Life is like a box of chocolates, ya never know wut yer gonna get

Life is like a box of chocolates, ya never know wut yer gonna get

Monday, January 30, 2012

How funny.

I just finished writing a long piece on spirituality - pointed at a person I thought needed to hear it...and somehow I deleted it.  Wow!!  I think I was not supposed to write it.

That is pretty cool.

Remember to always come from a place of Love.

Sunday, January 29, 2012

Old Drafts of Old Memories

Since it has been awhile since I posted here (except for the last post) I looked through past posts and found many drafts.  Thoughts I had and deemed unworthy of posting.  But I like this one.  So, here you are...

Monday morning Cindy and I had our weekly riding lesson.  We ride horses.  Cindy rides English style and I ride Western.  She says the English style makes her feel closer to the horse,(the saddle is smaller),  and I like Western because of Roy Rogers and John Wayne.  When I get the nuances of Western down, I'll give English a try...but that will be awhile.

It has taken me many months of riding to develop any type of mastery feelings in this venture.  In fact, I don't truly feel mastery yet - but I'm closer.  Much closer.  I can tack up and groom with confidance now.  I used to be so afraid I'd get it all wrong and hurt the horse.  Sometimes I still get the bridle twisted out of its proper shape.  Both the horse and I stand there wondering what the hell I was doing to her face. 

I have been working with a licensed trainer and lessons are an hour long.  I'm glad I did it this way because Sara has had me build skill and talent through a patient plan.  She majored in Behavioral Science and is quite adept at helping people (and animals) monitor and change their behavior.  I have never felt judged badly by anyone at the stable, except by myself.  Always uplifting, patient and kind.  I've had a glimpse of other people's dramas from time to time, but - such is life. 

I began riding because it is something I have always wanted to do.  When I was 4 years old we had neighbors who had horses.  They would go for rides fairly often and ride by our house.  We lived in Sacramento at the time.  (or was it Fair Oaks?)  Anyway - I remember standing on the corner where they would pass by on their way home from their rides.  I was too shy to speak, but I figured if I looked cute enough - they would see me and know that I wanted to ride. 

"Oh look, what a doll!  I'll bet she'd love to ride the horse.  Here, sweetie - you're so cute, I can tell you want to ride my horse.  Let me help you up into the saddle." 

In my mind I had a great time.  In my wishful young mind. 

Isn't it funny how clearly we can remember some things and not others?  That was 51 years ago!  And I can still feel the sunny, breezy day and I can smell the horses and the warm grassy mounds in the empty lot; sage I think.

Friday, January 27, 2012

There is Life in the Quiet

I read an article today that inspired me to be more accepting of myself.  I am an introvert.  I am a quiet person who lives in her head much of the time.  I will take talking 'streaks', when you cannot squeeze in a word - but, for the most part, I am quiet and reserved.  I like natural sounds (birds, running water, horse's nickering) rather than those of our technology (cars, trains, planes.)  The sounds of the earth and its creatures are comforting and help me to feel centered - both emotionally and physically.  And that reminds me of my core self...authentic Jenny... with all her strengths and weaknesses.  And it reminds me of my place in this universe.
It has taken some time to come to this calm contentedness.  And it seems to be a constant growth process.  Except, usually we think of growth as getting bigger, better; but my growth has been to strip away layers of scar tissue, scabs and stories created by my ego for its own preservation. 
 I've tried lots of things in the past to heal my wounds.  Some things work for awhile and then grow back.  This latest healer seems to be more effective because it is actually making the cause of the wounds unimportant.  The real cause of my wounds is myself and how I react to things.  When I take the importance out of those things (the stories), the reactions are much calmer and no wound is inflicted, and past wounds can heal when they are not constantly reinforced.
I've always liked the quiet.  Society told us that the best kind of person was outgoing;  Yet another way that other people cause us to doubt ourselves because they want to make money off of our fears.
This might make sense to some.  I hope it does.  It really is so much simpler than I thought.