Yesterday at my granddaughter's birthday party I watched the Belmont Stakes along with every other member of the family eager to be witness to racing history. Oddly enough, no one in our family pays much attention to racing during the "season,' and it is only when the push comes to shove that we all sit there breathlessly waiting to see if this one mortal animal called American Pharaoh could capture the first Triple Crown since 1978. Well, this sleek mellow looking brown horse did the job as he pulled away effortlessly from the pack of contenders in the home stretch. Glasses were raised, there were rounds of cheering, and adrenaline flowed through ... and then tears came to my eyes.
Why the tears? First off, I am a sucker for happy story endings when it comes to animals. My eyes dribbled tears when I watched the movie "Seabiscuit," and back in the olden days when we all watched Lassie, of course we teared up, our hearts warming and settling because once again Lassie was going to be o.k. Many of us turn animals into heroes, it seems, investing them with romantic stories that we make up because of course they can't speak their own experience; these tales show us that overcoming hardship, bad luck, and even cruelty is possible. And when the animals rise up and prevail they carry us with them to a place where the world feels like a kind and good place... We need that, of course. When we have pets, we weave narratives in our heads about what they're thinking, imagining, and feeling, and then we behave accordingly -- or at least I do! Cats are hard to do this with because they are so bloody inscrutable; they don't really wish to be understood. Dogs are pretty transparent and available, but still ... still I don't think we really know what they're feeling.
Horses are a different deal, I think. The horse is a mythical and elegant animal who parades, then streaks across our landscape as if he (or she) was destined for greatness. When we saw American Pharaoh race to the finish yesterday it was as though he was fulfilling his entire purpose in life in that very moment. It was a giant and grand moment, never to be experienced again... even more magnificent than the orgasmic finale of the best Beethoven symphony. And when you find yourself in that split second of vibrating joy, why wouldn't you cry just a little?
I cried also because I thought of my mother yesterday. She would have raised her glass and shrieked with pleasure along with everyone else at the young horse's victory. She loved horse racing, and used to host Kentucky Derby parties in her grand apartment in Pacific Heights. In her inner fantasy world where she became an F. Scott Fitzgerald flapper, a famous bohemian artist, or just an exquisite grand dame sipping her Scotch and telling funny stories, she was also perhaps the well heeled owner of a few stunning thoroughbreds whom she adored. She grew up in Long Island around people who made money from horses and became prideful in the process; she knew that life well and was attracted to it. Was it the excitement of possessing a beautiful animal who performed superhuman feats and made you lots of money? Was it the adoration that could come with glory? I am not sure. It may just have been that it was a world where everyone dressed well, was surrounded by beauty, and always had plenty to drink...
Tomorrow I head off for a silent meditation retreat where the topic for reflection will be aging and death, and my mother is already lodged in my mind in readiness. She seems to show up when I need to learn more about impermanence and compassion, such as the time in Cambodia after a long day of visiting the Killing Fields when I had a dream that brought us together. She died in 1991, but in many ways she still rests in my heart in present time, waiting for the right time to show up again. All those thoughts I used to have about her death "freeing" me from our fractious and painful relationship are like so many stormy bad weather clouds that toss us this way and that and then move on. I'm glad for this impermanence of feeling, because really and truly I don't think I ever wanted to get rid of her... I have this funny feeling that our conversation is far from finished.
No comments:
Post a Comment