Courage has been in my life for more than three years now. I blogged before about how that's the longest I've ever had a horse and he and I are definitely still sorting out our relationship. But if you've read this blog, I venture that you've picked up on the rather-dramatic quality our partnership has entailed.
And now, something weird has started happening to me.
But lately, things with Courage have been good. Almost magical. He and I are in this comfortable place where we know what to expect one another and we trust each other.
It's not the relationship I had with Cuna because Courage isn't Cuna, but it's a new and beautiful thing. I've always said that Cuna brought Courage to me, and I've meant it on multiple levels, some cornier than others. I'm in a rough patch in life right now, but Courage is my constant. My steady eddy, as weird as that sounds.
Whether we work or toodle or lunge or just hang out, he brings a sense of peace to my life. More days than I'm ok with, I just look at his picture on my phone and don't even make it to the barn.
|kinda like what this pic did for me years ago|
Then it happened once. Then again.
The Cuna dreams are back, but in a whole different way. Each time it happens, my old man is still alive and living at my favorite barn. I see him, I ride him bareback, and things are as they always were. He's just waiting for me.
I know it's not real, but I wake up with a strangely serendipitous feeling that everything is alright.
That which was meant to be, is.