The horse that makes me believe in miracles

On the day of Hondo Lane’s tragic passing, in fact that very afternoon, I was offered another horse. What hit me in that moment was an emotional avalanche I’d never had before. Grief, gratitude, loss, anger and hope somehow all steamrolled into one massive entity that bowled me over in an instant. I wailed loud enough to be heard from Arizona, overcome with what Hondo’s loss meant and what this new horse spelled for my future.

Before I introduce the new horse, I must first backtrack to July 22nd.

I’m aspiring to be more “woo,” as the kids say; open to new ideas, exploring belief systems once discouraged thanks to man-made religion, curious about everything, especially about who I am and what the heck I’m supposed to do on Earth. So, in woo woo fashion, on the night of July 22nd, I pulled up YouTube for an Akashic record meditation.

Told you I was woo.

I’m new to this way of thinking, or maybe that’s way of feeling. I didn’t force anything, but I did ask aloud, in a desperate kind of passion, “WHO AM I?” Because trying to figure out who I am — not who I’m supposed to be or who I’m expected to be or who the world shaped me to be, but who I am — has been a question I’ve had for years. Thanks, middle age. What came back in answer, at the time, confused the hell out of me: A white horse.

Point of equine knowledge, white horses are genetically gray. This matters.

I saw a white horse approaching, in a lush green field, to receive my affection. It came calmly, nuzzling my hands and simply standing with me. Which, okay, cool. Nice vision, universe. But what the hell does it mean? I didn’t have white horses. Was I a white horse in a past life? How was a horse an answer to my question of “WHO AM I?”

So I did what a normal Millennial does: googled it. It’s too nuanced and spiritual a question to get anything other than the AI, which I didn’t mind engaging for such a weird vision.

A bit on the nose, if you ask me.

The primary reason I moved back home to California was because I wanted to. Obvious, sure, but I had wanted to move to SoCal back in 2015, but didn’t as I felt obligated to my parents. What a disaster. Now, in my forty-second Gregorian calendar year, I’m finally learning to do more of what I want to do and doing less of what others ask of me. It has not been easy. The guilt and prior programming are not going quietly into the long night.

Ergo that meditation back on the night of July 22nd stuck with me. I mentally bookmarked it and moved on.

Then came August 14th, the morning I lost Hondo Lane. The horse offered to me the afternoon of August 14th was gray.

I’d seen the horse a few times prior at hound exercises. He, like Hondo, was an off the track thoroughbred. What I’d seen of him was that he wasn’t keen to go forward with his rider. I saw him the morning of Hondo’s passing, prior to the incident itself, of course.

Gray horses are majestic. They’re fairytales. And this one could certainly carry a hobbit away from the ringwraiths.

Even that afternoon, hours after losing my boy, I felt awash in peace just considering this gray horse, wondering even then if Hondo was passing a baton. If he’d fulfilled his contract and it was now time for someone else. Which isn’t to minimize his loss. I was catatonic for 5 days after his passing. But the only peace I had during that grief was thinking, wondering, about the gray horse.

As I believe I mentioned in Hondo’s tribute, he was the horse who symbolically carried me home to California. The journey started with him. He made me feel like the woman I was always supposed to be. He helped me remember who I was, who I really was. 3 years after taking him, he brought me home to California. Which is one reason his loss was so terrible. I moved here largely because of him, and envisioned a new life with him deeply in it.

While Nisha is an adequate fox hunter, she wasn’t bred to launch herself over jumps or stand calmly at checks. She’s an endurance mare and that’s where she excels. Cat is a fine field horse, an adequate jumper, but doesn’t like to go out solo. She’s perfectly content to run with the herd, but loses confidence when out on her own in new places. My goal with Hondo was to whip, as he’d done it informally before in Texas. We loved it. We loved it.

The gray horse whipped back east. He excelled at it.

And so about five days after losing Hondo, I told the gray horse’s owner I was interested and wanted to meet him that afternoon. I felt urged to contact him that day, and was glad I did. The owner already had another interested party, and I felt a surge of jealousy. This was my horse, a gift from the universe, a promise I hadn’t made a mistake in moving here to start a new life. I had only one appointment to see to and then I would go meet him to ensure he liked me.

But the synchronicities were not done.

I saw gray feathers that very morning when I’d always seen hawk and raven feathers before. But that day and only that day I saw gray. Then my appointment had to cancel, clearing my schedule to go meet the gray horse. I heeded the signs and went to meet him.

I recorded these videos to send to his owner.

It was clear to me after our first meeting that Loch (his name), and I got along just fine. I knew we would, I’d had a vision about this horse, after all. For whatever reason, the two of us are supposed to take the next path together. I know that in a deep knowing kind of way. In my bones.

Looking back on that July 22nd evening after meeting Loch has new meaning. That white horse in my vision wasn’t just symbolic, it was a nod of what was to come. He wasn’t just a tremendous gift from his previous owner, he was a gift from the universe, a gift I desperately needed. Loch feels like a handshake that turns into a hug, a promise that even though this move has been hard, it wasn’t wrong. My desire to whip at a fox hunt was the right choice after all. Pursuing a life built for me and my dreams still has merit.

Hondo Lane brought me here. Now Loch will carry me forward.