One of my favorite movies of all time, if not my all time favorite *grin*, is the epic drama Out of Africa. If you havent seen this movie run out right now and pick it up! It is amazing... a classic... a movie of such depth and sentiment that if you are not totally swept away by the heart wrenching romance of it all there simply must be something wrong with your head. (okay, not really, but honestly it's really good:)
Karen Blixen, (the lady who's autobiographical novel inspired the movie) is a danish baroness who immigrates to Africa after entering in to an arranged marriage of convenience. There, while her husband "goes safari" she is left alone to carve a hold out of the wilderness and build a coffee farm from the ground up. This movie is of a feminist nature, it is one woman's struggle to have a say in life, to gain control and hold it all together- the farm, her marriage, her employees in a wilderness which constantly threatens to reclaim "her" land. All of that fight comes to a simple and poetic end when Karen and her men, having fought to hold back a flooding river, finally let go and allow it to return to it's original course- through her crops and on to Mombasa. As she stands and watches the water run she says, in a dignified and deeply reverent tone (though thick with a questionable danish accent), "Let it go. This water lives in Mombasa anyways."
I am telling you this because that simple sentence is one I aught to have made in to my own little bracelet... instead of WWJD (what would Jesus do) I need to have LIG.TWLIMA. Let it go.... I've said before that I am a fretter. I pick my life to pieces and then continue picking away at it's tattered remnants. Letting go and letting what comes, come, is a philosophy I am trying so hard to adopt as my own. As bizarre as it may sound to some, my struggle to find just the right name for my new mare, the constant analyzing, lamenting, changing, the drama of it all is an old habit I fell in to easily and without much thought.
This evening I spoke with the breeders of my new mare. They are nice people, though not very talkative, however, the wife really opened up when I asked what my mare was like as a foal. She told me a little of the dam, siblings and how much they liked my filly when she hit the ground. They said that she was such a dainty thing, with fancy movement and a "look at me, I'm so pretty" attitude... they didnt take long to think up a name. With her regal presence there was no name for her but Princess- she certainly seemed to think she was one.
Princess is the name she came to me with... it is her name. I cant say how many times in the past few weeks that I've thought, "What a little princess" and I believe I even referred to her as being a princess on this blog. Oddly enough her last owner said that she never liked the name and planned on changing it but just could never think of anything that fit her better. Well, when I got off the phone with the breeders I thought of that line, "This water lives in Mombasa anyways" and I said in my head, complete with Merle's wannabe-danish accent, "this horse is named Princess anyways".
I accept it. Who am I to change it. Princess is her name....
I cant believe I own a horse named Princess.
C'est La Vie.