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The Legend of Prince

by Jenna W. 5 months ago in humanity · updated 4 months ago
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Never Really Broken

Woven between the chariots of the Gods, the ancestral stars, the dance of campfire flames and through the connection of the human heart, beast and Gaia is the web of stories, mythology, legends and truth rising from the imagination of Divine creation.

Through the ages, the horse is known not only as a mythical but Devine creature descending from the heavens or rising from the ocean to grace the land bringing with it freedom and beauty. In East and Central Asia the wind horse is known as the soul of man. Above the valor of all the archetypes, is the white horse, known for its purity, spiritual enlightenment, the symbol of good over evil and the end of time survivor. The Equus in all of their magnificence, lure us into their rich vastness like the Pegasus and the Unicorn.

In Buddhist texts, it is the white horse Kanthaka who served as a royal companion alongside Prince Siddhartha in all major events before the Prince became Gautama Buddha. Following the death of Siddhartha it is said Kanthaka died of a broken heart. In particular, white horses in Buddhism, hold sacred meaning. They are symbolic of the lotus flower, and with the purity of their hearts, said, to be much like Buddha himself. Much like Kanthanka, the pure white horse and Unicorn are known for their healing, wisdom, compassion and devotion to love with an open heart. To love is brave as it risks the heart to the exposure of break while still maintaining the expression of courage.

Behind the magic of the horse, is the deep alliance held between man and horse that has been known from the beginning of time. In modern society, while we remain captivated by the wonder of the horse, it is in the depths of scientific study that it has been proven the horse chooses to synchronize its heart rhythm with the rhythm of a human heart.

Proceeding from here, is a true story.

His name is Prince. This wasn't always the name held for him. Rather, it was his role, the title he ultimately earned. Names and titles, they weigh, don't they? There was a time when "They” referred to the one known as Prince, as “Broken” and even evil. The horned one. Not the Unicorn but the double horned one. He was never any of those things. “They” were the Name Callers. Upon reflection, It wasn’t even their fault. They simply didn’t know any better. You see, They were the broken ones and the broken only know how to destroy all that is beautiful. It’s no different than plucking the petals off a flower or the slaughter for ivory tusks. There is a story behind superstition and it is called Fear. It was as if They had nowhere else to go with a story too old, yet lived again and again to destroy mystery and beauty. I’m still not certain, but I believe it was not the Prince himself they hated, but the symbolism of the one that became known as Prince. The Name Callers found it impossible to understand how such beauty could exist in a world suspended in superstition. They tried to break him, they left his flesh, bones and body broken, but never his spirit and never his place to feed for love, or to give love.

White. He was snow white. Purity. That was his name from the beginning. He arrived in a place of beauty and purity. Everything changes in this world, but this horse on this day was born snow white. Perhaps you don't know, but pure white horses are rare, sacred and majestic. Let me go back to the beginning. A horse is born, Cremello. Cremello is a color, not a breed. A Cremello horse is born white and stays just so. This is not true of other horses. Foals will turn in their color with age, yet only their white markings stay the same. It is as leaves turn with the seasons and hair upon the heads of humans and the faces of dogs change with time and we call this wisdom. Yet, a Cremello will remain for all time with a white coat, alabaster skin and blue eyes. They hold a place of vulnerability in a world meant for survival, not all do, but he has. Prince survived.

His story started off no different than that of an ordinary horse. He was born in an area where the grass was green and the sun touched the earth. But the Name Callers in all of their superstition thought this horse to be of something unearthly and they did unforgivable things to him. He was left to perish like a ghost in a field. Yet the Gentle Ones came along and saw a glow in a pasture beyond a fence. Drawn to the nearly dim white beyond, they came to a nearly dead vessel of fading light and scooped his broken body from the cradle of the earth. They took this limp, little being into a coven of care nourished and mended his broken body parts with love much like the Japanese art of kintsgugi - mending broken ceramic with gold. It was then that he was reunited with the purity that was always meant for him.

It was just a day, an ordinary day, but on this day I met my Prince. I remember the moment as if it was a still life oil painting. We are lucky when we capture moments of pure perfection. It was on this day that I stepped out of my car and I could smell the earth. Dust was blowing and there was a fine scent of grass and drying hay. Inhale. I walk into the barn, I'm there as Guest Speaker. Talking with the Others, awaiting the arrival for a horse of their choice to serve as my assistant for the day, I hear entering the pathway of the stalls, hooves slightly knocking on the ground as the horse enters. A horse’s shadow falls between the beams of light entering through the wooden boards. The background noise is soft and subtle. It's familiar from my childhood, but the observation on this day is different. I’m here to be a Healer and Clinician. I listen to the pattern of falling hooves. Hooves connect with the ground in either perfect procession or just off. If you listen long enough not only is it the sound of music, but the rhythm of the body. Front hooves, left to right, neck or back. It is the language I have come to observe. It's my art and I find the rhythm, the horse’s rhythm. Hooves are the percussion, and the movement, the muscle fibers are really no different than strings on the guitar, cello or violin. I listen and observe the details. A story is already being told. But this no longer matters. It's the details and moments that follow that transcend. It's what happened next that suspended my heart in time. They say your heart skips a beat when you fall in love. But the truth is, it actually just pauses long enough so you can breathe and take the moment in. At this moment I fell in love.

When the orchestra of the hooves stops and all becomes soft, I turn to see four pure white hooves. Pink. They were actually pink. They were of the earth and rose buds. Before me was a silhouette draped in a white blanket and covered head to tail. Wrapped up in the mystery of details, I observe the Keepers of this being pulling back the blanket and the protective mesh face mask. It becomes the unveiling of beauty. I absolutely have no words to describe how I felt at this moment. I just allowed my body to express itself. I cried. Before me still as the night and light as the day was a pure white horse. There is a quote, “If God made anything more beautiful than horses, he kept it for himself.” In this moment I thought there is nothing more enchanted, beautiful or pure on this earth or to grace the land than simply this horse. He stands like a marble statue, but his presence and intention is simply that of beauty, love, and all that is good. I gazed upon him until I realized he is actually real.

He is the only thing in this moment. I walk to him, just to touch him. I have to believe. I fall deep into his breath that is slow and steady, soft blue eyes, and coat that is like a velvet glove on the palm of my hand. He becomes my Healer. He never questions my intention. Wrapped in all of his purity and beauty it is then that I realize this the horse they once called Broken.

I close my eyes and I breathe him in. Exhale. I humbly ask him to follow me into the arena. He does. Again, I hear the falling and lifting of the hooves of the Prince who so delicately walks just behind me, but so near to me. With each step it is as if he leaves the petal of a pink rose.

Within a captive audience, not the show and pony kind of way, but in a ceremonial way, I touch him in demonstration of how touch can heal and I think to myself, “If ever there was an animal to hate the likes of the human, this would be the animal.” But he doesn't hate, he loves. He knows without heartache, there is no love. He surrenders to my touch. Our breaths become one and I forget for a moment where I am, because all that I am is in this moment. I allow him to gently guide me to where he needs to be touched. I fall into the new rhythm, touch, stretch, flow, release and I can smell the roses. I watch as his mouth softens and his head drops in appreciation, and his pink nose gently rests on the earth. There is no greater joy than touching these powerful beings and to see them become as soft as milk fed puppies.

When I break the trance I ask the Others if they have a horse they would like to share for a healing session. A woman, nervous in her energy, retrieves and reveals her horse. Enters, a pure black horse. Dark as the darkest night without even a hint of white. Stunning and beautiful, I’m mesmerized by the Onyx. Beautiful in all of her wild glory she stands proud like an Obsidian Princess. I come towards the rich, dark horse. I ask for a welcoming. When I try to lay my hands upon her, she pulls away. I will try again and I ask. She doesn't allow me. I can't make physical contact with her. She won't allow it, not even for a soft touch, she has become too guarded from a history still haunting her. I step away and say, as my Prince stands still just slightly behind me, but so very close. “This is actually perfect. You have the ying and the yang and the two horses on either side of the spectrum.” All that is sacred in this world falls into a place of balance. I laugh at the irony of it all and I return to my Prince.

We didn't have many more dates beyond this day. But when we did, they were rich. I would fall asleep with anticipation of seeing him the following day. I would rise with the sun and a smile on my face. I would prepare myself for him with carrots in my back pocket. I would walk across pastures to find my Prince in the herd. The other horses would run away, hooves trampling the ground like rolling thunder. Always standing still and waiting for me was my Prince. Always different and always draped in his special blanket and mask, his shield from the sun and ironically, white horses are associated with the sun chariot. Prince would wait for me, and welcome me. Soft as snow he was, I would approach him and simply touch him. I would ask him if he would like to come with me, he always said yes. Just as a Prince, he always walked so delicately just behind me, but always so near me. He never took and never even asked for the golden nuggets, the carrots in my back pocket. He knew, in his expanded heart space and gentle nature, without asking, he would receive. Golden and the purest of love. Prince and me.


About the author

Jenna W.

Writing is one of my favorite forms of creative expression. I was first published at 14 and continue to enjoy storytelling and producing educational pieces as well. Thanks for your interest & taking the time to read my words!

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