Someone wise once said that home is where your heart is, and I couldn't agree more. Sometimes, however, when your heart is here and there and everywhere, it is hard to determine the exact location of home. Home seems to be many things; home is connected to people, places, memories – even feelings. Perhaps, rather than being a physical position, home is an emotional condition, a sensation of certainty and security, a state of calmness and peace where you feel you can be yourself.
My home is with my family, half of which is scattered around the world. My home is with my dearest friends, whom all live in different countries. My home is where I am physically, right now, but also where I grew up. More importantly, my home is where I spent the carefree summers of my childhood. And then, of course, there are the horses… My home has always been where the horses are.
After being gone for over five weeks on vacation in Finland (at the before mentioned location of carefree childhood summers now transformed to semi-carefree adult summers), I finally returned to Switzerland, my physical home, a few days ago. Before we had even crossed the border in our car, my thoughts frequently turned to Little Love and how it would be to see her again, to feel her presence. Would she forgive me for leaving her for such a long time? What would be her mental state? Had we lost the connection despite my efforts to keep “in touch” over the energy of the universe, by the power of thought only?
I wanted to believe the connection was still there, because I sure had felt it; while lying in bed at night waiting for sleep, while watching clouds drift overhead as I swung in a hammock, while driving the car in a thunderstorm. I would be thinking of something else and then – suddenly, there she was, the black mare. She would enter my thoughts , sometimes as just a feeling, a picture or a phrase. I missed my horse friend, but on the other hand not. Because although she was a thousand miles away, she was right there with me, all along.
After I got home I couldn’t get to the barn fast enough, it was as if a giant magnet was pulling me there. My unpacked suitcases and five loads of laundry could wait, but this couldn’t. I had to see her, feel her energy on the spot. She knew I was coming, of course, as she always does. She was waiting at the stall door.
Her expression was tired; much, much more tired than what I remembered, but her eyes flickered when she saw me. I scrambled to get her halter on, to take her somewhere where we could just be alone, the two of us, unbothered. The barn was busy with people tacking up, longing, riding, taking off on trail rides – the things people do with horses and I could feel Lilo’s reluctance to have any part in that. The only quiet place I found was the indoor arena, not the perfect location, but with the door closed it was an area of complete privacy.
I let her go at the door and she went down to roll. She rolled and she rolled, perhaps six to seven times over. I found a chair in the corner and pulled it out. I sat down and watched for a while; Little Love stood up, her ears moving with all the noises coming from the yard. I pulled a magazine out of my pocket and settled down to read.
It took her a good twenty minutes to walk over to me and touch my arm with her nose. I breathed in her presence, swimming in the feeling of certainty we somehow manage to create together.
“Hi,” I said.
She said nothing, just chewed. Then she turned and walked away for a moment just to return again, this time planting her face in my lap.
I knew better than to touch her, as she doesn’t like to be touched on the face – not by humans. We stayed like that for a moment, our energy fields overlapping, exchanging something I can only describe as soul connections. Then I felt the urge to get up and walk. I knew it was a message from Little Love, she was asking me to join her. Soon we were walking, then running. She trotted behind me, I trotted behind her, we trotted side by side. We cantered and she bucked, then we stopped and stared at each other, the edges of our souls touching, whispering, sharing. Little Love chewed and then, like a gentle shockwave, I felt an overwhelming peace enter my body from her general direction.
I was finally home.
Home is a name, a word, it is a strong one; stronger than magician ever spoke, or spirit ever answered to, in the strongest conjuration. ~Charles Dickens