Winter’s aching fingers pinched my ears as I hurried to the barn. My toes, cozy and padded by woolen socks in a new pair of work boots, bent with each chunk of frozen mud beneath them and sent fluffy, mindless snow bouncing away on my path. A shepherd amid his flock of sheep, or a farmer in a cloud of white chickens, might have centered himself in such a universe. I was on my way to the horses that had become the center of my life.

Over the years, I had studied our purpose in the big picture. I had studied yoga and philosophy and had enjoyed the teachings of many interesting thinkers. I had traveled with them on their lecture circuits and to their book signings. I had been a guest in their homes, at their hotels and at their universities. Authors of books such as “Cosmic Consciousness”, “As a Man Thinketh” and “The Magic of Believing” became personal acquaintances or intellectual friends living through their works in my private library. Walter Russell, HH Swami Rama, Col. Arthur Burkes, and the like, were writers and observers of thought whom I was lucky enough to know and ask almost anything I could imagine. Thinking back, I usually wanted to know where I belonged in the grand scheme of things – and what meaningful purpose I was living for. I stopped asking those questions as time went by and life took its course. Read more> http://www.horsesinthesouth.com/article/article_detail.aspx?id=9935