STOP THINKING

… he places his hand on my forehead and says: “Stop thinking!”

There is something new in the air. I can neither see nor hear it; it’s perhaps a strange taste, like when my tongue goes on the bars of the stall. The smell of my trainer is like that of the saddle blanket: pressure.

I love to have my workout done in the main arena, where the sun comes in and the sand is flying in the air.

It’s already a few days that my trainer is not happy. Who knows what’s wrong with him.

When we finish loping, he’s sighs and looks around for a while, then he steps down my back and comes in front of me. I lower my head and wait for him to turn his back, to allow me to scratch my forefront on his hindquarters. That’s how we made it until now…

Since we started preparing for the show, something has changed. He is no longer offering relief for my itching spots, instead, he places his hand on my forehead and says: “Stop thinking!”

What’s the meaning of this?

Last night the gray gelding taught me about the meaning of thinking. He said it is “the soul talking to itself.”

I don’t know who this ‘soul’ is, and I never heard them talking, so I asked: “Where do they talk?”

“Inside your head.”

I put my head in the corner, listening very carefully, but they were obviously not talking that very moment.

I went back to the gelding. “And humans… do they have this talking of souls in their heads?”

“That’s a good question” replied the wise gelding, munching his hay. “I’m not sure, but consider that they have much smaller heads than horses…”