Stirring

Loss and regret bring existence into stark relief.

Imalexus broke her maiden a few weeks ago and within twenty-four hours my world caved in on me; absolutely nothing has mattered since. Blackwatch Stables is no more; Imalexus was claimed a few weeks later. Those two events are mutually exclusive.

Pretense and ego fall away when what one believes true is ripped from the sanctuary of home. I was a fool; enamored with my hubris, I wasted away everything that truly mattered until it was gone. How easily everything becomes ancillary and those extremities are severed when true loss blindsides you.

The soul is laid bare on life's stage and there is no exit. How painfully I look back, now, piercing through the veil of ignorance and selfishness I wore. I spent too much time on this game thinking it could make me whole; dreaming on clouds of fancy; Ozymandian in my vision; neglecting the absolute gift I already had, the wealth of nations at my doorstep. A king's ransom the likes of which has never been seen nor likely ever will be, since the sharing is the true gift.

I visited Arlington today; the first time in months I could bring myself to even care about horse racing. The day overcast and cold, the sun hidden and sullen; as if this place I foolishly called home knows it can no longer be that for me. I am still welcome and can shelter here from time to time but the comfort I mistakenly thought I could find here was somewhere else all along.

The horses still run, as they always do, and there is comfort in that. The faces are familiar and the flow of the day is wonted. The stubborn consistency of this game, today, is welcome; I am even wearing my coffee again. Not five minutes after I arrive, I am pierced by the loose horse siren but mercifully see nothing.

The drumming beat of hooves, that I thought was the tempo of my life, is now a poor substitute to the cadence I know I lost to pride. The beat I had is gone and I can no longer find my rhythm. Not having with whom to share this leaves a bitter taste and a dead, hollow echo.

In the dying embers of my cigar I lose the desire to stay; they haven't even started the renovation break.

As I leave the track , the sun breaks out and pours itself on the green. For that moment, Arlington is once again a promise. It won't ever be the same; nothing in this world remains constant. It changes, as all things do, inexorably becoming what we need them to become, as we dance like dust specks in the last of the light, drifting on our own eddies.

I am not yet ready to find my way back and I no longer know that I care enough to try but there is an exquisite pain in loss and redemption.

Empty words and failed promises are all I have left.

For now, they will have to be enough, because the horses do still run.