There's been clearance here. A storm thrust through two night's ago. It took a life and cleared the decks of many who remain. Hedge trees lean half-uprooted. Leaves, torn twigs, litter the path crossed by strung-out bramble and wild rose. And all soaked in a wet gloom of late November rain. This had been a tough night.
Further into the woodland Oak and Beech have been struck. The branch is shed yet the tree lives on. There's something oddly beautiful about the colour and pattern of the torn trunk. Clearance brings a chance to release, to heal, to live on.
In the lane something calls my attention to stop and move closer to see through the hedge.
An old horse lies dead, already hollowed into the earth, still shielded by the hedge of hawthorn and holly. Another, also 'put to field' shuffles away, head down. A friend lost. Another step, another breath before they meet again. Witnessing the pain of tired age is hard and death is never easy. Whether expected or not it catches strings within one's heart and sings a keening to the cold air. The Himalayan Sage may choose his moment of passing, but for most of us it is fraught with emotion. I long to take the remaining horse home with me to warm it, body and soul, yet know that's not how these things work.* There has been a shedding and that is that.
Sometimes, the clearances of life are about letting go great dreams. Dreams that can feel like life itself. We may not know why they must be released. It can take a while for the reality of the loss to show. 'Why did that branch have to fall?' 'Didn't the universe know how I needed it to be my 'best'?' For years I had a dream to go to Canada. Whether I tried to migrate or visit, each time something stopped me. Even once something at the airport itself. In the end Canada came to me with my Teacher for the Metamorphic Technique. Within days of hearing of Gaston Saint-Pierre I was in his London home receiving teachings. Everything blew away, a storm of consciousness shed branches, took old horses and over time universal truths emerged which are only gained through the priceless deaths of clearing that which served as a dream so to bring us closer to reality.
Even at his own funeral Gaston was teaching. Lying swathed in a shroud, head uncovered, cradled in a wicker coffin. No longer the hungry caterpillar of a man, not yet the butterfly fully emerged into the light, he lay there cocoon bursting open for all to see. This, the ultimate shedding of an earthling's life.
I remember this as I do something to remember the old horse in the field. I remember the transformation of death as I dig a hole in the earth and scatter what was once an acorn, then a strong tree, now wood ash from my fire to nourish the soil with blessings for the old horse. With your Earthly dream now shed, may you be in the reality of Love dear old soul.
Rest in Love.
*The owners of the horse were alerted to the situation.