains is scary and difficult and I must break out of my comfort zone.
Spiritual growth is not about using comfort as a refuge. The only refuge is the groundless moment to moment of being awake in the unknown. Staying open leads to a different kind of ease; the ease of connection in opening moment of not knowing what will happen next. The practice of opening to the dream truth, uncomfortable and new, takes us towards the fall line, towards death and of course, towards an awakened life.
I toss and turn all night before my horse dream comes to me. I am too hot and bothered, the muscles in my neck sting. I finally realize I have fear rising. I am facing a new client today. Her issues mirror mine. I can feel the pain of my past, giving away myself and my power to men, rise up in me. The horse is right there mixed in with the fear and the pain. Tawny horse like a lion. Lion heart, horse power. The fall line. The fault line of my psyche.
The deep mid Atlantic trench off the South Shore of Bermuda. The egulfing wave which I remember in the middle of the night. I take my fear into the wave, down, down, down inside the wave is the horse, kneeling beside me, offering me his warm, strong back.
Down in. Down past the fall line.