Of Pink Booties and Tarot Cards

Tonight, my husband comes home.  I have made it through what I had expected would be a difficult week.  I have learned something important.  It began with my horse’s front feet. And culminated with a Tarot card reading.

In all the stress and turmoil of my daughter going off to college and my husband leaving the next day on a business trip, I kind of ignored that somewhere along the way, I had developed pneumonia. Anti-biotics were consumed, and I charged on, pretending that I was just fine.  Wisely, my daughter insisted that I bring in the lady who takes care of our horses when we go away to help me with the chores and mucking in the barn for a few days. My guardian angel, Marybeth, showed up right in time since Siete came up lame on both her front feet Monday morning.  I was trying not to panic, feeling weak and exhausted,  and Marybeth’s many years of experience helped me get through the soaking of feet, poultices and bandaging of hooves with no drama and plenty of laughter. 

Even the three inches of rain and the flooded corral was not a big deal since I knew that this angel in a dirty t-shirt and old rubber boots would stand by me, and together we would figure out the best way to cope with all that mud. My favorite part of it was the hot pink vet-wrap that she brought to wrap Siete’s hoof boots so the water wouldn’t loosen the Velcro straps and the boots wouldn’t fall off. Watching my little horse sporting her pink booties as she delicately stepped over the puddles to get to the pasture made me smile and know that everything was under control.

I had a sleepover here Tuesday night with a beloved girl pal that I’ve known for almost 30 years. She’s going through a challenging time, facing some big decisions.  I told her about this woman who did amazing Tarot card readings for my daughter’s 16^th birthday party, and how everything that she had predicted and recommended for my child had helped to guide her to where she is now, two years later.  “Let’s do it! I want to go see her right now!” My friend convinced me to pick up the phone and call Laura, who was, kind of appropriately, out in her barn taking care of her goats.  Less than an hour later, I found myself sitting across from this gifted healer as she threw down her cards and advised me.

“Your creative well is empty. You need to spend lots of time alone and in silence to replenish yourself.  Don’t expect to bounce back overnight, give yourself the gift of time before you push to make something new happen.”  I have been saying I feel hollow. She told me that I should let go of my daughter because she will do well in school. She said that my mother was a difficult, a troubled woman who was now at peace, but she had drained me for years. Several burdens of mine have been lifted. She kept coming back to how my well was dry, so I must stop, be still and alone and take care of myself.

“The incredible lightness of being” kept flashing in my head as she spoke.  I remembered reading Milan Kundera’s novel many years ago, but I couldn’t recall what the story was. Then, I realized the title of the book is “The Unbearable Lightness of Being”.  “Unbearable” is a very different word than “incredible”.  But I’m sure that my hollowness is connected to a lightness of being, I can feel it.  So, I dug out my old copy of the book that has sat dusty on my shelf since college. I began to read, curious to see what the message might be. Sure enough, there it was:

“The heavier the burden, the closer our lives come to the earth, the more real and truthful we become.  Conversely, the absolute absence of a burden causes man to be lighter than air, to soar into the heights, take leave of the earth and his earthly being, and become half real, his movements as free as they are insignificant.”

Okay. I’m going to sit here, alone and in silence, and think about that for a while.