LIFE, not life, but LIFE has a funny way of making you do things. I often wake up at 5, see that it's cold and inhospitable and go back to sleep. This morning I again awoke at 5. Thought the same thing (in my defense, we are having another cold snap) and closed my eyes for another hour of blissful repose. Then my ears were cleaved by the staccato scream of the fire alarm. Poor Natalia was just waking up, having a leisurely downward dog cat stretch when it went off. She levitated off the bed and landed somewhere in the living room. I plugged my ears while R found a broom handle and silenced the alarm. Under torture I would spill anything in the first 30 seconds of a fire alarm at close quarters.

So there I was, crouched on the side of the bed when it occurred to me that LIFE had intervened and I'd better get up. In the book The Right to Write, the author suggested that one way to foster creativity was to get up and write three pages (by hand) first thing in the morning. First thing meaning before coffee or ablutions or getting dressed. The only exception was that one could empty one's bladder first. I did that three pages for a few years. Impossible now. For one thing I'm older and feel that a hot sweet coffee is imperative before facing anything of consequence, even if I can only have a sip or two before starting the animal chores. The other thing is of course the animals, specifically the three cats. They have learned not to shout while I shut myself in the bathroom to wash my face and get dressed but as soon as the door is opened they are at my feet, mouths agape, emitting a feline version of the fire alarm. Quieter perhaps but more intense as it's multiplied by three pairs of laser beam blue and green and yellow eyes.

Cats fed I thought would it be better to take my coffee and sit on the deck to enjoy the morning symphony while the sun rose or come in here and stare at a monitor? Of course if I go outside to sit in zen like silence and absorb the serenity of a new dawn I have to ignore the dogs, the birds and the horses, two of which are locked up overnight and hang over the gate nickering as soon as they hear the front door. The dogs need to be greeted and tucked back into bed to stay warm and the birds? The birds are more difficult and I'm not even talking about the aviary birds. There is a male king parrot, I call him Elvis (The King) who does not take no for an answer. He flies to the hot water tank in front of the kitchen window to get my attention first thing in the morning. He's hard to miss dressed as he is in scarlet and forest green. I say good morning while making coffee and lorikeet food but don't drop everything to rush out and feed him. This is poor service and he lets me know it. When I finally do go out with food tray in hand, he is on the gutter upside down, to continue his harangue. When I put the tray in the gazebo, he is there. When I walk to the yards he is with me. When I finally go to the garage, he lands on the boat, increases the volume of his squeaks and squawks and can hardly keep himself from flying to my hand to grab the seed container. So there really is, in this household at least, no such thing as a zen like morning of serenity and silence and peace.

It is of course a creation of my own making. Even as I type this, Dimitri honks on the verandah, Tachimedes, also on the verandah, does his version of the keening call of an inmate in a padded room and Natalia meows to be let out of the laundry (she is fed separately as she is on special food). But it is 6am and R asked that I wake him for he has an early appointment - and so the day begins.

Balthazar and I

Had a really good session with Balthazar this evening. Have been trying to fit in a few sessions a week of only 10 or 15 minutes to re-introduce both of us to work. He's been on holiday for about two years so I don't want to overload his brain or his body. Not that it's hard although trotting around on a short longe can put some strain on joints, muscle and sinew if overdone. Short sessions should start to build some topline and flexibility before I put a saddle on. Being a thoroughbred he's not overly developed along his spine.

Reread Alexandra Kurland a few days ago and wanted to approach the clicker sessions more slowly. I have always been impatient and have to force myself to slow down, let Balthazar finish chewing before asking for something else. The last time I worked with him it was obvious I was going too fast because he started to get a little anxious and he was taking the carrot but not chewing it. It was a wake up call for these sessions should be pleasant for both of us. And I was getting anxious too. So I went out tonight with the idea that I would only work on the back up. We didn't fare well at first. Balthazar was so uninspired that he looked as though he was falling asleep. The softly softly approach was too soft. What to do? Send him around in a circle. He is eager to trot and keep trotting going left and reluctant to start going right. We work more to the right, his stiff side. Pushed him off me, first with the end of the lead (not hitting) and then with a gesture for he tends to spiral in on top of me. Also, when he halts going either way, but especially to the right he often backs up without being asked. He also wants to change direction. Eventually he did a few circles either way that were good. He wasn't stressed either, relaxed and nickering for his treat which he chewed rather than holding in his mouth. When we returned to the back up with a hand gesture he was brilliant. Instead of one lazy step he smartly backed up for four steps. I was very pleased. I think he was too. I grazed him on the green grass over the septic tank for a few minutes as well.

Having a break from riding or even working with Balthazar has given me the opportunity to try and do things differently. I'm not in a rut. Neither is he. I want this to be a real breakthrough time for both of us. I'm reading some Parelli notes Peter has given me as well as looking at clickerhorse on the net. I am hopeful that I am more mature and that doing yoga for two years has made a difference not only in my body but in my mind. If I am in touch with my body and mind and breath, I can stay grounded and calm. And patient.

I know I am quick to anger. I don't get angry often but am amazed at how quickly and with how much force anger manifests when it comes. It's like a whole other person lurks inside me, a very scary person. The things I am ashamed about in my life have to do mostly with allowing anger full rein. I do think anger, righteous anger, can be constructive in motivating me but anger born of frustration or fear is not. And that flavour of anger is unfortunately the one I am familiar with. I'm still alive, mobile and breathing so still have the opportunity to grapple with that ugly aspect of myself. It was a small step tonight but a powerful one for it showed me that taking the time, remaining calm, making decisions based on objective observation make for a happy relationship between Balthazar and I.

Fire Fire and More Fire

Mid-Afternoon: My eyes sting. They have burned across the road, from the high paddocks to the roadside. Smoke, thick and blue, marches across our paddocks like an advancing army. Ash drops from the sky. The cats are huddled in the middle of the house. The wild birds have flown away. No such luck for the caged birds. They have to stick it out and fill their air sacs with crap.

Yesterday I cried. Today I am angry. We went into town this morning. The entire east side of Mt. Sylvia is black. The land is so steep I don't think anything can graze on it but it was a thick mat of lantana and bush, doubtless home to many wild creatures. Now it is just a charred black landscape.

The reasons given by the farmers as to why they burn are these: 1. To make firebreaks, to get rid of the dead grass fuel. 2. To control lantana. 3. To sweeten the ground with ash and bring forth fresh grass.

Oddly enough in the twenty years we have lived here the ONLY fires which got out of control and threatened neighbouring properties were fires lit for the above three reasons. In other words, they are lighting fires to protect themselves from their neighbour's fires which are lit to protect them from their neighbour's fires which are lit... Not once has a fire been started by lightening or even a cigarette butt tossed from a passing car.

Lantana adores fire. Fire destroys the green panic which competes with it and fire hardens the branches so that cattle can't get in and graze the grass when it does come back.

As for sweetening the ground, perhaps the first burn might but these idiots burn the same ground year after year after year. What they wind up with is rubble. All the humous and micro-organisms which make for healthy soil are destroyed.

Reading about Buddhism again and am again struck by its basic negativity. It's related to Catholicism. In Catholicism you have guilt. In Buddhism you have suffering (if you're alive which means you're caught on the wheel of life which means suffering).

I cried yesterday. I 'suffered'. The locals are burning again as they do every year. The ridge behind our property was burned. I thought of all the baby birds who lost their lives, the skinks and lizards, and the insects and I cried. In the afternoon I watched Felicity and Suki, the two freed greenies, canoodling on the poinciana branch above my head and I smiled. There can be no suffering if there is nothing to compare it to.

We walked the dogs in the afternoon. It was 30o and coming out of winter we all were feeling the heat. We walked into the dip and coolness. Richard said wouldn't it be lovely if it was this temperature all the time. Personally I would quickly become bored with no contrast in temperature. How can we welcome summer if we haven't endured winter? Or winter after sweltering through a summer? Suffering comes because we've known its opposite; joy.

It seems, as in Catholicism, it is a basic 'sin' to have been born, as though rather than finding the joy in the basic wonder of being alive, we have been condemned through ignorance, or Original Sin, to endure this hell because we're too sinful, ignorant, lazy, vain to earn Heaven or Nirvana. It seems a poor way to acknowledge the basic miracle of Life, of the life giving qualities of breath.

Our farrier came out and did the horses in an introductory version of the 4 point trim. Introductory because he was familiar but not experienced with it and because we did not go too severe with the horses. Oddly enough, Balthazar is the only one who is foot sore. I would've thought Pagan, who we have to tiptoe around so as to not take too much away, would have been the sore one. Drifter's feet, being the worst shaped, looked the best. It will be interesting to compare his feet in 6 weeks with the shape they had pre-trim yesterday and the shape they have then. I'm very pleased with the effort. Lee did a good job.

Worked with Balthazar for ten minutes with some ground work yesterday. On the grass, he doesn't tiptoe on the grass. He did very well considering neither of us had done anything for two years. Plan to do a fair amount of ground work before I get on. I don't want to scare myself or him and suspect I'll be a bit more timid than I was two years ago. I'm almost 56 and know I don't bounce anymore. Wonder if I'll notice a difference in my riding since I've been doing yoga. I'm still one-sided but perhaps less so?

Have also put Balthazar on, starting yesterday as we didn't have any chaff until then, the Natural Horse Care diet. He always looks okay but he doesn't bloom as the others do. The biotin hasn't helped his feet in any appreciable way and his coat doesn't have the irridescence of Pagan or Drifter. Perhaps this new diet will help. It certainly helped Drifter with his greasy heel and grass acid nose (I'm sure there's a term for it but I don't know what it is. Drifter used to get scabs on his nose which I suspected at first was from the sun but realized later was from wet grass and grazing).

Coincidentally, after deciding I wanted to ride again, our neighbour came down, spontaneously, to tell Richard that I was welcome to ride anytime, anywhere on their land. Part of the reason I gave up riding was because of losing so many of the areas I used to ride, chiefly among them this magic mountain behind our property. They never said I couldn't ride there. I just assumed since they built their home on the adjoining ridge with a view of the entire mountain, they would want their privacy. That seems like a good sign. I will have to get Balthazar some easyboots but if that's what it takes, so be it. This means I can get on, go for a quiet burn in the wild as I used to do. Half of the pleasure of riding is just getting away from it all. There are places where I can't see or hear any sign of humans or human habitation. I can sit in the saddle and watch the bee eaters hunt for insects or listen to the silence while Balthazar grazes.

I'll write to Peter, tell him about playing with Balthazar, about the permission to ride, about the trimming. He has a Parelli clinic in October. He was keen to ride. I hope he remains so. Peter and Gabi have the best place to ride in the district. Even if you didn't go off his driveway his tracks are spectacular. Have already thought about floating Balthazar to the bottom of the driveway near the old Baines place, offloading him there and riding/walking (if he's not fit I'll get off and walk the steep bits) up to meet Peter on his horse. It would be a good day out and not hard on the horses.

A (Dream) Affair to Regret

So cold my fingers can hardly type. Winter's last hurrah? I hope.

Two nights ago I awoke from a nightmare in which I discovered Richard had a mistress. Last night I awoke from a nightmare in which I almost had sex with another man and I had to tell his wife ("what will happen if I tell her?" "It will ruin everything") and Richard (ditto). Have no idea what these mean. Why him and then me? At least having a scary nightmare is straightforward. You're being chased or attacked or, in the case of my recurring childhood nightmare, smothered. These adult nightmares fraught with grief and guilt are much worse.

Worse too was the exposure. We were in a busy restaurant. The windows were darkened and as the man was unconcerned about all the people dining on the far side of this long cavernous room, I assumed there was some kind of two way mirror separating us. Then the maitre d' came over and asked him just what was he supposed to do (my ersatz lover was the owner) and customers were getting up from their tables in anger, children in tow. I cowered under the covers until someone brought me a sarong. Then his wife came home early, bubbly and too too bright. She had to know. She was my friend. How could I not confess?

One strange aspect which I caught as I was waking was the emotions and actions somehow became fused into colours and shapes which my conscious mind grabbed as a possible painting. The images aren't clear now; swirling vortexes of black red, orange and brown. Not very exciting when within the dream they were vivid and spoke volumes about the emotional context of the dream.

Often with the purchase of Yoga Australia magazine a CD of music or meditations will be attached. Found one I'd pulled off and hadn't listened to and put it on. Listening to song 6, Garuda by Pravana (Eastern Meditation) was one of those moments when it is confirmed yet again that although we may have forgotten, we are gods. What is one definition of God. The Creator. We create every day with every breath, thought and deed. Some of us create for themselves and others; composers, writers, musicians, artists, poets to name a few. Of the arts, music is one of the most sublime, perhaps because it is creation of a thing over time and space that ceases yet leaves an image after it is gone. Garuda was one of those moments. With the first few notes I was transported. The composer had tapped into something which spoke directly to my heart. Would other listeners feel the same? Perhaps not. But the creative instinct within us is as diverse and varied as we ourselves are.

Through some of the darkest times of my life, Debussy was the lifeline to which I clung. An unbreakable connection from darkness to light.

My dreams give me no quarter. When I've been slack, and I have been so very slack, my night life reveals the truth though I may day dream my failings away during the daylight hours. Dreamed I was in a wheelchair desperately trying to get out in the rain. Crippled and yearning for aqua vitae which I could not have.

But it's here all the time. Lay in bed this morning (not for long thankfully, this day WILL be better) and thought about the fear factor. I think it plays a part in my meditation and I think it plays a huge part in any creative endeavour and in my life.

What if? What if I let go? What if I really got down and dirty with creativity? What would I have to give up to have it? What lies would have to stop for me to swan dive into the well of Self and record what I found there?

But does it have to be painful and searing and gut wrenching? Just to do. Isn't that all there is? I use the opiates of tv and spider solitaire to keep me dull. Instead of writing, I play. Instead of doing, I watch tv. Hours and hours wasted when I could live. Creativity is not about giving up, it's about giving freely.

So now that's off my chest. My interest in the horses has been reignited by the two days spent at Peter's playing with Monty. Have researched the 4 point trim and sent information about it with a friendly but firm ("I'm very keen to have my horses trimmed this way from now on") to my farrier. Lloyd used it when he was my farrier with great success. It might be the way I can ride Balthazar without having him shod. If not, it will at least put Drifter's feet right. For years now they resemble bedroom slippers; long underslung heels, long toes and flares. If the 4 point trim doesn't work with Balthazar, in that he can work happily on rough surfaces, I will get him some easyboots. Also reaquainted myself with clicker training for horses. Would like to amble about on Balthazar when I feel like a ride without having to 'train'. After years of endurance riding and training I don't want that kind of committment.

Started a painting using the new Van Gogh oil pastels. Huge mistake. Should have used the hard oil pastels first and the soft VGs on top. Now I have this rich buttery layer that won't take any more colour. Going to dig out some turps and use a brush to blend the colours. That should thin it as well. It's not a lost cause. It's a learning process. The painting is derived from a dream image. Spent an hour or more trying to get this particular colour, a orange tinted teal. Didn't get even close. Frustrating as I can see the colour clearly in my imagination.

I've got a greenie staring at me through the window. They know where we are when they want food. Yesterday Suki and Felicity were fighting with two rainbows over the tree holes in the poinciana - out this same window. Went out to 'help' but realized they had to sort it themselves. They are ready to keep house and raise a family. The rainbows are bigger and pugnacious. The greenies didn't stand a chance. We have hung a nest log for them under the gazebo. It's not ideal but it is an option.

Spent two days doing horse stuff. Peter rang. Monty had had a bad experience on the float with his bum under the bum bar and his head jammed on the divider and wouldn't (understandably!) load. Peter adores his horses and looks after them but is the first to admit they also intimidate him. Would I help? Monty had an appointment at the University on Friday. I went up Thursday so we'd have a day to practice. Nothing worse than having to try and load an unwilling horse when there's a deadline.

Went up with a loose plan of how I'd try and load him, a Parelli inspired ploy that has always worked in the past. Got there and Peter said he had a Parelli DVD on loading so we watched that before heading for the round yard. Watching the video changed my approach. Instead of leading him in I was going to attempt to drive him in. But first we had to catch him.

Unintentionally Monty's reluctance to be caught meant I got to experience Join Up. Have never done it before but by gum it worked. Had to drive him around the round yard again and again before he followed me into the center. Then when I lifted the halter off he'd go again. Peter said he always puts the rope around his neck and then halter him. I'm spoiled with my horses as I just walk out in the paddock and put a halter on. So I was determined to do it that way. That determination unfortunately set the tone.

When I got the halter on I started out slowly enough, walking him past the float and rewarding any try with a break. But Monty was determined not to go too close to the float. He'd push in with his right shoulder, swing his haunches and kick. Not while he was being led up close but when circling to the right. Very stiff and bulging rib cage to the right which made it easy for him to kick. There was a lot of kicking. And he wouldn't move away. He'd crowd in and I would make myself big and raise my arms to ask him to give way. He wouldn't budge so I'd slap both hands, one on his cheek, one on his neck to get him to give.

In hindsight I was too strong. Fear made me strong for a couple of times I was in a vulnerable position. I did get him with three feet on the ramp but, in Peter's words, to be expedient, it was best to lead him on – which was my first plan. Why didn't I stick with the first plan?

I arrived at 10, guess we were at the round yard by 11. At one thirty he was loaded. Loaded him many times, took him out many times. At the end he was standing quiet and relaxed while I scratched his back and Peter fed him wisps of hay.

The next morning I apologized to Peter for being too strong. He was very gracious and said I was only human. It wasn't as though I was beating Monty but sometimes to get him to change direction when he was roaring around I'd really lean on the lead rope to the point where my right arm is, two days later, still sore.

The day of Monty's appointment, went without a hitch. He loaded like a trooper as did Emmy, who was also going for a trim. They travelled well, although a bit sweaty as Peter's driveway is steep and curvy (takes 30 minutes to get to the bottom). Don't like those closed in floats. Horses generate so much heat, especially two in a float, that even with the side windows and overhead vents open, there isn't enough air flow. They both visibly relaxed after they were trimmed. They knew then what the trip was for. Who says horses are dumb? You could tell by their demeanour that they knew whatever they'd had to load on the float for was finished and they could relax.