Running of the Wild Horses

Today I dreamed  about a head of a dog, offered as a gift on my birthday, 6 months from now. Because I refused it, the head then turned to a bear. Suddenly I was here, where the Bear that is a dog, rests just there at the end of the bed.
It was an offering in a language that I understand in my bones, while my head denies, and my heart prepares for battle. Without thought to its meaning, I pushed away this unwanted package, not from disgust or fear. It was rational reaction to the memories that tore across the rolling hills of my mind scape, out of my past, on fast wild horses. These injuries to heart and spirit are those that require this denial.
Or do they?
Is this true? 
Once wounded one must never tread here again….. Really?
Is scar tissue reason enough to turn away from the Mystery of life possibilities and potentials?
When the giant wave knocks us down, and we eat sand, should we never look at the ocean again?
Black wild horses (5)
All this effort to survive,
just to be…
Are the big dreams of our lives riding on the backs of the Wild Horses?  Herded off into our personal and national mythology  because they took up too much space and couldn’t be controlled?
Questions to wonder about on the last days of 2013

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