There are things beyond our understanding

Day #193- April 7, 2025

Day 193 (April 7, 2025)-

It’s raining cats and dogs outside. Sidenote: When I was a little girl and I heard that expression, I thought that surely must be the most wonderful kind of rain of all. I was a little girl who longed for cats and dogs. I made up for that shortfall later in life.

It is the 193^rd day since Helene, and it’s already apparent that the day I had planned is not the day I’m going to have. Realign. Breathe. Readjust. Breathe.

Breathe some more. On purpose. Let my shoulder blades slide down my back like water.

“I’ll meet you in the breath,” says First Horse over and over. I can always find him there.

I’m going to tell you a story that will make me sound crazy.

I watched Geneviève disappear yesterday. I had gone upstairs to put away laundry and did what I always do when I’m near a window- I looked at horses.

Geneviève was over in the poplar grove near the creek. It’s a shady magical spot. We’ve always known there was something there, something you can’t see. Not seeing anything doesn’t mean there’s nothing there.

There’s an old brush pile there that has been turned into a residence for a well-rounded groundhog. He’s been there for at least two years, maybe longer. My concept of time is practically nonexistent (it’s why I have to count the days, even the days I skip). We often see him in the early evening when he goes on his walkabout. I’ve seen First Horse go to the groundhog’s door and beckon him out for a conversation.

I’ve never met anyone who turns down First Horse when he says, “Let’s talk.”

Anyway, Geneviève went to the groundhog’s house and stared into the doorway. “Bonjour! J'ai dit, bonjour!” Apparently, groundhogs also speak French, at least with Geneviève. A conversation ensued that I was not privy to. It’s not nice to pry.

And then she walked over to a space between two groupings of poplars… and disappeared. First her head, then her neck, then the rest of her. Vanished from sight, as if she was walking through a door. It reminded me of those mimes who pretend to walk down a flight of stairs. Except she wasn’t pretending. Mimes use their bodies to tell stories. So do horses.

Don’t worry— she was back in time for lunch. She is always on time for lunch. Her and me both.

There are things beyond our understanding.

Some things are meant for us, and some things are meant for others.

Reality is not dependent upon our ability to understand.

Some things are none of our business. Such as someone else’s spirituality. That’s a whole other conversation.

We try to come up with words for things we don’t understand, or at least for things we can’t explain. We can’t help it. We’re wired to think in words.

The “Woo.” Magic. Supernatural.

What if the supernatural is simply natural?

What if we just haven’t yet come up with language for things that are far more commonplace than we think?

What if our desire to explain the unexplainable gives way to the acceptance that we live in a very interesting place?

Perhaps some things just are.

Horses crave congruence, that state of compatibility when things are what they appear to be. That’s why they hate it when humans try to fake something, like pretending they’re not scared.

Horses trust with their bodies, not their frontal lobes.

Perhaps that state of compatibility is bigger than we imagine…

Just some things to think about on a rainy morning in the shelter of the Blue Ridge. Love and light y’all, love and light…