Pony Boy

When it comes right down to it, I am pretty childish. At least, more childish as of late. Dirt forts. Going out of my way to the dirt forts on my morning walks. Galloping. Just like I used to as a kid. Galloped everywhere. On Trigger, of course. My first bike, the Sears Red Machine written about in “Jersey Sure”, was Trigger more than it was a bike or a police car or the Man From U.N.C.L.E car, or the Batmobile…the real one….from the TV Show that otherwise sucked. I galloped a lot.

I galloped again the last few days. Only for a bit. More than most guys my age though and that is kinda cool in my twisted book of logic and magick tricks for children of all ages. I galloped. From the path to the dirt fort. Just after the walk, just before picking up the rocks, and just before heading back to the house. Galloped. Just like days of old. Something about horses got to me then and ever since. Never owned a horse. That is something other people do. I was not ever one of those horse owning people. My horses came from Movies and Television…and my head.

Equine speaks loudly. Proud animals. Noble beasts. Power, strength, dignity, and other things that inspire. The feel of tack and harnesses and bits. The smell of all of that. There is some level of control and yet freedom. Trigger was domesticated yet primal at the same time. There is a balance…a beauty…a magick in that. So I galloped a bit the last few days. The rider, the ridden, and more.

Thought of the Beatles too. At least one of their songs. Let It Be. I am learning that lesson. More and more. Letting things come. Trusting. Feeling the freedom that comes with trust in that Force that makes all things happen. My Higher Power. Trusting that I do not have to make things happen…just let things happen. I just have to walk when it feels right. Talk when it is right. Write from where all things are right. Just be. Gallop when that Higher Power spurs me on and feel what it was, what it is, and what it all means. Giddiup. I guess I am kinda childish. I plan to be even more childish. Gotta remember the lessons from Kindergarten. Gotta be willing to play and laugh and sing out of tune and drum and color outside the lines.

The bad guys might have other plans. They might try to ambush me. In fact, I know some of their plans already. They haven’t got a chance. I know how to gallop, have a short cut to the dirt fort, and wear an almost white hat. The bad guys are bit players in my life. No kidding.