Where the Arrow Points to the Rainbow: Part II

Gradually I healed up from those burns.
And gradually, I stopped having the dream and forgot all about it.
Fast forward about 30 years…

I was dating a girl named Casey.
Casey at the bat.
Except she never struck out.

One night in that warm post-coital languor that often makes you say really stupid things, she mentioned that she used to have a pony when she was a kid, but hadn't gone horseback riding since childhood, and would love to do it again sometime.

I liked Casey.

So I looked into it an found out there was a place, not too far away, with a couple of hundred acres to ride and State Forests on three sides, with even more trails. So just for fun, I arranged for us to go on a trail ride for her birthday.

Walking into the barn, I was assailed by the combined scent of hay, manure, horse sweat and leather. To some people this is an unpleasant odor. For me it seemed like some long forgotten ambrosia wafting on the summer wind. Very relaxing. Even welcoming. And because I wasn’t accustomed to relaxed welcomes, it put me a little on edge.

I didn’t know what I was feeling, but something was definitely up.

I was introduced to a grey Arab-Quarterhorse gelding named Moonshine. Our host showed us how to tack up, explained this and that. Some of it I seemed to remember from some way-back-when that had never been.

Moonshine sniffed me. Nuzzled my hand very delicately with his nose, wiggling his lips side to side like Samantha on Bewitched. His unclipped whiskers tickled my hand and made me smile.
But what really struck me, what completely fascinated me, astounded me, awed me -- and a whole bunch of other synonyms -- was the look in Moonshine's eyes.
He didn't just look at me.
He looked INTO me.

I felt like I was standing there completely naked, being examined by a being of impeccable spiritual character. He saw me for who I was and what I was and accepted me, without making any judgments about it. And for a moment, looking into his eyes, I saw me the way he saw me. The reflection of myself in his eyes was someone I didn't recognize. Like looking in a funhouse mirror. You know it's you, but it doesn't look like you. At least not the you that you've grown accustomed to seeing.
But it was a two-way street, too. And I had the odd sensation that I could see through his eyes into his soul, jus as he could with me. I must have looked a little….
"Are you all right," Casey asked me. "You look a little…..”
"I'm fine," I lied.

When I swung effortlessly up into the saddle, I was swept by a jolt of long-forgotten childhood memory, and I suddenly remembered Jan Johanson....

(TO BE CONTINUED)