my hidden sadness
2001-07-16 13:38:31 (UTC)


Its my truth day today.
I have no wishes, no hopes, no destiny and most of all, no
luck. As I write I can see the stars in the 11:23pm sky
tonight, ever-twinkling in the glitter of the moon. It's
almost eerie to think that they watch us 24/7 and during
the day, we can't look back at them.
Many things inspire me; brilliant sunset, fresh beautiful
mornings where the air is crisp and the grass is green, and
stars, effervescent in their way. So mystical, so unbeknown.
Maybe I'm crazy.
Today I wrote UGLY on the mirror. I like it there because I
can't see the little red spots I call "protesters against
beauty". Pimples. So vain, so shallow, so superficial.
Truth. So untouchable, so complex, so... true. Yes,
pimples are superficial. But self esteem and self worth
are part of reality, and reality is truth. So pimples are
untouchable. They are complex, and they are true.
I rode my horse today, a purebred palomino arabian, for
those who know horse terms, 14.3hh schoolmaster/showjumping
champ, four socks and a blaze, a tail of silver glory, a
many of shimmering white reflections. He's 7 years old now
and riding like a dream.
Or maybe that's a lie. Lies. Touchable, simple, untrue.
My horse, Bungamma Shariq (arqi) is a 14.3hh purebred
arabian. But that's where it ends. He's just turned 4,
he's a trail horse who's a late developer and experiencing
a prolonged "awkward phase". His coat is somewhere between
bay and steel grey; up close and on a winter's day, he
appears brown with a tinge of darkish grey. From a
distance, especially in summer, he appears a steel grey
with a tiny tinge of brown. He used to bolt on me, but
those days of terror are over and I have control, but he
doesn't jump (too young and awkward yet) and he isn't a
schoolmaster. He's never been educated, although trotting
circles is quite easy.
He's a born and bred endurance horse, his very best trait.
I love him for it and despite his millions of flaws and the
fact he only cost me $500 AUS, all the more adding to his
charm. He's intelligent, he's beautiful in an ugly way, and
he is loyal.
He is true. He's untouchable, complex and true.
He is reality. The perfect pali arab beauty doesn't exist
anywhere. There is no perfection. That is not reality. That
is not true.
Simply, noticeably, truly a lie.
All but change does hold us back.
Stay with me I'll be back another day to cry over the
stars, because they're just so beautiful.