Chasing tomorrows

I’m standing at the train platform in Klarenbeek in the eastern province of Gelderland.  It is perhaps the smallest train station, if one can call it that, in all of The Netherlands.  It looks more like a tram stop really. There is a horse yard right next to it.  And in this chilly, overcast gray morning, they are outside feeding, grazing.  I look through the wire mesh fence separating the yard from the platform and count thirteen horses in all.  Is there any other animal on the face of the earth more beautiful, more elegant and more graceful than a horse?

I wish for the train to be delayed.  I wish for time to stand still.  I wish to stay here forever. To take stock of every memory I ever had riding horses.  And the different places and emotions it has taken me.  Perhaps, this will explain why its one of the most beautiful things to do in one’s lifetime.

Up on a horse, I am in the present and the world is a beautiful place.

I start with a walk for warming up. It is a leisurely pace. I feel a gentle side-to-side motion in the horse’s hips. I am in a quiet place, calm, serene, tranquil.  In these moments, we, the horse and I, find a rhythm and we start moving as one.  As we settle comfortably with each other, the horse speeds up his gait and his walk turns into a trot.  A hopeful anticipation of something exciting; the jolt from what is sometimes a mundane existence, the awareness that things are about to change.  I rise up and down on the horse’s back and when we’re both ready, I give him a gentle squeeze with my leg and ask for a canter.

A canter can either take you to two places.  It is a sunny day in autumn, the sound of birds chirping when you wake up to a crisp cool morning or a pancake covered thick in maple syrup at breakfast. It is a lover whispering sweet nothings in your ear or a child showering feathery kisses on your cheeks.  A horse cantering on a bad day can also take you to the opposite end.  It is the slamming of a door when someone walks out on you, or the sound of emptiness ringing through your ears.  It is the broken promises, of being unseen or unheard, of being insignificant.  Or the day the tragic news came.

A gallop is where you flee from it all.  It’s the explosion of built up anger.   The tides of emotions rushing through at heightened moments. Rage, torment, fury and sadness combined.  It is the full force of the wind on your face and those leaps and bounds take you airborne, into the places where your soul wants to be.  It is flight.  There is no clock, no time.  No one bothers you. No one and nothing to expect.  Up on a horse, the world is watching and time stands still.  And once you reach that state, the horse slows down, for a gallop doesn’t last long.  And then you are peaceful once again.

Some of life’s most beautiful moments are here and now.  Not the distant future of someday when.  It’s a pity we don’t notice that. We realize it in retrospect.  And that’s why we always yearn for the past, back to that place of a happy memory you never quite enjoyed while it was unfolding right before your very eyes.

The train arrives and I snap back to reality. Everyone from this sleepy little village gets on board.  The train rolls along to sights of green pastures and miles of grass fields and meadows.  Sheep and cows are grazing outside.  I feel sorry as it approaches the city where an industrial skyline and a network of traffic on the freeways replace the sights.   People are grabbing their bags and belongings and queuing up to alight as the train pulls into the Utrecht station.  They all look in a rush to get off, go to work; or probably catch another train.

I stay seated for the onward trip to The Hague. This unfolding scene is both poignant and amusing. How many times have I seen myself in this situation?  Always rushing, always heading off somewhere, always chasing the hours ahead.  Never fully present.

Why are we always in a hurry? Why do we push ourselves so much? What if we just sit back once in awhile, let the world roll by and not worry about a single deadline.  What if we don’t run through next day’s agenda as we settle down for the night? Nothing catastrophic, that which is under our control, is going to happen.

My thoughts start running off again, chasing tomorrow’s to-do list.  I stop and look at the hustle and bustle around me.  And I whisper to the wind.

Oh, please take me back to Klarenbeek.