|Posted by Patrick Kaye on November 14, 2011 at 10:35 AM|
I Told the beginning of MY STORY to Anna Walton. She wrote Chapter 1. I will take over the story from now on.
The next day I was still devastated that the foal had been dragged away. What the foal felt and expected, I don’t know. But I am certain what we both felt was FEAR, of great intensity.
So I went in search of my baby horse. How long I was gone or how far I went I don't remember. But when I got back,my black “Dad” (I had a white father) smacked my bottom for the first and only time. He was frantic with worry at my long disappearance. His name was Beswick Phiri. All the nice sides of me, I got from him. I was about four years old at the time, but resolved that I would go and find the foal. Perhaps that was my first conscience ambition. “I’m going to find the baby”. Long before I knew about “Goal Setting” (I shall go on at length about goal setting at a later stage. Specifically in relation to working with horses.) (and life!)
FIRST HORSE AT AGE FIVE. We lived where public transport was non existent. So getting me to school was to became a problem. My parents were very poor at that time and could not afford to buy me a bike. After the war steel was very experience. A bike cost Twelve Pounds. Donkeys cost two and a half shillings, and a horse cost ONE pound at the pound. So horses were the cheapest way to get young boys about in that rural setting during the 40’s &50’s. My how times change!.
My mother having heard that Winston Churchill urged parents, especially the wealthy ones, to buy their children horses. “Because-- Nobody came to grief riding a horse>>>> Except honorable grief”. They decided I should have a horse
So I was taken to the other side of the city (Johannesburg) and shown a saddled horse. “Look at the lovely horse Darling. Do you want it?”.
“No” I said. I want us to catch “my foal”. Years had passed and it was still my dream. I remembered it’s eyes. It must have been worse for baby horse! Not only was he taken away from his mother, he was “imprisoned” by aliens.
I had seen older boys riding in the distance. I had also seen the wild horses cavorting about, so riding one, was not something I had considered. Not for a moment. I was afraid of the dark and lions and tigers and the drums that reverberated in the African night. (My mother was convinced that one night 10,000 angry chanting blacks would storm over the small hill that separated us and “kill us in our sleep” How she imagined that we would be still asleep with all the yelling eluded me at the time.) There were also “milighters” and “Tsotsi’s” and other things that go bump in the night.
I had no choice, and the horse duly arrived. So did the emotion FEAR. The servant, having said yes to being able to ride, was told to lead it straight across the city on foot (60 kms). He was also instructed to teach me to ride, while my parents went working.
Everything begins with fear! A baby’s first cry is as a result of fear or pain. My birth was frightful! (full of fear). Hectic!!!! Born in South Africa in the Chinese year of the horse 1942 I was stuck in the birth canal for 12 hours! I was close to dying of suffocation. That first breath was gulped with intense relief. I remember it well!
I remember the fear of being put on!!!. How high a 15.1 hand horse feels to a five year old.
It later developed my philosophy and conviction about Karma. “First the pain and then the pleasure”. Sowing before you reap. But that is another story for later.
To teach me the relatively ignorant man ran me and the horse up and down the road. In those days there were no lunge rings or riding instructors on our side of the tracks . His name was Samson (for obvious reasons). That first day I fell off three times before we got back home. I was standing next to the horse crying and examining my wounds. The servant wanted the saddle off, and not knowing any better, just pushed it off the horse onto the opposite side. And onto my head. I cried more. “Solly, solly! I no see you”. A very genuine apology that provided little comfort or just went completely over my head. I badly wanted my mother and the warm safe comfort of her ample bosom. I went instead to sleep in her bed and while sleeping there, I wet the bed . When they came home my mother was full of sympathy for my scars. My father was scathing! About the bedwetting.
The one thing my parents agreed on was, that the main thing about riding was- “You (meaning me) have to get back on after a fall”. Even though they had never ridden. Years later my father tried riding but gave up after his first fall.
Learning to ride meant that the servant was doing what he had been told to do. “Teach my son to ride! Servants did not, - did not disobey their “masters”. Especially not my father - a man (from Holland) who fairly quickly adopted the racialist attitudes of his adopted land. How I learned to ride from then on is a blank until some major things happened to my life. The first was CLIFFORD and long before I learned the 10 golden rules of LIFE.
The definition of a successful human being is a happy one. So God’s number one rule is-
1. BE HAPPY! We were not created to be miserable.
2. Don’t step on toes uncaringly. But that does not mean you are responsible for someone else’s happiness.
3. Thoughts become things. So mind what you think about! Dream your dreams. Dreams come true. Aspire to great things!
4. You are a child of the universe, and no less than the trees and the stars, you have a right to be here. Or where ever you choose to be.
5. We humans are infectious. Be positively Infectious! So you can only spread happiness if you are happy. Don’t be positively miserable!
6. Make decisions! Children have no choice. Adults have no choice - But to “choose”. (Choose your own life.)
7. You reap what you have sown. There is nothing for nothing!
8. Tell the TRUTH. Always!!!!!! Even if it may be uncomfortable for you, or others.
9. Be here now!! In THIS very ecstatic moment.
The 10th Is left up to you. Choose wisely!