with a twisted wink and a blindfolded bully. We couldn’t have that. Not our crew. We all looked the same but we were vastly different; connected at our core, but bringing to this rodeo our own rugged and rambling gifts. Mama didn’t call them gifts though, she called ‘em quirks. Here I am talking about mama again... She never wanted me to be a cowboy, but it wasn’t up to her or god. Damn me for just being me. 

 

And so it goes: we all connected and created our own Wild West, far far away from the wasted and wavering wonders of the future and the motherfuckers who tried to hurt us, to extinguish us. Truth be told, we knew if we stayed by them, THEY’D be hurt and we’d be on the run…again. So we kept going west and settled in a hidden land hardened by the sun and drenched with ancient energy. We dug our heels in the dirt and felt the needles of the cacti igniting the pain of now, alive in our new home, hoping to surrender the pain of the past. 

 

I watched the blood flow and felt so very little that I pushed it in deeper... still nothing. I suppose the pain on the heart was pulling in the memory morphine and we couldn’t feel much more. We sunk together. Deeper and deeper into the red dirt, trying to camouflage ourselves in an attempt to hide from our past. Our past wasn’t us, it didn’t identify us. Yet here it sat… next to me, next to you, and all the cowboys we summoned to ride out to this desert. Each effort to put miles between us and our past only served as fuel to resurrect it here. Now.  Like a bit in the mouth of a horse, the past was actually moving our minds where we need to be in the present. Where we needed to be apparently was in our pain. And it hurt like hell. 

 

The sky was so close, but the rocks were too heavy to float into, so we sat anchored at the base of the rocks... or was the anchor our heart? Hell I don’t know, but I wasn’t going anywhere. I looked over and saw him. He was me. His hat was different, but I was truly consumed by the layers which weren’t visible. It was his energy. We were connected. I widened my gaze and there was more. Another one crossed and angry, but warm at his core… who had done him wrong?... why do I even care?? He is me. And again, I scanned.. Sore and solemn, I saw this cowboy sitting under the mesquite. He lost his only son. Think it was a house fire, but none of us were gonna ask. We were together in our pain and grief when all we wanted to do was take care of this land and the people we loved. They say “easy come, easy go”, but it didn’t happen that way for us. It was “hard as hell, and here it comes harder than hell”. Our hearts were full of all the things that didn’t go right, binding us together through the trauma and the scars. It wasn’t leaving any time soon. And even if we wanted to leave, we couldn’t. This was our cross to bear… As long as there was a moon at night, we had to keep fighting.

 

Time and time again I think of every way I change: my hat, my boots, my shirt. It’s still me. It’s always me… suited up and laced with every emotion, ready to be triggered. Usually it’s in a gun fight with myself. At least one of me always wins...

 

One thing I sure as hell don’t wait for is my next adventure. 

Come ride with us.