[I wrote this after I had
been ill for about 8 years with fybromyalgia/CFS. I am a lot better now, some 6 years further on, but I was trying to get the ‘flavour’ of what some of
the realisations were as time went by.]
Once upon a time a cart
drawn by two horses, one black and one white, came clip-clopping along the
road.
The day was warm and bright
and clear, the sun shone and the sky was blue. The cart was well-cared for with
bright paint and shiny wheels. The driver was neither young nor old; just happy
to be driving along.
Suddenly, for no apparent
reason, the black horse stumbled and nearly fell. It neighed and stopped,
shivering. Our driver called ‘gee-up’ and flicked the reins, and the horse
stood still. Then the driver pulled out a whip, and tried to whip the horse to
keep going. The horse went a few more steps and then collapsed, with the cart jutting
out at an odd angle, although the white horse was still standing. Now the driver
did not know what to do; she tried to make the white horse keep pulling, but
the cart just went in circles, and the black horse was clearly in trouble. This
was a shock.
Now there was nothing to be
done but to get off the road and onto the verge. Several other carts stopped to
help and eventually somehow, driver, cart, and horses ended up sitting beside
the road wondering what to do. Other people stopped with advice on what to do
for the black horse, but most of that entailed taking time to wait and figure
out what was wrong, and the driver wanted to get going again. It was also very
difficult to work out who to listen to or what advice was worth taking. Some
people were kind and stayed for a while, and some people gave them food, but by
evening they too had had to leave, and now the driver and horses were alone.
After a long and lonely
night, the next day dawned with little change, and everyone hungry. The black
horse was clearly no better, so the driver took the white horse and went
further along the road to find more grass and water, as well as food for herself.
Then she came back and
waited; there was nothing else to do, but the horse did not get better.
The days passed. After a
while the driver began to notice the other vehicles on the road. It was busy,
and most of the traffic was heading in the same direction. There was a sense of
urgency to get to where they were heading. The drivers looked to neither right
nor left, only ahead, and pushed their horses on. The carts were of all
different types, big ones lumbering along, piled high with baggage and people,
barely moving along in comparison to some of the smallest and fastest carts
zipping along. Large and small, high and low, wide and slim, cared for and
uncared for. Some limped along with tired horses, but of them all few looked to
one side or saw our driver sitting there with her horses. Those that did see
them, looked sorry for them, but then looked away and drove on.
The days passed. The driver
had by then made several forays on the white horse to get food, and began to
see that there were quite a lot of empty or broken down carts all along the
roadside. Their drivers had usually left and taken their horses with them, but
she did not know where.
The days passed. And now the
driver had to look further afield to find food. There was a field on the other
side of the fence, and across the field the land sloped upward toward a wooded
area, which looked inviting so she went to have a look. By this time, the black
horse was able to walk a very small way before collapsing, so slowly they made
their way to the wooded area, away from the road. From this vantage point she
was able to see that the road went on and on, and was full of traffic hurrying
along, but she was still unable to see the end of it, or where they were
heading.
The days passed, and the
weather began to change. The driver was able to build a small hut, and to start
to collect food and to grow a little. With the white horse she was still able
to take short rides, do her errands, and make new friends. She met others who
had also been forced to stop. She began to notice that there were nice things
that she could do; a cup of tea; listen to the birds; feel the wind in her
hair. She even began to talk to her horses, and they began to talk to her –
mostly horsy thoughts of course, such as, where was the next bit of grass
coming from? , but at other times they told her who was coming and why, which
was handy.
The days passed, and she
walked down to the road and watched the traffic pass by. Did they know where
they were going, and in such a hurry? She had not known where she was going; it
just seemed to be ‘There’; the potential answer to all her problems. They pitied
her because she couldn’t get to There, and never would, but gradually she
started to pity them, because of all the little things that they were missing
out on; how strange that felt. She tried to tell them about these things, but
they looked at her as if she was mad, and drove on.
The days passed, and she
realised that she had dropped out. She was never going to find out what was at
the end of that road. The black horse recovered enough to draw the cart in
harness for a short while when necessary, but she had discovered that she liked
being able to talk to horses and look at the stars when she pleased.
Sometimes others nearby
seemed to get better and leave, and some did not. Nobody seemed to know why.
The most surprising thing
was that gradually other people began to ask her for her expertise in talking
to horses, which pleased her immensely. Fancy that for a career! She had never
thought of that one!
And in the end, she found
she was happy.
kind regards,
ce’s
