That moment when you run… not because someone told you to, not for any tangible benefit, not to prove anything to anyone (not even yourself). But simply for the sheer joy of surging through the grass, under the sky, alive in this moment. When every cell of your being trembles with the present. When you are simply who you are made to be, doing what you are made to do…
Once my retired greyhound racer ran for the entertainment and the financial loss and gain of humans. He ran when the gun cracked, for as long as the track lasted. He shot out and ground to a halt when they told him he could.
During a race, mid-stride, his fiery orange eyes and flaming spirit flared beyond where his body was able to follow; and his leg snapped. Plunged into retirement with a broken bone, he was angry. When we locked eyes during those early days of his homecoming, he growled. The unfinished race broke more than his leg. I gave him lots of space and reassurance. Slowly his leg healed, and surely he came to trust me.
Mostly now when he has the freedom to run, he stays closely pressed to my side, my hand resting on his head or his back. But sometimes that old passion blazes, the legs unfurl, and he explodes across a field. Faster and faster, his very essence lifts beyond physical boundaries. He is free, fully in communion with natural and divine, a conduit between both; and the immediacy of racing for joy pulses through him and touches earth.